Page 49 of Peacock Me Like a Hurricane (Rise of the Resistance #2)
TAURUS
W hat an absolute bloody train wreck that was.
Imagine for a moment: a stunningly handsome, cosmopolitan git sitting in a public pew at a church with his equally dangerous mate while listening to a Southern pastor drone on about forgiveness and turning the other cheek.
This time I give you permission to laugh because it had to be comical. Talia did her best to look normal in a demure floral number, but she’s lithe and tan with the look of a woman who takes no shit. Clad in silk and Armani and though I’ll admit to being striking, normal looking, I am not. We looked like new money Yankees on vacation in Florida. Accurate—if you think about it—but fit in? Not a chance in hell.
Talia’s mum is a nightmare, but her grand-mum is a delicate lady. She insisted that Talia come to a church event in their town, and since neither of them is fond of electronic communication—nor do they know that she lives in another dimension—the message got delayed. By the time my primary got the heads up, it was too late to decline. That’s why she called me this morning in a fury.
Usually I do the best that I can to endure when we have to make the occasional trip to visit. Today, it felt like my skin was shrinking on my bloody skeleton. Every minute I was there and not at home with my minx made me itch all over in anticipation.
I bloody hate waiting for anything. Period.
Talia finally took pity on me and sent me a pocket text to rescue me. She gave me an out by pretending to be the Company so I could get home before I exploded. She found the whole situation hysterical. If she hadn’t helped me duck out, then she would have paid for her titters.
It hits me again as I hurry home. Today might be the day. Since the day she told me about the heat and we gave this a try, waiting has been like sitting on pins and pitchforks. We’ve been working our tails off—literally—to increase our chances by getting frisky frequently. Not that it’s such a trial, mind you, but it’s been ten days and I’m aching to see if it paid off.
The wait is almost over—bugger.
I never tested the information her contact on the other side gave her with the lab coats. doing research of their own. I should have checked, and that’s eating at me now. I trusted her to know if the git she tapped had the creds to back up his statements. It’s unlike me not to verify anyway, though. What if we’ve put all this stock into a huge bloody miscalculation?
Christ, I can’t think about that now.
Waiting has made me irritable—more than normal, thank you very much—and unable to focus. I need to find out and Hell help me, if we find out she’s not, I don’t know what I’ll do.
My distraction explains why I haven’t even taken the time to inspect the construction in our home. I’ve had the building going since we mated. I wanted to give her a proper place for us. I wanted us to have a haven of sorts — some place that is only ours. I’ve been adding little bits to our home piece by piece as we grow closer. I used to check every day to see what was in the works and what they completed, but not this week.
I walk into our bedroom and the sight of my Sandwich nearly knocks me off my feet.
This is normally the point in the day that I’d be rushing in to bury my face against her neck—among other places—but I can’t yet. She looks so vital and so beautiful that I can hardly step into the room. My heart seizes up and I stop to watch her for a moment. It does something to a man to see his woman wearing his clothes. Usually, for me, it’s something akin to sending my temper into overdrive.
With her, it just melts me inside.
She’s sitting on the bed with headphones in her ears as she leans against the beautiful white tiger. That sneaky shit ferret perches above her head. He’s clutching something shiny that had better not be mine. The minx is chowing down on the biggest bowl of ice cream that I’ve ever seen outside of a gallon tub and she’s only wearing one of my shirts and a pair of knee socks with superhero capes on them. Her toes are wiggling to the beat as she reads a book that is floating in front of her. With her hands free, she continues scarfing down what smells like mint chocolate chip from here.
She’s vibrant and alive and most importantly, mine.
Her nostrils flare and a smile spreads across her face. She tugs the headphones out of her ears and tosses them in her little bowl. “I feel you,” she sing-songs.
Grinning, I reach for her heart through our connection and give it a brush with my own. “I know, love. I feel you, too–all the time now. You looked so perfect that I wanted to watch you for a bit.”
Her smile widens, and she closes the book with a thought, turning to put it to the nightstand as well. If I know her—and I do—she’s turning away to hide the faint blush she gets when I surprise her with a compliment. It’s one of her most endearing traits, and it draws me to her side like a moth to a flame.
Looking over her shoulder, she smiles. Her curls tumble around her face like a fiery wreath. “You should always come in. I always want to see you, but especially today.”
I cross the room, stopping to scratch Aradia behind the ears and glare at the rat. He gives me a dirty look right back—I bloody swear—and scampers off with his spoils. I do not know what he’s got, but I’m sure I’ll be rampaging later when I discover that it’s missing.
Dropping a kiss to her lips, I run a fingertip down her cheek in a soft caress. She’s much more important than the walking scarf.
“I don’t know about you, but I think that’s better than watching from the door.” She stretches and grunts as she shifts, then leans over and growls at the tiger. Aradia grumbles back, and she gives her rump a pat before the graceful cat leaps from the bed and lumbers to her own.
I will have to buy the princess a bigger bed soon. Putting it on my mental checklist, I laugh as the minx tugs me down with her.
Christ, I missed her.
“How did your day go?” Her eyes dance and I can tell she’s poking at me.
Stretching out next to her, I pull her into my arms and kiss the top of her head. “Other than the last-minute church summons?”
Her deep chuckle vibrates against my chest. “What was that about?”
I snort and shake my head ruefully. “I’d rather not talk about it, love of mine. I’m still in a state of shock: the roof neither caved in nor was I struck by lightning.”
“Okay, baby. What do you want to talk about?”
As soon as she asks, my stomach churns and I’m hit with a wave of emotion that lesser clones might label as fear. All the waiting and hoping slams painfully into my chest. My arms tighten around her and I mutter, “I don’t know; I’m nervous.”
There’s an admission that I never expected to make.
It surprises her because she combs her fingers through my hair and tilts her head to look at me. “You’re nervous, baby?”
Sorry sack that I am, the best that I can do is nod a little before I rest my head on top of hers.
“Why?”
I lay a palm on her tummy and murmur, “Today.”
Her smile is soft when I look up at her. I see the warmth and love in her eyes as she looks back at me. “You’ve been waiting all day, huh?”
I nod and stroke her stomach softly. “Now I’m not sure that I want to know. I’m too worried that you won’t be and too worried that you will be.”
“We don’t have to do this so soon, baby. We can wait.”
The twinge of pain twisting my gut decides things for me quickly. I frown and shake my head. “That’s no better.” Sitting up and leaning against the headboard, I pull her into my arms. “How about you, my love? Do you want to know or not?”
She lays a palm over her tummy, rubbing in a slow circle. “Do I want to know if we’ve made a miracle?” The look she gives me is about as tender as I’ve ever seen, and her lips curve into a soft grin. “I want to know if you do.” For a moment, something akin to worry clouds her baby blues and she looks a mite concerned. “You keep asking me and checking to see if I still want to. It’s kind of making me worry that you’re not sure.”
Jesus. It feels like she hit me upside the head with something heavy. Stricken, I roll over and cup her face in my hands. “Oh, baby, no. Bloody hell, no. I want this so much that I can’t think of anything but you and our wee nipper. I’ve not one doubt.”
Her face brightens, and she reaches up to trail her fingers along the length of my jaw. “Then I want to know.” I grin widely as her belly rumbles and she makes a face. “Or I want to know once I go to the bathroom. Then I want food. I have to give you something. Did you book the egghead?”
The grin fades from my face, and I groan. “Oh, bloody hell.”
Moving quickly, I bolt up off the bed and grab the phone I’d left in the pocket of my duster.
How in the buggering hell did I forget to book the doc?
The most important part of doing the test is having someone to do the test. I shoot a glance at my very amused-looking woman. “You go to the loo, baby. I’ll make a call and we’ll have one here in no time.”
She struggles to hide a grin as she slides off the bed. “All right, baby. I’ll give you the thing when I get back.” Padding over to the bathroom, she hits the panel and slips inside, her hips swaying as she goes.
As hard as we are on the bloody things, I will have to replace those slide lock mechanisms left and right. It didn’t feel like a design flaw when I— I stop, my brows furrowing. She’s mentioned whatever it is she has several times, so it must be important. Am I forgetting an anniversary or birthday? Do humans give gifts for finding out if you’re knocked up and I’m an ignorant git?
Christ. First thing’s first, I have to make this call.
The listing for the git I need is in my contacts right at the top. I figure that he might take some convincing. Given the whole of the situation, I’m ready for that. As soon as he picks up, I say, “Mikhail, Taurus. Yeah. No, no, Talia smoothed that out for me. You know her. Yeah. No. No. No, sod it all, it wasn’t me.” I roll my eyes, sighing at his pedantry. The prat starts right in on my grievous sins and doesn’t let me say why I called. “Mikhail. Mikhail. Bloody hell, Mikhail! No, I need a doc. I know they don’t normally make house calls, you git. I don’t care.” My temper’s starting to froth; I feel it. “Mikhail, I need a doc. Get me one. Right. No, not there. Sandwich needs him.”
I roll my eyes again and drop my head. It’s not surprising that this little tête-à-tête is mostly the man prattling on incessantly about inconsequential shit. It’s his bloody template’s make-up, I sodding swear. “I’m not abusing my authority for a triviality. She might be pregnant with my child, you bloody wanker. I want a bloody lab coat to do the sodding test !”
That seems to shut him up for all about five seconds. It gives me time to at least try to get my temper under control. I take a deep breath and hope for calm. It’s not normally a strong suit of mine, but I suppose it would do me well to remember that I’m asking for a favor. If the prat doesn’t give it to me, I’m heading over to the Company and beating it out of him. I may as well try diplomacy first, though. I’m not in the mood to leave my mate right now.
“Right,” I say when he finally asks me for confirmation of what I said. “No. Yeah. Yeah. You heard me. Right. Good. Right.”
It’s about time! Bugger says he’ll send someone right over.
That’s as it should be, after all I’ve done for the sod since we started working together. The fluttering in my stomach right now is nothing but a feeling of righteous satisfaction. It’s not relief or gratitude. “Mikhail? Thanks.”
That little gem slips out before I have time to hang up and I know I will never live it down.
The frustration of not being in control might account for the hurling of my phone at the couch. I storm over to the bed and throw myself down on the comforter, leaning back against the headboard with my hands behind my head as I wait for the woman to get finished with the bathroom.
My minx slips out of the door and smiles brightly when she sees me. I can’t explain the kick her smile gives my heart or the squeeze of love that wraps around the whole of my soul. I don’t figure that I need to, though.
“All worked out?” she asks, climbing back into bed. She lies on her side with her head on my thigh and my hand drops to comb gently through her hair.
“Yeah, baby, it shouldn’t be long.”
She smiles at the caress. Her tummy gives a Beast-worthy growl, and it makes me grin.
“Are you still hungry?” I ask.
Sandwich closes her eyes without answering me. Before I question her or make any comment, there’s a bag of licorice laying on the spread next to her. My eyebrows arch with surprise. I haven’t seen her do that before. She’s obviously proud of herself when she opens her eyes and sees the bag. Looking up at me with a wicked grin, she crows, “Score. It worked.” Opening the bag, she pulls out a piece and starts munching, all cute and self-satisfied. “Yep. Hungry. Grrr.”
I chuckle low in my chest and run my fingertips over her cheek with pride in my eyes. Beltane’s opened a whole unknown world of tricks, from the floating tome to licorice apparition to a host of things I’m sure that I haven’t seen yet. Her magickal powers are increasing daily now that she is embracing them. I’m impressed, but then, she always impresses me.
“Kill any delivery boys today, baby?” I ask her idly.
It still amuses me to think about the way she’s taken to the hunt and kill with as much deadly efficiency as she does everything else. It’s like she was waiting for the right opportunity when I came knocking. Since there’s no shortage of food walking around with the constant comings and goings of the construction crews, I figure it’s as good a question to ask for small talk topics until the doc gets here.
I also love that her fierceness drives the writer wild, and she told me he gave her a lengthy lecture on morality. I couldn’t have been prouder of her when she told him she’s granted amnesty to the Thai because they give her indigestion. I doubt that it was the response he wanted and I’m sure that only lead to more pontificating on his part. She gets very vague when she’s trying not to worry me over their constant picking.
“No delivery boys,” she says as she chews another stick of licorice. “Mormons won’t bother me again, though.” She licks a fang and my eyes follow the action intently. So intently, in fact, that I almost miss what she says next. “They do always come when you’re naked, too.”
Blinking, I feel the demon inside me rage. Zero to royally brassed off in oh-point-three. I snarl low and grind out, “Someone saw you naked?”
She remains remarkably unconcerned—as if I’m not ready to hunt down every sodding Mormon in either dimension and do my personal interpretation of the last bloody supper.
“Nope. In a towel, but not for long. I was in the shower and all. They have the worst timing, those folks. How do they even get into the Rift?”
Okay. No need for a rampage—yet at least. Good to know. My demon feels mollified, though the ridges and fangs are out.
“Related to support staff at the Company, I suppose. Did you kill them all, love, or did you leave one for me to track down so I can pluck his eyes out?”
“I ate them both. Sorry, baby. I couldn’t take a chance on the leftovers leaving me pamphlets.” She finally turns her attention away from her snack and sets those gorgeous blue eyes on me. They kill the last small sizzles of irritation and my demon face melts away. My lips tug into a grin as she shrugs at me with a mock expression of innocence on her face. “I do so hate door-to-door religion salesmen.”
Playing into the dramatics, I toss a mock pout at her. I’m amused beyond the telling of it, given that she’s getting more and more in touch with her primal kitty and there’s nothing in me that’s got complaint one about hearing she’s killing so effectively.
“Oh!” She sits up and scoots over to the side table, rummaging around for something. Frowning when she can’t find it, she sits up and growls, “Yo ho!”
The scrawny rat comes running from the top of the curtains, his prize catching the light and winking. I can’t see what it is, but the minx gives him a stern look. Twist climbs up onto the nightstand, chittering, and drops the object in the drawer before taking off.
Hiding it in her palm, she looks up at me with shy eyes. I wonder for a moment exactly what my multi-faceted woman has in store for me. “So, last night, I had this, and I wanted to give it to you, but they occupied us. Before the lab coat gets here, I wanted to…”
I tilt my head. “Wanted to what, heart of mine?”
“I think I did a good job on estimating and getting it right, but I’ve wanted to give you this for now and we keep getting distracted.”
She drops it in my hand, looking as if she wants to sink into the bed and disappear. Her constant battle between bold, brassy confidence and shy waif both amuse and confound me. For someone so emotionally clued in, she always seems to wait for rejection. Who taught her that? I still haven’t figured it out since her household all seem to love her flaws, claws, and all.
The platinum band hits my palm and my eyes widen as I look at it. The inscription shines up at me: Gra Go Deo .
“I saw it and I thought of you. It means ‘love forever’ in Celtic. I hope you like it.” She ducks her head, looking like she’s going to disapparate herself to another room.
Humbled and awed, I look at the glittering ring. It’s so simple yet so elegant, conveying things that I don’t even think she realizes. If I weren’t so overwhelmed, I might wring the little sod’s neck for hiding it from her.
A smile forms on my lips and our eyes lock. Without a second of hesitation, I slip it onto my left hand, noting that the fit for my ring finger is perfect. She’s got an eye, that’s for sure. “Forever and a day will pass and my love for you and ours will shine as brightly as it has ever been.”
Her smile is shy as she murmurs, “I guess that means I did good?”
I look down at the ring, the spot it’s nestled in a symbol to me of my love and commitment to this woman. “You did more than okay. You move me.” I brush my hand over her cheek, the flush creeping over her skin even more endearing. “I guess this means I’m married now, huh?”
Her laugh is soft and tinkling. “It might be a good thing since you might have already knocked me up. That means I don’t have to get the shotgun out.”
“I don’t think it would take quite that much, love.”
“I’m only kidding. I don’t even own a shotgun. If I did, I probably wouldn’t point it at you.”
I snort. “That’s very comforting, wife.”
“Isn’t it?” She grins and leans over to peck me.
I open my mouth to retort and the doorbell rings, causing both of us to freeze in place. “That death knell isn’t as funny right now as when I had it installed,” I mutter.
She gives me a knowing look and I see that I’ve made her point nicely and once again, she’s won an argument by letting me talk myself into losing.
Damn, I love this woman.