Leap of the Lion (The Wild Hunt Legacy #4)(113)

“Please be safe, you stubborn cat,” she whispered, aching to be with him. The overprotective cat must have been going crazy, not being able to come after her. How he must be resenting the duties of the God—even as he fulfilled them. Her lips curved. She wouldn’t have loved him so much if he didn’t have that bone-deep sense of responsibility.

The sucking at her breast stopped, and she looked down. Toren had a tiny fuzz of dark hair covering his head and blue-gray eyes. Donal had warned her that babies’ eyes often darkened, but oh, this boy totally had Calum’s genes. “Look who I’m bringing you, Calum.”

Much more smoothly than with the first fumbling efforts, Vic eased her nipple from the baby’s mouth and checked the other two. She still wasn’t sure if she was horrified or proud. Three fucking babies.

Good thing she, Alec, and Calum had chosen a couple of extra names—just in case. For two, they’d used the Daonain tradition of honoring an older friend by selecting a name that was similar, yet unique.

During the long hours in the concrete cell, it had been a comfort to be able to call her babies by name.

Reaching over to the coffee table, Vic touched Sorcha’s tiny hand and ruffled the fluff of golden hair on her head. The baby’s eyes opened—blue eyes that already held a hint of green. “Yes, Alec had a hand in making you, didn’t he?”

Smacking her lips, the girl fell back asleep.

Next to her in his box-bed, Artair kicked his tiny feet. His face wrinkled in frustration. Brown hair. Eyes already brown. He not only looked like her, but also demanded prompt action when he raised his voice.

Smiling, she scooped him up.

At the door, another set of soldiers came in, followed by Wells—and damned if Joe Thorson wasn’t beside him.

Joe had a bloody bandage on his forearm, but the old cat looked fine and fierce. Both of them looked around and—when they spotted her, the relief in their eyes almost made her start crying.

Again. Fucking hormones.

They made a beeline for her, and then Wells was close enough to see over the back of the couch. He stopped dead, eyes on the bundle in her arms.

Thorson bumped into him. “Stupid human. Can’t you even walk without—” His gaze followed Wells’s.

“Sergeant,” Wells said. “You had the baby?”

Blinking back more tears, Vic laughed. “Babies, sir. Plural.” She reached out to pat Sorcha and Toren.

Just like Zeb, the two merciless killers turned all gooey. Boy, if she could synthesize the baby-effect, she could end every war on the planet.

“You have babies.” Wells touched his finger to Artair’s tiny hand.

There would never be a better time.

“Arthur Wells,” she said in a formal voice—a command voice—and held up the baby. “Here is your namesake, Artair. Will you serve as his caomhnor?”

Damned if she’d ever seen Wells at a loss. After a second, he took the baby as competently as he did everything else. When he held tiny Artair against his chest, she lost the battle with tears.

“What’s a kuheev-rore,” he asked in a gruff voice.

Thorson had crossed his arms on his chest. Buddies with Wells or not, the werecat took infinite pleasure in taunting the human spymaster. He smirked. “It’s a—”

“Joe,” Vic said softly and picked up the black-haired baby. “Joe Thorson, here is your namesake, Toren. Will you serve as his caomhnor?”

As Joe tucked the baby into the crook of his arm, he stared at her—and she knew why. She was giving him family. More bonds to tie him to the earth. More people to love. He swallowed, and his voice came out as rough as she’d ever heard it. “Aye. I will serve as his guardian-protector, teaching him and loving him for as long as my heart beats and the blood flows in my veins.”

She felt the first tear spill down her cheek.

“Yes…” Wells cleared his throat, and his words came out clear and strong. “I will serve as Artair’s guardian-protector, teaching him and loving him for as long as my heart beats and the blood flows in my veins.”

*

In Alec’s car, Owen rode shotgun. Behind him were Darcy, Vicki and her cubs, and Gawain. Owen was amused to see how good his littermate was with the tiny cubs.

It was good to be headed home to Cold Creek—and sooner than he’d thought.

Alec hadn’t planned to leave until all the hostages and soldiers were gone.

Owen had watched the cahir call Calum to report in…and seen his growing concern as he spoke with the Cosantir. After ending the call, Alec had turned over everything to Shay, Zeb, and Ben.

He’d said Vicki and the babies needed to get back to Cold Creek. When Shay told him to take extra protection, Owen had volunteered, which meant Gawain and Darcy had come.

When Vicki had protested the need to hurry, Alec looked grim, saying Calum needed to see she was all right.

The thought of a Cosantir losing control was…not good. And by the God, Owen understood how frantic Calum must feel. When Darcy had been hit by bullets and gone down… He’d come very close to going on a killing rampage. He’d never felt such fear. Such rage.

Knowing a mate was safe wasn’t the same as feeling her, seeing her, hearing her, breathing her in.

Even now, Owen couldn’t stop checking on Darcy. For the hundredth time, he looked over his shoulder. She was snuggled to Gawain’s side, holding a baby on her lap, half-asleep. Just watching her breathe was more comforting than he would have ever imagined.