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Chapter Three
Brit sat in the hoodie, ate her pastry, and drank her coffee. Denier’s eyes kept flicking to her, and he scowled.
The twins and triplets were outside with the family, and the backup nanny was now on duty, working with Khytten and Salat to keep the adopted twins happy while Tigel worked with the babies.
Ressin seemed to be very good with the little ones.
Salat looked between her and Denier, and he grinned.
Baola frowned. “Why is Mr. Denier upset?”
Denier snorted. “I do not like to see your aunt in jeans and sweats.”
Salat snickered. “Those old-fashioned attitudes are to be expected of your family.”
Brit shrugged. “I wear what’s available. This was available. Thanks again, Lyric.”
“No problem.”
Khytten smiled. “I would have offered some of my stuff, but it’s pretty customized.”
Denier decided to change the topic. “You two don’t look like sisters. You and Lyric.”
Tirra and Gorith came back, and Tirra squealed softly when she saw the wide bassinet with the babies. Brit looked at Khytten and watched for signs of stress, but she had this. She was a champion wet nurse, excelled at mothering, and was not showing signs of nervousness.
Denier looked at her, and she recalled the question.
“Oh, I am adopted. Lyric is adopted. Ylara is adopted.”
Baola grinned and jacked her hand in the air. “I am adopted.”
He blinked. “You are all actives.”
“Correct.”
Lyric laughed. “And all omegas.”
Denier’s head focused on Brit with intensity. “You don’t smell like an omega.”
Lyric got some scrambled eggs for Baola. “That was the first thing she learned to control. She was an early riser, and the males her mother brought home went a little crazy around her. She had to defend herself, and her mother handed her over to the system.” She smiled. “She was a member of the family in under two years, and I got another sister.”
Brit smiled and got the salt, pepper, and butter for Baola. She kissed her niece’s head. “And then, a few years later, I got a niece via the same process.”
Khytten sighed. “Brit killed a man.”
The room went quiet. Denier cocked his head. “How?”
Brit grinned. “He beat himself to death. So, right now, I am just waiting for the peacekeepers to show up trying to put me back into monitored custody.”
Denier frowned. “How old were you?”
“Eleven.”
His eyes blazed white. “Eleven?”
Baola nodded. “Younger than me.”
Salat looked grim, and Khytten was murderous.
