Page 191 of White Raven
Wren busted out laughing and shook her head as she held her left hand out. “Jesus, Brent.” Her ring finger jutted out and she held it up. “First warning.”
“That a yes, then?” The fit was perfect as it slid onto her finger, and he slowly stood.
Cue the waterworks…damn it.
“Yes, stupid,” Wren sniffled, wrapping her arms around his neck as he lifted her up and kissed her.
CHAPTER 39
PUPPIES
Thanksgiving was two weeks away, and four officers had already ambushed her today, begging for an office potluck as Rhaena sat, leaning over a mountain of paperwork at her desk. She adjusted herself on the pillow she’d wedged beneath her, and the chair screeched. At first, she could have killed Athan for that shit…but every time she heard it…it brought a smile to her face. Brandon peeked into the doorway, smiling.
“If it’s about the stupid potluck, you need to let them know if they worked as hard as they bitched, I wouldn’t have my pregnant ass stewing over all these reports.”
He only smiled wider and crept into the doorway. “Well, you know…those reports wouldn’t be on your desk if they weren’t kicking ass on the streets. Let ‘em have the potluck, babe. I’ll help with that.” He gestured to the stack under her pen, and Rhaena rested her face on her palm.
“Fine. But I’m not cooking shit.”
“I can make a meanhash-brown casserole!” a chipper—annoying as fuck voice sounded from behind him. Ryan bee-bopped into her office with that nasal laugh that scratched her nerves. She’d never let on how glad she was to see the dumb bitch.
“Say that a little bit louder in a precinct full of law enforcement, Ryan.”
“Oh, come on. They’ll think it’s oregano, and it’ll be the happiest fucking turkey day you’ve ever seen. When did you become such a mom?”
Brandon covered his mouth, trying not to laugh.
“Donot…make jokes about that right now. My feet don’t fit into my shoes, my back feels like a worn-out cane pole, I fucking cried over the homeless guy’sdogoutside our building this morning, and the last thing I need is a bunch of cheesed out idiots on call on Thanksgiving night.”
“Get up. I’m not taking no for an answer, cousin.” Ryan slid around her desk and held her arms out. It was unreal how quick they became close. Rhaena liked to chalk it up to the bond between not only family…but as a pack. Ryan had taken the reins out west, and everybody was thriving without the looming stigma of a blood war. The coven disbanded, and many stayed to live amongst the wolves. There were twice as many hybrids being born, and all the old tales of vampires and werewolves being long-time rivals…now just seemed utterly ridiculous. It was only made that way because of power-hungry vultures. Truthfully, it only made them just as much human as the man she’d be marrying next year. Ryan had already visited four times in the past few months to see to Rhaena’s welfare, and to feel like she had a family of her own. It meant the world to both of them.
Rhaena rolled the chair out, making a god-awful noise, and pushed herself up to stretch her aching back. The sight of her massive round belly made Ryan bite down on her lip. “I don’t wanna hear a word.”
“What’s his name?” Ryan asked, palming Rhaena’s rolling belly. She looked like she could cry, and it did nothing for Rhaena’s raging hormones.
“Theirnames…are Baron and Malcolm,” Rhaena smiled tearfully.
Ryan’s eyes popped. “Shut the fuck up…there’s two?!”
“Puppies,” Brandon grinned. “Having a litter.”
“I’m gonna start striking you out like Wren does if you say that shit one more time, Jenkins.” Rhaena’s finger shottowards him, and he held his palms up, backing towards the office door.
“How did you end up with another one? I thought the doctor said…” Ryan couldn’t control her smile, and that beauty mark on her lip raised with it.
“The little one was hiding good last time.” Her belly moved and protruded out on the side, and Rhaena winced, smoothing a hand over it. “But he’s just as tough.”
Ryan sniffled. “Like his mama. Little runt-runt.”
“Ryan, don’t you dare.”
“Oh, this is happening,” she snorted, wrapping her arms around Rhaena’s shoulders. “Little runt-runt and fleabag.”
“Jesus Christ,” Rhaena growled under her breath. She rested her chin on Ryan’s shoulder and stared up at the flag in the case on top of the bookshelf. Foley’s flag. Their legacy. Their secret.
Proud of you, Gloves…
She let the tear fall from her eye, and pulled back, holding her smile. “I’ve got a better nickname.”
