Page 112 of Midnight Sanctuary

“Just checking on the bride. She looks phenomenal.”

He’d seen her already? In her dress? That irks me.But I’m willing to be charitable today. After all, it is my wedding day.

“Is everything good to go?”

Nikolai nods. “Yeah. Got the papers right here. We’re going legal with this shit.”

I smile. “By the way—you’re my best man.”

“Yeah?”

I slap him on the arm. “Who else?”

We embrace, clapping each other on the back at the same time. Nikolai even looks a little teary-eyed as he turns towards the pulpit, that sentimental bastard. “I’ll send Polly a text, tell her that we’re—”

Before he can finish his sentence, the doors burst open and Polly appears. Problem is, she’s out of breath and wide-eyed. I’m on edge immediately.

“Pol! What’s wrong? Is it Alyssa? The babies?”

“Um, I don’t know exactly. Alyssa wants to speak to you.”

“Is something wrong?”

Her eyebrows pull together tightly. “Yes. No. I-I’m not sure. Just go and talk to her.”

I race out of the chapel without waiting for more half-answers. I’m hurtling around the corridor when I almost run face-first into Dr. Grigory.

“Uri!” He looks shaken as he steps in my path. “I was just coming to find you. There’s something important I need to tell you.”

I frown. “Can it wait? Alyssa needs me.”

I might have just walked away at this point. But there’s something on the doctor’s face that stops me.

Something that readstrouble.

“Okay, go ahead. Tell me.”

Grigory’s eyes flicker past me. I glance over my shoulder to find Nikolai and Polly are standing a few feet behind me. He fidgets in place, looking desperately uncomfortable. “What I have to say is best said… in private.”

Yup.

Fucking trouble.

* * *

Even after the door shuts behind us in the little adjoining room we’ve stepped into, he does an awkward shuffling dance with his feet.

“Grigory,” I snap impatiently, “get the fuck on with it.”

The doctor’s cheeks flush red. His eyes snap to my face and then away again. He keeps twisting the file in his hands over and over again like he thinks he can wring the words right off the page. I notice the name stamped on the front of it.Alyssa Walsh.

I feel this unexpected combination of possessiveness and urgency. She won’t be Alyssa Walsh for very much longer. A short walk down the aisle and I’ll make her Alyssa Bugrov. She’s going to be mine.

One family; one name. One future.

“For fuck’s sake, Grigory,” I snarl. “I don’t have all day. I need to—”

“We did a test,” he blurts out. He does that weird shuffling thing with his feet again. “I-it’s a non-invasive test we do for all women who might have to undergo preterm deliveries. It’s to check the genetic makeup of the child, but mostly, it’s to check for the baby’s blood type in case of a transfusion.”

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