It had been too terrifying to admit to herself, or to Rhage, the idea that had been kindling in her heart over the last year. But a maternal yearning had taken root at some point along the journey with Bitty—although Mary had been careful never to infringe or intrude upon the true mother/daughter bond, or even acknowledge her feelings in her own mind.

She had, however, from time to time, wondered what the little girl would do if she were left alone in the world.

And yes, there might have been an occasional daydream about bringing her into their lives.

It was no doubt why, on the night of the death, Mary had driven toward the compound and the mansion instead of Safe Place.

But she had known that such feelings were not appropriate or professional, so she had said nothing, done nothing, acted no differently than she did around the other young she worked with.

Her heart had been on another page, though.

Easing back, she looked up into Rhage’s handsome face. “What did Vishous say about the uncle?”

Even though she’d thought she’d heard him tell her that V had come up with nothing also.

“He said he could find no one by that name. And no formally recorded details of Bitty, her mother, or any family, either.” Rhage wiped beneath her eyes with his thumbs; then dried her tears on his sweatshirt. “She really is orphaned.”

They were quiet for a while. And then Mary said, “It won’t all be fun trips to the ice cream parlor.”

“I know.”

“And she might not want to come live with us.”

“I know.”

“But you like her, right? She’s special, right?”

“Very.” He laughed in a short burst. “I think I decided I wanted to adopt her when she ordered that waffle cone.”

“What?”

“Long story. But it just . . . it kind of feels like it’s supposed to be.”

“That’s what I think.”

Rhage moved around so that he was leaning back against the wall, and she settled in between his legs, easing up against his chest. Maybe they should have moved over to the bed. It would have been more comfortable, after all. But the sense that some tremendous shift was occurring in their lives made it seem safer to stay on the ground—just in case the earthquake happening for both of them on an emotional level translated into the physical world somehow.

The damn thing would level the mansion into a pile of rubble.

“This is going to be a process, Rhage. It can’t happen overnight. There are going to have to be things we need to do, together and apart, to make sure this is real.”

But all that was just rhetoric.

In her heart, as far as she was concerned, the decision had been made.

Mary sat up and twisted around. “Do you want to be her father? I mean, I know where I stand—”

“It would be my honor and privilege.” He placed his dagger hand over his heart as he spoke in the Old Language. “It would be a duty that I would seek to fulfill all the nights I am upon this earth.”

Mary took a deep breath. And then cursed. “We’re going to have to explain to her what . . . I am. What you have.”

Oh, God, what if his beast and her . . . existential situation . . . precluded them from being prospective parents? And who made that decision? And where did they go to figure out how to do this?

With a groan, she fell back against Rhage’s strength. And it was funny . . . as she felt the pads of his muscles all around her, she knew that he would stand beside her for however long it took, never ducking from a challenge, pressing on with purpose and focus, going until they crossed the finish line.

That was just how he was made. He didn’t quit. Ever.

“I love you,” she said as she stared straight ahead.

“I love you, too.” He tucked her hair behind her ear and massaged her shoulders. “And, Mary . . . it’s all going to be okay. I promise.”

“They might not let us have her. Even if she wants us.”

“Why?”

“You know why. We’re not exactly ‘normal,’ Rhage.”

“Who is?”

“People who are alive in the conventional sense. And don’t have a beast who lives inside their body.”

As he fell silent, she felt bad, as if she’d ruined something. But they needed to be realistic.

Except Rhage just shrugged. “So we’ll get counseling. Or some shit.”

Mary laughed a little. “Counseling?”

“Sure. What the hell. I can talk about how I feel about the beast. And maybe he can eat a couple of counselors so he can internalize their constructive comments. I mean, jeez, acupuncture the fuck out of me and maybe the dragon will turn into a bunny or a titmouse or—”

“A titmouse.”

“Yeah, or like, a gopher. It could end up like a giant purple gopher who’s, like, a vegetarian.” As Mary started laughing harder, he stroked her arms. “What about a Cavalier King Charles spaniel.”

“Oh, come on—”

“No, no, I got it. I know what it’s going to be.”

Mary rolled over in his lap and smiled up at him. “Be gentle. I’ve had a rough morning. Well, except for the shower part. That wasn’t hard at all.”

Rhage held up his forefinger. “Okay, first of all, something was hard in there. And you know that firsthand.” As she laughed again, he nodded. “Uh-huh. That’s right. And as for the beast’s alter identity—how about an enormous purple jack-alope.”

“They don’t exist!”

“Fine. A snape.”

“Also doesn’t exist.”

“Then I could make the dreams of snape hunters worldwide come true.” Rhage smiled. “Who could turn us down then. After I pull a public service like that?”

“You’re absolutely right.” She stroked his face. “We need to put the acupuncture/jack-alope plan into immediate effect.”

Rhage scrunched down and kissed her. “I love it when we’re on the same page. I just love it.”

FIFTY

When night fell, Layla was largely nonplussed. One of the disadvantages of living in the training center underground was that she was unable to set her internal clock to the rhythms of the sun and moon. Time was just numbers on a clock face, meals appearing when they did, visitors and traffic coming and going in random patterns that eventually meant little in terms of night and day.

Her sleep had fallen into a cycle of six hours of wakefulness followed by three hours of fitful dreams. Repeat, ad nauseam.

Usually.

This evening, however, as the electronic clock showed a glowing red eight followed by a sixteen after the two vertical dots, she closed her eyes with a purpose beyond that of sleep.

She had agonized over this since her resolution after the ultrasound. Had run the yes’s and no’s through her brain until she thought she would go mad.

In the end, she had made up her mind, for better or for worse.

Probably for worse. Because that was just how things always went for her when it came to Xcor.

Taking a deep breath, she found that everything irritated her. The sheets felt itchy. The pillow under her head was not in the correct position, and her moving it up and down didn’t help. The weight of her belly seemed enormous, an entity separate from the rest of her body. Her feet twitched as if someone were tickling them with a feather. Her lungs seemed to only partially inflate.

Take out the “seem.”

And the darkness of her room amplified everything.

With a curse, she discovered her eyes had opened themselves, and she wished she had tape so she could make her lids stay shut.

Concentrating, she forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply. Relaxed the tension in her body starting at her toes and going to the tips of her ears. Calmed her mind.

Sleep arrived in a gentle wave, submerging her beneath common consciousness, setting her free of the aches and pains, the worry and fear.

The guilt.

She gave herself a moment to enjoy the weightless float. And then she sent her core self, her soul, that magic light that animated her flesh, not just off the hospital bed and out of the room, not just down the corridor and free of the training center . . . but out of the realm of earthly reality.