Page 115 of Pack Baby for the Bratva
"There's always a list, Gregor. That's what makes me fun at parties."
Gregor arched one scarred eyebrow.
I just smiled because Finn O'Shea was coming to Surrey to collect a debt. He was going to find a graveyard, a woman who wasn't afraid of him anymore, and three alphas who'd been waiting a very long time to have this particular conversation.
I couldn't wait.
27
Gregor
I had spent myentire life preparing for violence. It was the language I learned first, before Russian, before English, before I found my pack, or had the weight of a cooing baby in the crook of an arm. Only now, I felt my preparations were for Mac and Maeve and not the Bratva.
I wanted to destroy with my bare hands the man we expected to come to the house soon, but it was hard to stay focussed when my omega kept making faces at our son as she sat on the rug.
Maeve was on her stomach, propped on her elbows, holding a brightly colored block in front of her. Mac’s fists were waving, tracking the block with the intense concentration of a sniper spotting a target.
I leaned down and he tried to grab it, and Maeve made a sound of exaggerated delight and he released a gurgle that was either approval or a critique of her technique.
Fergus lay beside her on his back, paws in the air, having abandoned all pretense of guarding the home in favor of belly rubs from, to my great surprise, Ivan.
Artem took Mac from my arms. “Stop planning.”
“I’m not.”
I was. Finn O'Shea had arrived in England this morning.
I should have been in the armory with men, checking tactical loads. I should have been reviewing the gatehouse protocols, the sight lines from the upper windows, the evacuation route for the nursery. But I couldn’t drag myself away from them.
"If you glare at that window any harder, it's going to surrender," Maeve said without looking up.
"I’m looking at you through the reflection in the window.”
“Aww. My alphas are the sweetest." She rolled onto her side and propped her head on her hand.
Maeve smiled. It was the smile that meant she was about to say something that would make me uncomfortable in a way I didn't know how to name. "You're worried about tomorrow."
If he landed today, it would be too obvious to come to the house. Finn needed to gather his pawns before he prepared for battle.
"I’m preparing for tomorrow. Worry is inefficient."
"You're worried and you don't know what to do with your hands when you're not holding a weapon, so you're standing by the window like a bodyguard at a diplomatic function."
I looked down at my hands. They were empty. I had not noticed.
"I should hold Mac," I said.
"You could hold Mac," she agreed, and her voice had gone soft in the way it did when she was trying not to let me see that she understood me better than I understood myself.
She patted the space beside her.
I walked over and lowered myself onto the rug beside her. The movement was more awkward than it should have been. I was designed for concrete and combat boots, not wool rugs and wooden blocks, but Maeve turned to make room and Fergus rolled onto his side with a grunt.
"Here." Artem lowered Mac and settled him into my arms. He was warm and solid and smelled of milk and the faint lavender soap the housekeeper used on his laundry. His fist closed around my thumb.
"See? No weapons required."
"I am aware."
