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The doctor steps out of another room, sees me and hurries away but I stalk after him. With a hand on his shoulder I stop him. He turns uneasily to face me.
“Yes, Mr. Delacroix?”
“How…” I shake my head. “Are you sure?”
He glances behind me at the family I guess, then up at me. “I’m sure. I’ll get you some brochures—”
“Brochures?” What the fuck does he think I’m going to do with brochures?
He clears his throat. Someone touches my arm, and when I turn to see who it is, he slips away.
Raven stares up at me, jaw set, eyebrows high. “What’s going on?”
My gaze falls to the bruise on her jaw. She has several on her arms, and her wrists and ankles are raw from rope burn. Bec got lucky. She has a few dark spots on her arms and the rope cut into her skin too, but they must not have seen her as as much of a threat as Raven or Willow.
“Azrael. What the fuck is going on?” she asks again.
The baby cries once more. I glance at it, push my hand through my hair, then look at the wedding band on my finger.
Pregnant. Willow is pregnant.
Raven cocks her head, her gaze moving over my shoulder, then back to me, her eyes narrowing. “Oh my goddess.”
We’re having a baby. Willow is pregnant with my baby.
A sensation I’m unfamiliar with blooms at my core and sends a rush of energy through me.
Raven lets out a “huh.” She shakes her head, then turns to her family. “Willow’s pregnant.”
Five sets of eyes stare at me, some widening, one narrowing. The sisters are at first surprised, then excited. Clara’s mouth hangs open, but her lips, too, twitch. She tilts her head as her gaze falls on me, a look of something like satisfaction followed by sympathy on her face.
Barrett, though—there’s no smile there.
“She’s what?” he asks in a low, menacing voice. He steps toward me, ignoring his wife when she tries to hold him back. Raven moves away, a wide grin on her face as her father comes to stand an inch from me. “What did you do? What the hell did you do?”
“She’s my wife,” I say stupidly.
One of the sisters snorts. It sets the other two off and they try to contain their laughter, which only makes it worse. Raven just keeps on staring at me with a look on her face a lot like Celeste’s. Like she can see right into my brain.
I clear my throat, then stand up taller as the elevator doors open and Emmanuel steps off along with Bec. It’s my turn to watch Raven now as her gaze is instantly drawn to him. I remember how he beat the man who would have raped her if we hadn’t gotten there in time. He beat him to an unrecognizable pulp.
Everyone straightens up. Barrett’s glare is divided between me and my brother, who comes to stand beside me. Bec, looking better than she’s looked in a long while even with the healing bruises, gives me a quick peck on the cheek then walks past me to hug Raven and the other sisters. They ask her how she’s feeling as they take her hands, and once their chatter is over, they all turn to face me.
“What’s going on?” Bec asks innocently.
Raven, with a grin on her face that shows how immensely she’s enjoying my discomfort, turns to me. “Azrael? Do you want to share your happy news?”
I give her a warning look. Her mother clears her throat and we both turn to see her shake her head. Emmanuel’s brows draw together in confusion. I’ll tell him about the pregnancy later.
Willow’s hospital room door opens, and Celeste steps out. Before it closes, I catch a glimpse of Willow but when my eyes meet hers, she quickly turns away.
“Excuse me,” I say, slipping back inside without answering.
The door closes behind me, and the atmosphere changes entirely. Willow is sitting up, the blankets tucked around her. She seems a little calmer after her talk with her grandmother. At least she doesn’t scream at me to get out, but when I try for a smile, she turns away. A tear escapes from her eye that she’s quick to wipe away before folding her arms across her chest.
I clear my throat, then move around the bed to sit in the chair I’ve been sitting in since we got here almost two weeks ago.
“Willow.”
She keeps her gaze just beyond me, her eyes wells of water, a never-ending supply of them.
The bruises on her face are healing, and much of the swelling has gone down. When I brush her hair away from her forehead, she winces, and I pull back, standing. She quickly pushes the hair down over the stitches there. She’s trying to hide the cross.
