Page 121 of Sire

The instinct that Wren is mine. The one I’m meant to be with. The mother of my babies. The woman I need to breed. It’s primal. Overwhelming. Highly inappropriate at this moment, and I don’t care.

Spring is the symbolic season of fertility. A time for new life and new beginnings. It’s the perfect day and Easter service … until an old, sinister spirit crawls up my spine, raising the hairs on my neck.

Searching over the pastel hats, this evil presence feels familiar. I spot the shadowy figure looming in the back.

The Devil’s advisor.

My father’s Sovietnik.

He’s here.

In his black suit, he blends in. His hair is silver now, but I’d recognize his vicious eyes anywhere.

They’re aimed at me.

I glance at Grant, sitting with Delphine in their usual pew. Praying Grant was too young to remember Viktor Aminoff from our tragic childhood, I finish the service.

Viktor would never cause a public scene. He lives in the shadows. He wantsme; I know.

It takes an hour for all to leave, including Grant and Delphine, but Wren stays, hugging the kids and their parents.

Sure, Mrs. Cabot leads a group of parishioners who hate Wren. They cut mean eyes. Whisper behind hands. They shame my age-gap marriage like I’m going to hell.

No fucking shit, I am.

And I’ll meet them there with their hypocrisy.

Wren is my salvation, and my only sin is everything I’ll do to keep her safe.

Like now.

I peck her cheek. “Why don’t you go with Ms. Davis and make sure the kids take their crafts home?”

She blinks. “But we didn’t have bible school today. It was a kids’ service.”

Fuck. Think.

“Then, wait for me in my office.” I kiss her, nipping her lip. “I want to play withyourbunny tail.”

“Yes, my lord.” Happily, she grabs her purse, swinging it over her shoulder.

I watch her disappear through a side door, towards my office, before Viktor rises from the shadows of the vestibule.

Yes, I’m a man of God, but I was born into evil. I expect the worst in most, so I prepare. From under the first pew, where Wren sits, I reach, pulling out the Glock I keep hidden there. There’s one hiding under my pulpit, too.

“What the fuck do you want?” I aim at Viktor, slowly stalking my way.

He smiles. “Dobryy den’.”

I sneer, “English. I won’t speakhislanguage.”

Thanks to my father, Russian is acid on my tongue.

“Good afternoon.” Viktor clasps his hands. His Russian accent thick, his English impeccable. “Impressive service. Impressive wife. She will make beautiful heirs.”

“Touch her and I’ll killyourheir. I’ll kill Katya.”

Katya, Axel’s first wife, is Viktor’s daughter. She always looked familiar, just like her father. She was the perfect succubus to seduce Axel: a female demon requiring semen to survive.