Spectacle (Menagerie #2)(89)

“Why...?” Claudio sniffed the air in my direction. Then his golden wolf eyes widened. “Congratulations.” He frowned. “Or condolences. Which is it?”

I gaped at him. “How can you tell?” I whispered, hoping whoever was in the other room couldn’t hear me and hadn’t understood him.

“I can smell the hormones,” he whispered, following my lead as Pagano clomped toward the bed.

I turned to find my handler scowling at the werewolf. “You can tell just from smelling her?”

Claudio nodded, his hair catching on the rough material of the pillow. “But only because I know what to look for.” His voice was so low I could hardly hear him. “Is it a secret?”

I could tell from his lack of concern that he had no idea what the Spectacle’s official pregnancy policy was. “Yeah, it’s...complicated.” I whirled to face Pagano. “He won’t tell anyone.” Then I turned back to Claudio, and whispered, “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

Tabitha must not have known that shifters could smell my hormones, or she wouldn’t have let me come see him. Which meant that if she’d left me in the dorm with Zyanya and the other female shifters, everyone at the Spectacle would probably already know.

“I won’t tell,” Claudio whispered. His gaze held mine with a conflicted gravity. “Delilah, Melisande and I were forced to breed five children in captivity, and each was both a blessing and a curse.”

I slid my hand into his and tried not to think about how much of my situation I couldn’t explain to him.

“Each was taken from us early, and it kills me to know that they’re growing up in cages all over the country. But I know that the world is a better place with them in it. And I know that they will fight for their children just like I fought for mine. Just like you will fight for yours.”

My eyes watered and I sniffled. Pagano retreated to a chair by the wall, evidently satisfied that Claudio wouldn’t tell anyone.

The sharp squeal of metal made me gasp. A chain rattled, and Gallagher appeared in the doorway, clutching the rail he’d ripped from the hospital bed. The cuff dangled from his wrist, where it had been freed from the broken metal bar.

Since he hadn’t intended to hurt anyone—thus didn’t produce the monitored hormone—his collar hadn’t stopped him from tearing the bed in two.

Whichever handler had left him alone was about to be very fired.

Gallagher’s gray-eyed gaze found mine. “You’re...?” His expression cracked and fell apart, exposing a vulnerability I’d never expected to see in him. “Are you sure?”

Claudio’s eyes widened, as he drew conclusions I didn’t have time to explain.

I nodded. “About eight weeks. I wanted to tell you, but—”

“Gallagher, drop the bed frame.” Pagano lifted his remote, and I could tell from the way he clutched it that he was considering going for his gun instead.

“Don’t.” I turned to my handler, arms spread to show him that I meant no harm. “He’s not going to hurt anyone. Right, Gallagher?”

Gallagher’s eyes closed, as if Pagano presented no threat, and when his lips moved silently, I realized he was counting backward. Trying to confirm that he was going to be a father.

“It’s not an exact science,” I said, my voice steady and low for Pagano’s benefit. Trying to keep everyone calm. “But yes, the baby may be yours.”

Gallagher’s eyes opened, and swimming in them, I found a stunning confusion of emotions. Joy. Fear. Wonder. Confusion. Then that all collapsed in one horrible instant of pain. “Wait, may be mine? Who else’s could it be?”

“There are a couple of other possibilities.” My gaze dropped to the ground, but then I dragged it up again. What had happened to me was wrong, but it wasn’t my wrong. It wasn’t his wrong. It was a wrong made possible by the world we lived in. By a man who thought it acceptable to own people. By a woman willing to ruin several other lives to get what she wanted.

“Delilah, what happened?” Gallagher’s voice was so deep I could hardly hear it and so gruff it must have scraped his throat raw. His grip on the bed frame tightened until his fingers were white with tension. Until the metal began to groan. “I’ll kill every last one of them.”

He’d said it. He couldn’t take it back. And as tears burned twin paths down my face, I realized I didn’t want him to. I wanted him to tear into everyone who’d ever made me do anything against my will. Who’d ever put me in chains, touched me without invitation, drugged me or locked me up.

“Put the bed frame down and put your hands in the air.” Pagano aimed his remote at Gallagher with one hand and pulled his gun with the other. His real gun. Nervous sweat dripped down his forehead. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.”

Gallagher’s fist tightened. Metal squealed in his grip. His biceps bulged with tension, his gaze trained on my handler.

Pagano raised his pistol, aiming at Gallagher’s chest.

“No!” I cried.

Gallagher lifted the bed frame.

Pagano put his finger on the trigger.

I lunged between them, blocking the handler’s shot, but Gallagher leaned around me. His arm rose so fast I saw only a blur of motion on the edge of my vision. Something long flew across the room, end over end.