Page 118 of Playing with Fire

I glanced in the direction of the young whelp. She curled on the stone floor, sleeping with her snakes coiled on her shoulder. “And what about her?”

“It’s the same, with a small caveat. She will witness every interview, and she will decide who fought the hardest for the right to call her their child. She picks her own fate.”

Huh. I wondered how much human society would change if parents had to fight for the right to bring a new child into their home. “How long will it take?”

“I’d give it a few weeks. I’ll ask your grandmother if she’ll serve as a surrogate for the little one. That should give us time to make arrangements and find out if there are any health issues we’ll need to be aware of. It’ll also help the little one recover if the nest was too cold. I expect your grandmother will insist on three to four weeks to give the little one the best chance at a healthy hatching.”

Quinn seemed pleased.

I stifled a yawn. “Can any human keep a gorgon egg warm?”

“Yes. Gender isn’t important when humans hold gorgon eggs. Why?”

I nodded my head towards the statues. “There are four men in the truck who can take turns holding this egg for a while. Unlike you two, I still have work to do. No rest for the wicked.”

At Quinn’s low, seductive chuckle, which was partnered by the tell-tale heat of his incubus nature washing over me, I glared at him. “You’ll just have to wait, sir.”

“It’d also help if you reversed back to human first, little Samuel, unless you want everyone to know your deep, dark, dirty secret.”

I didn’t think his crimson cobras, beautiful, glossy black wings, or soft tail were anything to be ashamed of, but I kept quiet.

“Damn it,” my husband muttered.

Unable to help myself, I laughed at the displeasure in Quinn’s voice.

Quinn’s grandfather raided the truck for supplies and took the egg to Chief Hollands for safe keeping, bringing back a meter and a spray bottle of concentrated neutralizer. Squirting Quinn with it did nothing, and I frowned at the bottle while he laughed.

“That’s not going to work.”

“Dust and other gorgon materials can trigger his transformation, little one, but he controls when he returns to his human form.”

Narrowing my eyes, I prodded his chest with the bottle. “Change back.”

“No. I don’t want to.” The gleam in his eye informed me he had something in mind, something I probably wanted as much as he did.

“He can also transform from human whenever he wants,” his grandfather added. “You have your very own on-demand incubus.”

“Traitor,” Quinn hissed, and his cobras joined in.

“This time, I’m working in my lovely granddaughter’s favor. Of course she should enjoy you at your prime at her leisure.”

Sometimes, I really liked the old man.

It took a bit of bullying and a lot of bribing to convince Quinn to transform before the CDC arrived. I’d have to pretend I didn’t actually have the vial of A grade pixie dust anymore, but I figured it was for a good cause.

Dealing with the surrogates turned sour fast, as Quinn’s grandfather discovered four more viable eggs. With a little help from a CDC representative and the privacy of one of the downstairs rooms, the eggs were retrieved and left in my custody.

I worried for the pea-sized eggs, one of which I believed was a male, its stone shell a vibrant green and gold. The surrogate identified Prince Ozmose as the father, but she didn’t remember who had mothered the eggs.

I was pretty certain she was lying about not knowing who had mothered the eggs, but I said nothing, and no one else did, either.

Before Audrey had ruined everything, the woman had been Ozmose’s bride. When she had been turned to stone and left with the eggs entombed within her, she had been held hostage so the hive could sacrifice Prince Ozmose and have their source of potent gorgon dust.

Her four eggs would be given up for adoption, as a human surrogate couldn’t care for the needs of gorgon whelps. Pain haunted her eyes. Once she left with the CDC reps to go to the nearest hospital, Quinn and his grandfather sighed.

“She didn’t want them.” My throat tightened, and I swallowed.

Quinn’s grandfather rubbed my shoulder. “Don’t judge her too harshly, little one. To you, they’re unborn children. To her, they’re bad memories and represent the loss of her husband—and the loss of her hive, her friends, and the rest of her family. Ozmose would not have left his other females while they still lived, and they would not have left him. I have no doubt they were killed. That’s a lot of grief for one woman to bear. She knows the eggs will find homes with those who truly want them, something she can’t give them right now.”