Page 38 of Stars in Umbra (The Sable Riders #8)

Also, she hadn’t slept with anyone other than Mo, and her implant meant she’d been confident she had nothing to worry about.

With a jolt, Rina remembered his voice in the darkness, timbred and solemn, chanting those spine-chilling words.

Za ki zama tawa kuma uwar ‘ya’yana.

You are mine, and you will be the mother of our children.

Her breath hitched.

Her heart lurched against her ribs.

Had that chant, spoken like some archaic prayer, carried enough potency to become truth?

Panic slammed into her chest like a pressure wave.

She gripped the edge of the vanity to steady herself, knuckles white against the marble. Her mind replayed the moment, his fierce eyes, the power in his tone, the sense of an ancient potent force threading between them.

She’d thought it wild, fanciful, and incredibly intense.

Now it seemed prophetic.

Issa’s words crashed into her next. He’s a god-scion . The offspring of Sulfiqar, the Most High Deity of Sacra.

A god’s son.

A half-mortal man engineered by fate and time-honored bloodlines.

Her stomach churned.

Had he spoken this child into being, and was the baby now part divinity?

She tried to apply logic, order, and freakin’ reason to her panicked thoughts.

Her officer’s mind churning, dissecting it like a field operation, planning contingencies.

It was useless. Her cognition kept tangling.

Her instincts warred between clinging to Mo and telling him the news, and running as far and fast as her legs would take her.

Her emotions swirled: panic, fear, awe, and protectiveness.

Tears slid down her face as she sank to the floor, hugging her knees and rocking back and forth.

‘I’m not ready.’

She whispered the words, repeating them in a chant, even as her thought roiled.

What would happen to her career now? Was she even prepared to raise a child? With Mo, or without him?

Her chest heaved, and she realized she was on the verge of a panic attack.

She took a series of deep breaths to calm down.

It took several harsh inhales and a full round of grounding exercises, eyes closed, pulse counted, exhalations held and released, before her heartbeat slowed.

Then she rose on shaky legs, her fingers moving on their own, prying open the toilet lid and tossing the test in.

She flushed it, exhaling as the evidence disappeared with a rush of water.

She opened her eyes and turned to the mirror, staring at her pale face.

Her eyes appeared dilated, red, and bright. The bathroom lights were freakin’ harsh on her skin.

Her stomach churned again, but she stayed still, pressing her hands to her temples, whispering.

‘Get it together, Rina. Women have gone through this shit and survived it. You can do this.’

She stood for ages, working through her fears and doubts until Hanna’s voice called out.

Her mother needed help in the kitchen.

Rina moved in a haze, leaving the scene of her agonizing discovery.

She soon found herself stirring the eggs in a cast-iron skillet while Hanna chopped herbs with practiced speed.

The rhythmic thock-thock-thock of the knife’s blade helped steady Rina’s frayed nerves.

It was familiar and comforting, as was the scent of rosemary, sourdough, and wood smoke from the stove.

Light streamed in through the lace-curtained window, falling over the weathered stone benchtops and dancing across the copper pans that lined the wall.

Mother and daughter worked in easy silence.

Rina had always loved these quiet hours with Hanna.

Rina’s mother’s outlook on life was simple; no ranks or protocols, just hands moving in sync and a bond formed over shared meals.

Several times, Rina’s confession almost rose to her lips: I think I’m pregnant.

However, each time she swallowed it back down.

She craved her mother’s calm wisdom, her soft strength.

Yet saying the statement aloud would mean dragging Mo into the conversation before she’d even come to terms with it herself.

As if summoned by the thought, he appeared.

Mo stepped into the kitchen barefoot, his frame filling the doorway.

A worn tee clung to the sculpted planes of his chest, and gray sweatpants rode his hips.

His mussed, dark shoulder-length hair fell over his forehead, and his eyes, those storm-flecked, maddening eyes, locked onto hers.

Rina’s breath caught.

He crossed the room without a word and dipped his head to press a kiss to her mouth.

His embrace was unhurried, unapologetic, and full of sentiment that made her knees falter.

His palm slid across the small of her back, anchoring her to him as if to say I’m here. I’m real. You’re mine.

Hanna let out a delighted laugh behind them, dabbing flour from her hands with a cloth. ‘Well, good morning, Mo. That’s a warm Dunian welcome if I’ve ever seen one.’

Rina flushed and pulled back, smoothing her shirt.

Mo grinned, unrepentant, before brushing a kiss to Hanna’s cheek. ‘Good morning, tanti . Whatever you’re making looks delicious, you’re spoiling us.’

Hanna giggled, and Rina sighed.

It was clear her mother was a goner when it came to Mo as well.

They sat at the farmhouse table a few minutes later, breakfast spread between them: crispy fried eggs, slow-roasted tomatoes with garlic, a skillet of mushrooms and thyme, toasted sourdough with lashings of churned butter, and slices of sweet oranges newly picked from the tree.

Hanna poured a glass of fresh juice and then, her voice a melody, shared more stories of Rina’s childhood. ‘I remember when she was six how she marched down the hill to confront the neighbor’s goat for trespassing.’

Rina groaned, a soft protest against her mother’s storytelling.

Hanna smiled. ‘Or when she refused to eat store-bought bread after learning how to bake with her father.’

A wave of warm laughter broke from Mo.

‘Oh, and the time she built her tent on the upper paddock and tried to sleep in it during a thunderstorm,’ Hanna added, a mischievous glint in her eye.

‘Sounds exactly like Rina,’ Mo rasped, his gaze settling on her, full of a deep and tender fondness.

Mo, reclined and replete, chuckled, delighted, while Rina endeavored to play along, smiling, nodding, but her thoughts kept drifting.

Her fingers picked at the edge of her toast.

Her eyes lingered too long on the citrus trees outside.

Her mind circled again and again around the pale plastic stick she flushed away just hours earlier.

Reth entered halfway through the meal, wiping soil from his hands.

He greeted Mo with a respectful nod and a handshake, then slid into the seat opposite Rina.

After a few minutes of small talk, he leaned forward, studying her face.

‘You all right, love?’ he asked in his quiet way. ‘You seem elsewhere.’

Rina blinked, her fork partway to her lips. ‘Just juggling a couple of things, Papa. I had to shuffle some military schedules around for this impromptu time off.’

Mo glanced up, a smirk tugging one side of his mouth. ‘It’s my very reluctant time off, sir. I wasn’t going to take it, but your daughter, fierce defender that she is, insisted that I’m her field priority now.’

Her lover gave Rina a conspiratorial wink.

Reth raised a brow. ‘That so?’

‘Tis,’ Mo drawled. ‘She’s guarding me from myself.’

Reth nodded, accepting the explanation, but his eyes lingered on his daughter a little longer than usual.

Rina forced a smile and turned back to her plate, stabbing at a mushroom.

Mo’s hand brushed hers beneath the table, grounding her again.

Just for a moment, the storm in her chest quieted. But it didn’t vanish.

She handed Mo to her mother for the rest of the day.

Hanna had plenty of chores for him, and he wandered off with her, happy to oblige and repay her kindness.

Rina begged off joining them, saying she needed to make a few calls to her team at the Peace Corps HQ.

With a comm tab in hand, she took a long walk across the upper paddocks, trying to slow her thoughts.

The implications turned over and over in her mind: her Colonel role, her possible promotion, and her duty to the Dunian Army.

Hell, her pregnancy and Mo himself.

More so, her growing adoration of him, and her current entanglement in his ex-assassin, deity-wrought crisis.

Despite everything, his past trauma, his otherworldly power, the residual danger he carried in every fiber of his body, he was still the man she wanted in her life.

He was so gentle with her.

His possessive care of her on Eden II had blown her away.

Rina had learned that Mo’s brand of romance was a quiet, relentless approach, a language spoken in actions rather than grand gestures.

Most moments they were alone, he would pull her onto his lap, her body settling against his as if it were the most natural place in the world.

The act alone was a spark that ignited a familiar warmth within her.

His forehead-to-forehead touches became a cherished ritual, a silent moment of connection that was often punctuated by the soft, ticklish brush of his nose against hers.

He had a habit of brushing her stray strands of hair from her face or tucking them behind her ear, a simple caress that spoke volumes.

Then there were the small, almost imperceptible smiles he reserved just for her.

Also, the subtle, slow winks that made her soul swoon, a silent, knowing look that promised a world of things she didn’t yet dare to name.

When he made love to her, it was with such freakin’ incandescence that it left her wrecked each time.

Also complicating matters was the fact that her parents adored him and welcomed him like he’d always belonged in their world.

She, the hardened soldier, the tactician, the commander, was being melted by a man who had no idea how much he’d already disarmed her.

In the mix now was a baby, an innocent life that had the potential to either drive them apart or bring them together.

Which way would it go?

She found no answers in the paddocks, but still she walked their perimeter for a while, then slipped back home to work in her bedroom.

He came looking for her just before dusk.

She didn’t sense him at first, lost as she was in her thoughts on the terrace off her chamber, studying the light change over the fields.

She jolted when his arms encircled her from behind, his face buried into the space beneath her ear.

Rina exhaled, letting herself fall into him, just for a moment, into the solidness and gravitas of his presence.

Her head tilted back against his chest, and his clasp closed around her like a shield.

‘You were quiet today,’ he murmured, voice rough with need and yearning. ‘I missed you.’

She swallowed the knot in her throat. ‘Just a lot on my mind.’

His lips brushed her temple, then rested on it.

She didn’t speak again, and neither did he.

For a spell, they just stood swaying, observing the dusk bleed into indigo, the shadows creeping over the hedgerows and horses grazing in the distance.

She decided not to tell him. Not yet.

Not while he still carried the burden of his fractured past.

Not when they were still hunting the source of the controller, and the world around them remained on the brink of collapse.

For now, she would let this moment be what it was.

A memorable, heartfelt embrace.

Later, when the storms quieted, she would share everything with him.