Page 91 of The Endless Want

My throat tightens painfully. “I don’t deserve her,” I whisper. “Or the baby. But I can protect them. I can give them that much. Maybe that can be enough.”

The wind picks up, rustling the grass. “I’m scared,” I admit into the gray morning. “I’ve seen what happens to families in this world. To children. I know what happened to you. I know what happened to all of us. And I can’t—” My voice shakes. “I can’t lose them, Cormac. Not before I even get the chance to be something better.”

My hand rests against the stone until the cold seeps into my bones. After a long moment, I straighten slowly, legs stiff.

“I’ll protect her,” I say quietly. “Both of them. Even if she hates me. Even if I never earn her back. I’ll still protect them.”

I stand, tug my coat tighter, and cast one last look at the headstone. “Wish you were here to tell me I’m a fool.”

Then I turn and leave, walking back toward the waking city, carrying a truth that changes everything:

They are my family. And I will burn down the world before I let anyone hurt them. Even if the first thing I have to burn down is the man I’ve been until now.

CHAPTER 28

Ailish

Twelve weeks.

That’s how long it’s been since Declan stood in my doorway and looked at a photograph on the floor. Twelve weeks of him being unfailingly, exhaustingly present and never once at ease. He hasn’t missed a single appointment. He hasn’t stayed for a single meal. The Russians haven’t moved in all that time, which Liam keeps calling good news in a voice that doesn’t believe it.

By the time I reach the bottom of the staircase in Liam’s compound, I’m officially at the point where tying my own boots requires a strategy meeting.

By the time I reach the bottom of the staircase in Liam’s compound, I’m officially at the point where tying my own boots requires a strategy meeting. My belly has grown enough that everyone notices now—security, staff, even the Italians pretending not to stare too long. There’s no hiding it anymore, and honestly, I don’t want to.

The curve of my stomach is warm, heavy, and grounding. It tethers me to something bigger than the war we’re all drowning in.

Still, pregnancy is a strange duality—half miracle, half misery. My back aches constantly, and the nausea comes in waves so unpredictable that I’ve learned to carry crackers in every jacket pocket I own. But in the quiet moments, when the baby shifts or rolls, something inside me goes molten and soft.

I press my palm to the curve of my belly, breathing through the odd flutters that feel like the wings of a trapped bird brushing against me. It’s terrifying and beautiful, all at once.

As I push open the door to the training gym, the hum of energy inside lifts something in me. Nadia and Mackenzie are stretching on the mats, laughing about something I missed, the air thick with sweat and determination. Ronan stands off to the side, arms crossed, his expression stern but not unkind.

Ever since Liam mandated the women’s defense sessions, Ronan has taken his role seriously, becoming something between a coach and a guardian. “You’re late,” Ronan says, raising one eyebrow.

“I’m incubating a human, Ronan,” I reply. “Everything I do is late now.”

The girls snicker, and even Ronan’s mouth twitches. He gestures me forward. “Slow drills only. No blunt work.”

“I know the rules,” I say, stepping onto the mat.

The moment I begin stretching, the faint tug in my lower belly reminds me that every movement takes more calculation than it used to.

I settle into a breathing rhythm, adjusting to the shift in my center of gravity. Nadia watches me closely, always ready to swoop in if she thinks I’m overexerting myself. She’s become… gentler since the pregnancy, though she’d deny it to the grave.

We begin with defensive stances, then movement drills—stepping, pivoting, backing out of holds without strain. Ronan moves us slowly but precisely, watching each of us with the sharp-eyed calculation of a man noting who will live and who will die in a crisis.

With me, his gaze is even more intense. I’m carrying something that doesn’t get to be compromised. “Keep your elbows up,” Ronan reminds me as I deflect a half-hearted strike. “Even pregnant, you’re still a fighter.”

My breath is unsteady but strong. “Flattering.”

“No flattery. Fact.”

Nadia steps in to partner with me, her movements careful but swift. I’m not as fast as I used to be. My body moves differently now, slower around the edges, but my mind is sharper than ever. I learn quickly how to use weight instead of speed, leverage instead of force. Every technique feels a little like a promise—I will survive. I will make sure my child does, too.

After nearly an hour, Ronan calls for a cooldown. I’m drenched in sweat, flushed, and more out of breath than I’d ever admit aloud, but I feel solid. More like myself. More like the version of me that existed before the Russians twisted everything sideways.

“You did good today,” Nadia murmurs as we step off the mat.