Page 177 of The Sinner's Bargain

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, half choked. “I’m so sorry. I left the gate open. It was my fault.” Her shoulders rocked with a hiccup. “You almost died because of me.”

I captured her jaw and brought her closer. “Oh, we’ll be having a long, thorough discussion regarding everything that happened tonight once I get my arm back, Naya my love.” I skimmed a thumb over her puffy lip. “And you are going to make it up to me in the most ... creative ways.”

Despite the tears, she blushed, but nodded eagerly. Her chilled hands closed around mine.

“I will. I promise.”

I almost laughed, but Cyrus took that moment to return with the vodka and I practically wrenched it from his hands to swig back half. The burn was a blessing. It seared my gut and numbed my pain.

Barely.

Enough.

I had a passable buzz when Dr. Roberts shuffled in, freakishly brisk for an eighty-year-old man. He jostled his glasses and blinked at my arm, still swaddled in Naya’s coat.

“Gunshot?” he guessed.

I shook my head. “Wolf.”

He hummed softly before setting straight to work ordering towels and hot water. Naya kept very close to my side, holding my good hand, and turning several different shades of green as the doc washed, sterilized, and stitched the wounds.

I had too much vodka in me to feel much, but Doc was kind enough to give me a shot of something that was making everything really, really soft.

“I’m sorry,” Naya breathed into the curve of my shoulder.

She smelled so nice. Damp. But under the rain, her curls smelled like ... me. I liked my scent on her. In her. I fucking loved being in her. In her tight pussy. Her mouth. Her ass. Soon. When I could feel my face again, I was going to fuck her ass.

“Thoran!” Her head jerked up, eyes wide with horror as she shot glances between me and the other ... six? No. Only one Vance, Cyrus and doc, in the room.

I realized lazily that I’d said it out loud. But I didn’t give a shit. I was the boss, and she was my wife, and we were in our bedroom where we fucked a lot.

A lot.

“I want a baby,” I told her, my voice groggy even to my own ears. “Yours. I want your baby. Little blonde demons who give me constant heart attacks.”

Her cheeks were beautiful, scarlet patches but she grinned at me. “We’ll talk about it when you’re actually able to keep your eyes open.”

“My eyes are open,” I muttered. “I see you. You’re so pretty. So shiny.”

Everyone started shouting when I reached to touch her hair.

I’d used the wrong hand, nearly ripping the stitches Doc was pressing into my skin.

“Cyrus!”

Naya flinched. Doc jumped. I hadn’t realized I’d bellowed the name, but I must have.

Standing five feet away, Cyrus shifted forward a step. “I will not have your baby, sir.”

Naya snorted and quickly covered her lips. Doc and Vance both appeared amused, but I wasn’t.

“Why the fuck would I want your ugly babies?” I snapped back.

“Thoran! That’s not nice,” Naya gasped. “Cyrus would make adorable babies.”

I stared at her. At her beautiful eyes and beautiful lips, and her beautiful eyes. God, I fucking loved her eyes.

“You want his babies?” I whispered, feeling a rush of rage and sadness brew together in my belly.

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