Page 13 of Pack Baby for the Bratva
“Milly…” I whispered.
Artem’s scent, which had been a flatline since she disappeared, the lack of a scent that the doctor had classified as "grief-suppressed", detonated. The crystal decanter on the side table rattled.
Artem was already moving toward me, his long strides eating up the distance to the door. "Where is she?"
"She’s in Scotland."
Mary’s eyes widened.
The chair went backward, hitting the floor.
"Scotland," Artem repeated, and then he grinned. My brother had spent nine months punching walls, throwing furniture, and growling at anyone in his vicinity, and now he was grinning like a child on Christmas morning. "Where in Scotland?"
"Edinburgh. And she’s buying a cot. Which means she is either pregnant, or she has developed an unusual hobby, and given the timeline, I’m going with—"
"Ivan?" Artem was on my side, looking at the screen. Then he looked at me. "Boots," he said, processing. "Boots is for... that’s for..."
"Babies, Artem." I didn’t blink.
"She’s having our baby."
"Yes."
"We’re having a—"
"Sorry, Mary," I interrupted, standing and moving toward the door. "We need to leave. But remember, Killian and Blade are in charge. No running away until we know it’s safe for you to go home."
And until we know the marriage contract has been dissolved.
Mary sat up straighter, her expression went from amusement to something sharper. "Wait. Are you leaving now? But I haven’t even had lunch yet."
Artem shot her a look that would have made a lesser woman wilt. "It’s on order. Stay here and you’ll live until your food arrives."
She grinned. "Fine. But if you find her, tell her she’s very lucky. And if she’s smart, she’ll run toward you next time, not away."
I paused, my hand on the doorknob. "You’re not as scared of us as you should be, Mary."
She shrugged. "I’ve spent my life around men who think they’re gods. You three are just... men. Scary men, yes. But at least you’re honest about it." She tilted her head, studying me. "Though I do think you’re the best-looking of the bunch. If I had to marry one of you..."
I groaned.
Gregor, who had joined us but had been silent until now, let out a choked laugh.
I held up a hand. "No. Absolutely not. You’re far too young for me."
Mary’s grin turned wicked. "I’m eighteen. That’s legal. And I like older men."
"Jesus," I muttered. “You should steer clear of men like me.”
“Should she? The omega you’re obsessed with?”
Probably.“She’s different. She’s ours.”
"And you?" She turned to Gregor. "Would you marry me, Gregor?"
Gregor didn’t look up. "No."
"No explanation?"
