“You wanted to give me baby fever?” Mads gave Marquis his most practiced flat stare. It was a look that he’d practiced for hours before Rex was born, perfecting his paternal glare. Hecouldn’t ever remember using it on Justin. He was always in too much of a haze to really react.
“An attempt at doing so, I assure you. Testing the waters, as it were.” Marquis laughed and Mads shook his head.
“Leave it to you to cobble together thousands of layers of consent. Consent from my lips, from my heart, from my body, and from places in my mind even I fear to go.” Mads leaned down to give a kiss to the top of Caspian’s head as he clutched on and stared at the world around them with his big green eyes.
“Well, I’m a far cry from asking your body’s consent. I suppose I could bend you over and ask your anatomy.” Marquis leaned in close to Mads’s face and raked his gaze up and down.
“I don’t believe the exit is the one you must ask.” Mads snickered and halted when Marquis rested a hand over his belly.
“Then I ask here, now. Would you bear me a family? Would you take your vow as my mate to heart and love me always, and provide a line unto forever.” Marquis smiled.
“I already have. I have given you a wonderful son, Rexford,” Mads said, cradling the back of Caspian’s head. “And he has given us a grandson to carry on.”
“But he walks his own destiny. He is Red Sky. He lives in Eclipse blood, but you have borne a new line. Would you bear me a continuation of my own?” Marquis walked away, his expression uncertain, as if he couldn’t bear to hear Mads’s answer.
“I will do that for you. But it is not quite a new line that Rexford has started.” Mads frowned.
“What do you mean?” Marquis turned, a playful look on his face amid confusion.
“I mean, what was my father’s name?”
“Rory De’Creux. Hollow ones, the empty coven because they had no power or status. Your father never took a Blue Dawnname.” Marquis puzzled as Mads approached, Caspian cooing happily on his hips.
“My father told me my sire’s name once in a drunken stupor. Victor Ciel. I was able to corroborate it through some of the Romani who kept tabs on the comings and goings of strangers. He was strikingly white, pale as a snowflake, with hair like frost. Never found him.” Mads took a deep breath. “Languages never were your strong suit, was it?”
“Rory means red. Ciel means sky. His coven is, in a way, my omega father’s name. Drunk as he was, he was a product of the hurt inflicted upon him.” Mads sighed. “So he walks an old path, a broken one and a hard one. But he’s brought honor to it, as I will give you the line you wish to continue.”
Marquis’s breath caught in his throat for a moment, and he embraced Mads and Caspian with a smile. “To new beginnings and better futures.”
“I pray so. Every night.” Mads smiled and cleared his throat. “Now let’s get some food before I change my mind.”
Caspian screeched with joy in agreement…or just childlike happiness.
Chapter Thirteen
Marquis
Their journey to find wandwood was a most fruitful one. Armloads of sticks carefully balanced with their little one promised a new selection of wands to come. Caspian seemed to have an affinity for the wood, too. He seemed to want to teethe on the best pieces, at any rate, and pointed to new sticks with a keen interest in them. He’d do well in the family trade.
Returning him to Nite that afternoon let them bid their farewells. Nite probably needed some time with his baby to fill the void—or he’d be so emotionally wrecked, he’d be begging Rexford to expand their family again. Empty holes in the heart seemed to make omegas a little more interested in babies. Worked for Mads at any rate.
That evening, Marquis dropped Mads off at the facility, kissing him goodbye a bit longer than was strictly necessary. Sleeping alone would be painful once more, but Marquis needed to make some changes. On his way out, he called his coven’s head of maintenance.
It rang three times as he waved farewell to the evening staff, and a gruff voice picked up on the other side. “Yeah?”
“Wiggins, would you mind seeing to some things around my estate?”
He grunted in response. The mage had quite the skill for repairing. His innate ability with magic and education in mechanical workings made him astoundingly capable.
“So, I would like to dispose of my bed. I wish for a new one.” Marquis cleared his throat.
“Need a new one?” Rustling papers on the other end capitulated into hasty scribbles.
“I will. Have a catalogue sent to Mads for all new furnitu—”
“Nobody does catalogues anymore, Marquis. I’ll have one of the ladyfolk nab him and take him shopping the next city over. What’s the budget?” He grumbled and sketched.
“I’ll be down working on wands, so try to keep it sub six figures, not over a hundred and fifty if possible. Any furniture he wants. I think the house needs a facelift that isn’t Doris.” Marquis sighed heavily.
