Conception Page 3

  Another one of her grandfather’s Plan Bs.

  “I am grateful.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  The bitterness in those two words pulled Deuce up short. He looked down into Eden’s set expression and the lines of strain etched into her face. Her features were as familiar to him as his own, from her big blue eyes to the softly rounded cheeks beneath. Everything about her was soft. Giving. At least, it had been when they’d first met. She was outwardly harder now. Wherever she’d been the last year had changed her.

  Another wail came from the depths of her coat.

  “Sssh, baby,” Eden whispered in her soft voice, ducking her head to peer inside the coat so all he had to look at was the bedraggled pom-pom flopping on the top of her knit cap. He suppressed an urge to snatch the hat off her head so he could see the bright yellow curls he knew were hidden beneath. He didn’t like the changes in her. The mystery that shrouded what once had been clear. She was his. There could be no secrets between them.

  She rubbed her hands over the bulge in her middle. “It’s going to be all right,” she whispered to the fussing baby. “We’re here. You’ll be safe now.”

  Deuce did not need a psychic connection to hear the desperation in her voice. He doubted the baby did either as it continued to wail. Anguish and guilt clouded Eden’s scent as she stood in the frigid night, rubbing the baby’s back, collecting snowflakes and bravado with every second that passed, managing to look fragile and strong in the same breath. His path became clear. She was his, given to him by the Maker. His to protect. To cherish. To pleasure in this life and the next. He could not turn away from her any more than he could stop his next breath. She was his mate, and she needed care.

  Deuce forestalled Eden’s effort to walk by simply sliding an arm under her knees and lifting her up. The scent of fresh blood immediately intensified. As she threw an arm around his neck for support, the underlying taint of infection mingled with the soft scent of woman. He frowned, gliding quickly over the snow to where Harley waited. Before all else, her injuries needed to be tended.

  The wolf said nothing as he approached, though the amused lift of his brow had Eden stiffening in Deuce’s arms.

  “He’s one of yours?” she asked, blinking at him as a snowflake landed in her eye. Her weight shifted as she reached into her pocket.

  “Yes.” He tipped her against his body, using her imbalance to remove the small handgun from her grip. He tossed it to Harley who caught it easily.

  Eden glared at Harley as he deftly emptied the bullets out of the chamber and tucked the gun into his pocket. “I should have aimed higher.”

  Deuce forestalled Harley’s response with a slight shake of his head. “I would have been displeased had you hurt him,” he advised her softly, turning slightly to shield her from the wind when she shivered.

  Eden’s wry “As if that would ruin my day”, dry with sarcasm and weariness, was muttered into the pad of his chest. The words breathed through the silk of his shirt melted hot and sweet against his skin, triggering memories of when she’d teased him with her wit as well as her body. After a year of deprivation, his flesh welcomed the incidental caress. He shifted her higher in his arms, so her next breath drifted past the open collar of his shirt, gliding across his throat in a moist promise of what could be.

  Beneath the veneer of civilization, all Chosen were prone to baser emotions. He more so than most, apparently. He wanted nothing more than to lay her down in the snow and stake his claim, despite her injury, the baby, or Harley’s assessing gaze. Maybe more so because of the other male’s presence. There was too much admiration in the wolf’s eyes when he looked at Eden.

  The baby cried again, drawing his attention. The faintest tickle of its scent touched his nose. Female and…familiar? He frowned as the cry warbled higher. There was more anger in the cry, but its timbre was weaker, as if the little one also suffered. It was not the way of his people to harm children. As much as he resented what this child represented, he could not resist the high-pitched plea. With a thought, he sent the zipper of Eden’s yellow parka down just enough to slide his finger through. All he could see was a round head covered in delicate blonde peach fuzz. The touch to the baby was meant to be soothing, calming, but as soon as his finger connected with the downy cheek, all hell broke loose inside him.

  Pain. Hunger. Loneliness.

  The torrent poured over him in an unrelenting wave. The depth of the rage that swelled in response shocked him. His fangs exploded into his mouth as the child’s scent encompassed him. His grip on Eden tightened to the point that she grunted in protest. He closed his eyes and summoned the calm he normally took for granted. He turned to Harley who watched him in wary confusion, all indolence gone from his posture, no doubt scenting his loss of control.

  With a jerk of his chin, Deuce directed Harley’s attention to the broken path in the snow. “Remove all traces of her approach.”

  Harley pulled to his full six-foot-three-inches of height beside the snowmobile. He was one of the few Others tall enough to look Deuce in the eye. “Are we expecting company?”

  “Yes,” Deuce responded, touching his mind to the baby’s, soothing her tears with a thought, struggling to cope with the emotions overwhelming him. “But no harm will come to my daughter.”

  He ignored the wolf’s shock along with Eden’s startled protest, and launched into the air. As soon as he had his mate and daughter to safety, he would have answers.

  Chapter Three

  “Are you feeling better?”

  Eden bit her tongue on a “Hell no” and ignored both Deuce’s question and the imperious knock on the bathroom door that followed it. She pulled up from leaning over the toilet, and rested her cheek on the cool porcelain tank. She’d just been picked up by a man who leapt into the air, seemed to change into a giant bird with a flex of muscle, swooped her over hill and dale before landing in front of a brick monstrosity of a house, whereupon he pronounced them home. The memory alone made her stomach roil with a new set of dry heaves. She rolled her forehead against the cool porcelain. She’d thought she was immune to everything, but this was going to take some getting used to.

  The knock came on the door again. It wasn’t hesitant. How had she ever thought Deuce anything but arrogant?

  “Do you need assistance?”

  “No thank you. I can handle vomiting all by myself.”

  There was a pause, as if he were circling her answer. “I would help you.”

  He’d said that before and she was just as vehemently opposed now as she had been ten minutes ago. “Sorry, Deuce, but there are just some things a woman insists on doing for herself.”

  The door swung open as if she hadn’t locked it firmly behind her.

  She put as much effort as she could into her glare. “I locked the door.”

  He shrugged uncaringly, the baby snuggled in the crook of his arm. “It was necessary to see to you.” He stood huge and tall in the doorway, a mouth-watering vision of aggressive masculinity holding his child tenderly in his big arms. The baby contentedly stared up at his face, as if fascinated by the way all those planes and angles came together in such a compelling package. She knew exactly how her daughter felt. She’d reacted the same way when she’d first seen him. Deuce was strong, fascinating, dangerous and gentle. Everything she’d ever dreamed of, but he was no longer for her.

  She had to remember that. As soon as she assured herself that the baby was safe, she was going back. And she was going to make sure that her grandfather was never a threat to anyone again. She shoved to her feet, bumped her shoulder on the edge of the sink, and fell back to her knees.

  Deuce came forward, his shadow gliding over her. “If you had waited, I would have helped you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You are weak.”

  Eden waved away his concern. “It’s a temporary thing.”

  She didn’t look at the baby again. It was too bittersweet to see them together, knowing she wasn’t goin
g to be part of their future. Her stomach lurched. She refused, absolutely refused, to get sick in front of Deuce. “Go away.”

  He held out his hand. “It is my duty to care for you.”

  Great. Just what she wanted—to be someone’s duty.

  “I don’t need to be cared for.” She struggled to stand, but she was so wedged between the wall and the basin that she couldn’t get leverage.

  The quirk of his brow was the only indication that he knew her for a liar. His fingers slid under her arm, sending goose bumps down her spine despite the barrier of her heavy coat. She’d always been way too sensitive to his touch. “I think, maybe this time, I could be of assistance.”

  She didn’t say a word, but allowed his much greater strength to free her.

  He kept his hand under her arm as she attained her feet, steadying her. In his other arm, the baby dozed, contented as she’d never been content with her. She blinked back a surge of tears. She’d made the right decision bringing her here. Still staring at that sweet face, with its pale cheeks, tiny mouth and button nose, she whispered, “Thank you.”

  “You are welcome.”

  Water suddenly poured into the sink, making her jump. Deuce’s grip on her arm tightened briefly, and then he released her to reach for one of the thick blue washcloths. Water droplets bounced off the dry material in a desperate bid for freedom, only to splatter pointlessly against the side of the sink. Her chances of escape were about as good. There was no way out except the window above the toilet or the door directly behind Deuce. And no way to avoid him unless she wanted to step into that huge, totally decadent shower with its multiple heads and unexpected seats.

  Deuce placed the cool damp cloth against her cheeks, gently wiping away her sweat and stress. She made the mistake of looking into his face as the cloth curved beneath her chin. His expression was intent, mesmerizing. She found herself wanting to lean into him, to give him what he wanted—her heart, her soul, her body. Her pussy clenched and wept in hope. Her nipples beaded and ached. The fact that she was feeling this way in the shape she was in was a definite heads-up.

  “Stop it,” she hissed, pulling her gaze from his with tremendous effort. Both she and her hormones needed to get a grip. Falling under his spell was not going to save her daughter. This time both brows lifted above his wickedly sexy dark eyes, sending her pulse tripping along with her hormones, which had long since bolted from the starting gate.

  “I am doing nothing.”

  She took the cloth out of his hand, making sure their fingers didn’t touch. “Right.”

  He paused, a slight smile on his lips. “You cannot be upset because my body calls to yours?”

  “Want to bet?” She scrubbed at her face with the now warm cloth.

  The smile deepened to real amusement. “That is not logical.”

  “Logical or not, that’s the way it’s going to be. Your body can call all it wants. Mine’s not answering.”

  Deuce’s slight smile deepened to real amusement. “I can smell your arousal, Eden.”

  Mortification started at her toes and just kept climbing until she was choking on it. “You’re making that up.”

  He took the cloth from her frozen fingers and ran it under the cold water again. He handed it back. “I have a very acute sense of smell.”

  No matter what angle she tried, there wasn’t a good way to respond. She was trapped. By her past, her body, and her plan. She looked at the baby again. She had to remember her purpose. And to keep her distance.

  “Well, good for you.” She tossed the cloth into the sink. Keeping her distance was going to be easier said than done. She had to be insane to think the attraction wouldn’t be there anymore. To assume Deuce’s anger would be a barrier she could count on. “Excuse me.”

  He stepped aside, letting her pass. She could feel his eyes upon her, feel the questions he wanted to ask. In his way, Deuce was as relentless as her grandfather. She needed a moment to regroup and rebuild her defenses.

  “Has your nausea passed?” a deep voice asked out of the darkness of the bedroom. She spun around, searching for the source.

  The stranger sat to the left, dominating the upholstered chair he occupied. He was a big man, impressively built with muscles that strained the civility of his cotton shirt and jeans. The angles of his face had been cut with a ruthless hand, emphasizing the raw power that burned in his slanted black eyes. His lips were set in the same uncompromising line as his expression. He was unrelentingly masculine. And scary. Definitely scary. She backed up. Right into Dusan. She immediately took a step forward, and then, realizing she had nowhere to go, braced herself for the confrontation.

  The stranger rose to his feet, for a moment blending with the gloom before shimmering into focus. She blinked, not sure she’d seen what she thought she had.

  “I startled you. I am sorry.”

  He didn’t seem sorry. He was studying her like she was some kind of bug under a microscope. His speech had the same cadence as Deuce’s, but she didn’t need that to tell her he was another Chosen. He radiated that same power, that same magnetism, and as she looked into his face, an aura of sadness that struck straight to her core.

  “It’s all right.”

  He took another step forward, but when she instinctively flinched back he stopped, his long black hair sliding forward. He quelled the defiance with a sharp gesture. “I am not here to hurt you.”

  “That’s good to know.” She’d form her own conclusion in regard to his threat level later.

  “The man before you is my brother, Bohdan,” Dusan said over her shoulder. She glanced back. She could see the similarity now. Both had the same golden coloring, same strength, same harsh edge to their features. Both were incredibly handsome in a rawly masculine way. Both looked as dangerous as hell. The baby hiccupped. He paused to murmur some nonsense into her tiny ear, and then continued. “He is our healer.”

  “You are tired.” Bohdan stepped to the side, motioning to the chair he had vacated. “Please sit.”

  Both men watched every nuance of her progress toward the chair. Eden sat cautiously, keeping both of them in her line of sight. The way they held themselves, as if only waiting for the right moment to pounce was not making her comfortable. They wanted something from her. Something they thought she wouldn’t give. The two men exchanged glances before Bohdan stepped forward.

  “I would like to examine you.”

  Panic ricocheted through her system. She couldn’t tell if it came from within or without, whether it was hers or the strange woman’s who’d helped her, but it didn’t matter. She grabbed the wooden arms of the chair. “No.”

  “You are injured.”

  “I won’t die.”

  “You have an infection,” Deuce countered quietly, as if softening his speech was going to soften her resistance. “We cannot allow your health to deteriorate.”

  She wiped the perspiration from her face. It was hot in the coat and the hat but as long as they were in the room, she couldn’t take it off. If they touched her skin, her defenses would crumble. She couldn’t allow the Coalition to find her before she was ready.

  “I’m not comfortable with either of you touching me.”

  Dusan handed the baby to his brother. Not for the first time she marveled at the ease with which he moved, the way he seemed to glide rather than walk. He was pure beauty and temptation. She sighed. And he was watching her eat him up with her eyes. She dropped her gaze to the patterns in the Oriental rug, too little too late, but it was all she had. She was so tired.

  His boots came into her line of vision, the scuffed toes surprising her. She remembered everything about him as being perfect. His thigh muscles bunched, straining the fabric of his jeans as he squatted beside her chair, his face tilting up to hers, his black eyes giving away nothing as he said in that quiet voice, “You must be reasonable, Edie mine.”

  And that fast, he shot past her guard, the old endearment finding her vulnerable spot, the part of her that cl
ung to the romance of his old-fashioned courting, the part that wanted to believe nothing in the last year mattered, that everything wasn’t different now, that her daughter’s future didn’t rest solely in her hands. She blinked rapidly to dispel the memories and the stupid “what-ifs” they conjured.

  “I’m fine.” She had to be.

  “Are you fine in the same way you are not hot?”

  “Yes. I mean no.” Damn it! How could he rattle her so easily?

  “You came all this way to find me.” His head tilted ever so slightly to the side, in one of his subtle gestures that said so much more than words. “Would you not look at me now that you are here?”

  “No.” She couldn’t. She couldn’t stand to see his face without the love. She wasn’t strong enough for that. Not now. She kept her gaze off to the side, over his shoulder.

  She was not surprised he persisted. “Are we going to play word games all night?”

  She shot him a quick glance, finding nothing but calm, gentleness, and concern in his expression. “Do you have to go into a hole come morning?”

  “I will sleep in my chamber, yes.”

  “Then, absolutely.”

  Bohdan’s laugh caught her by surprise. “You are stubborn.”

  “And opinionated,” she added, not looking up. “It’s considered a plus nowadays in a woman.”

  “You think I would not appreciate your independence?” Dusan asked in that same gentle voice he’d used since she’d met him.

  This time she did look up at him, hoping to catch something in his expression beyond that controlled calm, but whatever she’d hoped to find, it wasn’t there. “I think you’d appreciate right up until my independence came up against your wishes.”

  He smiled. Small creases fanned out from the corners of his eyes and melded with the severity of his cheekbones, creating a composite image of rugged masculinity. “Like now?”