Page 66 of Grim’s Angel

Grim comes around the desk.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You’ve ignored coffee and soup.”

“I have excellent reasons.”

“Tell me.”

I planned to tell him at home. I had considered candles before deciding they created an unacceptable fire risk around a man who loses awareness of his surroundings when he kisses me.

There was going to be dessert.

I may have purchased a cake.

Now Grim stands in front of me looking prepared to carry me to the emergency room.

“We’re having a baby.”

He goes completely still.

I wait.

His chest fails to move.

“Breathing remains medically necessary,” I say.

His silver eyes drop to my stomach.

“You’re pregnant?”

“Three tests and bloodwork agree.”

“How long?”

“Eight weeks.”

“How long have you known?”

“The bloodwork came back this afternoon.”

“Who else knows?”

“The obstetrician, a laboratory technician, and three increasingly expensive pieces of plastic.”

“Razor?”

“No.”

“Striker?”

“Why would Striker know before you?”

“He knows everything.”

“He knows everything about you. Nobody can explain why.”