Page 64 of His Wife

“I don’t know,” she whimpers, her voice shaking, her expression nothing but delicate lines of uncertainty. “I wasn’t sure…I didn’t know how you’d react. And I didn’t want you to think—”

“Think what? That you being pregnant is the best news I’ve gotten in a really long time?”

“I didn’t want you to—”

I crash my mouth to hers in a fiery kiss, my tongue pushing past the barrier of her wet lips. She tastes of rain and mint and the sweetest fucking honey that soothes my soul in ways I never knew possible. Her lips are dynamite and silk all at once, and I pour everything I have into that one damn kiss because I have no words. I don’t know how to say what I’m feeling, so I kiss her, hoping it will tell her exactly what it is I need her to know.

That I love her.

That she’s my world.

That she’s not just the air I breathe, but the life that courses through my veins.

She’s my everything and all the tiny little pieces in between.

A groan echoes from my throat as I deepen the kiss. I hate that she’s crying, but I relish the taste of her tears. Her uncertainty in my devotion to her is venom in my veins, but I savor her vulnerability because it proves that I haven’t completely ruined her innocence. That I haven’t corrupted her gentle soul, and I now know it’s the one thing I need to protect. To cherish.

I reluctantly pull away with a moan, leaning my forehead against hers. “You make me happy,” I whisper, rain lapping down the sides of our faces. “Happier than a man like me deserves.”

“I wasn’t sure how you’d—”

I kiss her again, drowning her words with a hard kiss before inching back. “Erase those doubts, Leandra. They have no merit, no right to occupy your thoughts when it comes to me. Never doubt my feelings for you. Ever.”

She nods, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth, shivering, and I brush away the wet hair clinging to her cheeks. “I’m going to take you home, and I need you to go to my parents’ room. Make sure you lock yourself and my mother in. Understand?”

Light, earth-brown irises plead under stormy skies. “Alexius, please tell me what is going on.”

“I will. I promise. But right now, there’s no time. We have to find Mirabella.”

“Is she in danger? Does this have to do with the murder at Myth?”

I balk. “How do you know about the murder?”

“Mira told me she overheard your brothers talk about it, but we weren’t sure. Is Mira in danger, Alexius?”

“Get in the car.” I open her door and scan the area around us, placing a hand on the small of her back as I urge her to get in. The rain is coming down strong, drops exploding in each direction as I slam the car door and run to get in behind the wheel. “Remember,” I say when I rev the engine. “When we get to the estate, you go to my parents’ room. Lock the door.”

“I wish you’ll tell me what’s going on.”

“I will. I promise. We just need to find Mira first.”

The iron gates open as we drive up. It’s raining so hard the wipers struggle to keep up, water splashing from the car’s side fenders as I speed down the driveway. “In my dad’s closet, you’ll find some crates with old newspaper articles. Behind it is a bottle of whiskey with a dark brown wooden case next to it.” I glance at her. “There’s a gun inside. I need you to take it out and keep it, just in case.”

Her eyes widen, fear overshadowing their amber hues. She seems frozen, not even fucking blinking.

“Leandra!” I snap, stopping the car in front of the house. “Did you hear me? The gun. It’s in my father’s…” A wrecking ball slams into my gut, realization slicing through my mind with a sharp-edged blade.

It is time to gather at our Father’s house.

I’ve gone to the house of our Father to cut the member from your lives. But do not dwell; she will repent and be forgiven.

The Lord will deliver you all from evil, and I will be His Instrument. I am, after all…your brother.”

“Jesus Christ.” I hold my breath, my heartbeat echoing between my ears as the words of those letters slowly start to create a picture. “He said our father’s house.”

“What? Who?” Leandra touches my hand. “What are you talking about.”

“He wasn’t talking about God. He was talking about our father. Literally, our father. Our father’s house.” I climb out of the car and stare up at the two-story mansion. “My father’s house. I am your brother,” I mumble, the words repeating over and over in my head, but it doesn’t make sense. We all assumed he meant it in a religious sense, not actual brother. But what if…

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