Page 22 of Take Two (Valleywood: Season Three)

Chapter 22

Declan

“The color reminds me of… something, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.” I tapped my lips and wandered around the perimeter of the room that was to be our nursery.

“Maybe just don’t put your finger in it.” Phobos came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my sizable bump.

A chuckle burst out of me and blossomed into a full-on belly laugh. “Stop. You’ll wake the baby.” Our little one already had a sleep schedule, but it was nap and snooze during the day, and rumble around, kicking dad’s ribs at night.

“Fine, it is shit, isn’t it?”

Phobos saying that set off more hysterical laughter.

“Oh my gods, it’s awful, and it really is shit.” I turned and kissed him. “Don’t give up your day job, babe.”

“Not sure what that is exactly, but yeah, I’ll redo it.”

Since regaining his powers and not exploding and taking everyone in Valleywood with him, Phobos had been the most attentive mate, especially after I told him the news.

“I wasn’t sure I would ever have kids,” he kept saying as we lay in our new bed, and he rested his hand on my tummy. But we’d agreed we didn’t want to bring our child up above the bar.

My mate hadn’t insisted I give up my work. Some alphas were all “my mate isn’t going to work ‘cause I can provide for them and our little ones.” Instead, he’d created a playground out back of his place, now our home, with a treehouse, a maze, and a jungle of different plants and trees. It was magical, and I often climbed into the treehouse and imagined the adventures I could have had with Dad and Father.

When we chose the room for the nursery and discussed colors, he offered to paint the walls. I’d told him to surprise me but to avoid anything garish. And he’d followed my instructions, even mixed two colors to get the effect he wanted.

But once on the walls, it was the color of baby poop. When he’d done the big reveal and removed his hands from eyes, I’d wanted to like it. So much. In those seconds as I gazed at the walls, my mind scrambled to say something that wouldn’t damage his confidence.

Having almost obliterated a city and its population, including his mate and unborn child, he’d struggled to find a purpose. I’d assured him there was no hurry, as we weren’t in need of money. But telling him the color he swept over the nursery walls was shit, literally the color of poop, might have damaged his fragile ego.

It was horrid thinking a god of fear could have a damaged ego, but few gods, if any, had experienced what my mate had.

But thank all the gods he’d reacted as I did regarding the walls.

“Where are those paint swatch cards?” I strolled out of the room and sank onto a sofa.

“I’m so sorry, love.” He handed me the cards.

“It’s not a big deal. You can redo it. It’s not as though you started a war.”

“Hmmm, been there, done that.”

Okay, best not to get into that discussion.

“But I’d read that brown is this year’s color of the year.”

“I think that was a rich shade of brown, and it’s too heavy for a newborn's nursery.” Picking up the green swatches, I tapped an olive one. “What about this? Not the whole room but one wall.” It reminded me of the forest at dusk, and our little one would be an autumn baby. And maybe a shifter.

“I’ll get right on it.”

But I tugged his jacket and said the poopy color could stay where it was until tomorrow. “Though if you’re going out, I’ve finished most of my snacks.” I counted off the items on my fingers. “Orange juice, avocado, syrup, ice cream, and marmalade.

Poor Phobos! Blood drained from his face, but he agreed to drive to the store. He twisted his head away from me.

“I can see you.” I couldn’t, but I knew what he was doing.

“Can’t.” He refused to look at me because he was trying to arrange his face to get rid of the nauseated expression.

“You can hide in the baby poop room while I eat.”

“Nah.” He raced to the closet under the stairs and returned with a package that had been delivered earlier. “This will help so I can be with you and not be affected by whatever you’re eating.”

He ripped open the box as only a god did—if I wasn’t starving I’d have jumped him because he was sexy as fuck when he used his superhuman strength.

“Is that a—”

“Gas mask!” He held it up before slipping it over his face.

“That’s a tad over the top.” My food combination cravings may have been a little out of the ordinary, but they were food. I wasn’t stuffing dirt in my mouth. “Scoot. Off to the store you go.”

He made for the door, grabbing his keys on the way.

“Take off the gas mask or you’ll frighten the cashiers and the other customers.”

I didn’t move from the couch while he was gone. I wasn’t working today, as Monday was my usual day off. But as my pregnancy progressed, I took two days off each week, and that had slid to three now that I had swollen ankles and needed regular naps.

But Wren along with Astor and Magnolia, a new hire, were managing without me, and I was considering making Wren the manager and pursuing something else after the baby arrived.

I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I was aware of was Phobos waving a plate under my nose. And yes, his latest toy was attached to his face.

“Yum.” My mate helped me sit up and tucked cushions behind my back.

He mumbled behind the mask, and I caught the words, “Just for you.”

I attacked the eggs and syrup. The yolks were runny like I preferred, and I stirred in the maple syrup. Even wearing that ridiculous mask, my mate hid his face behind a pillow.

“So good.” I wiped my lips with a napkin and attacked the avocados with chocolate syrup. Of course I dripped the chocolate on my paternity shirt, but that was what washing machines were for. As I couldn’t get the remnants from the bowl, I licked it.

My mate mumbled something as he dabbed at my face.

“I know what you’re saying even though I can’t hear you.” It had to be something like, “I hope you don’t teach our child to do that.” They’d do it anyway, without assistance from me, because that was what kids did.

I tucked into the cereal but with orange juice instead of milk. So good. Everyone should eat cereal like this.

Ewww! Dried brown stuff with orange liquid. I’d rather eat dead leaves. My wolf also wasn’t a fan of what was in front of me. The baby will be born demanding a weird combination of foods .

They’ll be perfect. If they ask for pickled eggs drowning in a milkshake, I’ll agree I was wrong. Though a sweet milky drink with vinegary eggs sounded pretty inventive. I’d give my kid a thumbs-up.

“Perhaps I’ll eat the marmalade straight out of the jar, babe.” I beckoned Phobos to give me a spoon.

When I was done, the baby awoke, and I placed my mate’s hand on my belly but told him to remove the mask. We sat in silence while our little one did in-utero aerobics, and my mate’s face lit up, saying he appeared very godlike.

“Our child is trying to fly.”

There was barely any wriggle room in my belly, but good that the baby was ambitious.

We discussed whether our child would be a god, but Phobos, having consulted his father, said the baby might have some godlike powers.

“We’ll have to wait and see.”

But I was impatient, wanting to map out our child’s future. Being mated to a god must come with privileges, other than pots of money, I reasoned, until Phobos pointed out that other than a king or queen with a predetermined role, most humans didn’t get to see their child’s future.

“I have the urge to paint.” He reached behind the sofa and held up a tin of olive paint.

“Now?” After eating, I was ready to fall asleep in bed watching my favorite TV program.

“Wanna watch while I slap paint on the wall? I can drag a couch into the nursery.”

That was kinda watching paint dry.

“Ummm…” How did I explain that yes, I wanted to be lying down but not to have sex.

“I’ll be naked,” he offered.

“What? Isn’t that a little dangerous with paint and your cock flapping around?”

Phobos shrugged and smirked. “If I can’t get it off, I’ll roll around in some baby oil. I’ll be slippery, shiny, and oh so sweet-smelling.”

“Are you angling for sex?”

He hauled me to my feet. “Sex? Come to think of it, I can skip the painting and oiling my body and jump straight to—”

“Pushing your cock in my hole?”

He stroked my cheek. “No. You’re tired. But perhaps I could give you a blow job.” He tapped my nose. “But if you’re not up for it…”

I couldn’t see my length, but I was definitely up for it.