Page 122 of Blood Red Rage

“Tomorrow?”

“No.”

“Next week?”

“Bryn.”

“I'm checking.”

His hands tightened around my hips. “I am not rushing out to hunt Ceasar.” The bond remained steady, there was no lie, no hidden intention. I finally breathed.

“Okay.” Viking pulled me closer. My arms went around his shoulders carefully. His mouth brushed my temple.

“I'm not leaving you to chase him into another trap.” I whisper as my eyes closed.

“You promise?”

His hand settled over our baby. “I promise.”

Behind us, Roman quietly exhaled. Draugr muttered, “Look at that. He can learn.”

Viking lifted his head his eyes squinting in anger. “Fuck off.”

Draugr smiled. “There he is.”

I laughed, actually laughed. Viking looked at me and whatever insult he'd been preparing for Draugr disappeared. His expression softened, his thumb brushed beneath my eye. I felt it through the bond, relief, love, something almost peaceful. Ceasar was still alive, Malakai was still out there, Demons were gathering. They had killed seven of our men, war was not coming it was already here. None of that had changed, but Viking wasn't running toward it anymore.

Not blindly, not alone because he had brothers who would fight beside him. A family that would stand behind him, a mate who would absolutely kick his arse if he tried doing something that stupid again and a child, he intended to live long enough to hold. For now, that was enough.

I rested my forehead against his, his hand remained warm over our baby. And for the first time since I'd watched Viking's eyes close on that blood-covered table, the fear inside my chest loosened enough for me to breathe. He was here, healing, he was mine, and this time, when the war came for the Dragic family, we wouldn't chase it into the darkness. They would make it come to us.

Chapter 19

Six months changed everything, it wasn’t enough to end a war or to kill Ceasar. Not even enough to stop the demons from crawling out of whatever fucking holes they had been hiding in for decades, but it was enough to teach us how to live while the world burned.

There was no pretending anymore. No quiet business deals behind closed doors. No careful separation between the supernatural world and the one humans thought they understood. The war had become real, it wasn’t public, not completely but it was real enough.

Warehouses burned, safe houses disappeared overnight, entire demon cells were found butchered in abandoned tunnels. Vampires were dragged out of clubs and alleyways and left as warnings. Our men hit back harder, every week brought another body, another attack, another fucking name added to a list I had stopped wanting to read.

Ceasar had built his war exactly the way Roman predicted. Slowly at first, then everywhere, and Malakai...or whoever the fuck we thought was Malakai...had made it worse.

Demons no longer fought like scattered creatures but moved like soldiers. They had commanders, routes, supply lines, weapons, safe houses, plans. They struck our businesses, our men, our allies and anyone stupid enough to remain neutral for too long, but they never came near the mansion again. Not once, that had been intentional.

The property now had enough security to survive a fucking siege. Reinforced walls, silver-lined barriers, wards commissioned from witches I didn't trust but Roman did. Patrols twenty-four hours a day, Changelings spread through the woods. Vampire guards at every access point, escape tunnels beneath the house.

Bryn said living there occasionally felt like being pregnant inside a military base. I told her that was ridiculous, but she told me there were three armed vampires outside the kitchen while she made toast. I know it feels overwhelming for her, but her safety is the most important thing, but I told her that sounded reasonable.

She threw the toast at me, marriage material, not that we were married. Yet. That argument was coming, I could feel it. There were many arguments in our house. Bryn's favourite seemed to be telling me I was unreasonable. Mine was explaining why I was absolutely fucking reasonable and she simply lacked survival instincts. Neither of us had won, somehow, that worked.

Seven months pregnant, my mate had become even more dangerous than Ceasar. At least Ceasar feared me, but Bryn didn't, not even slightly. “Viking.”

I stopped outside the bedroom, that tone. Fuck. I turned slowly, Bryn stood in the doorway with one hand braced against the frame and the other beneath her stomach. Her enormous stomach, not that I would say that to her. Our children, two, fucking two. The universe had apparently decided one baby wasn't enough punishment for every bad thing I'd done in my existence. Twins, a boy and a girl, I still hadn't recovered from that I probably never would.

“What?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Where are my shoes?”

I looked down, bare feet, then back at her. “What shoes?”