Silent Embrace Book 3

It was time for a crackdown.

Or, rather, it had been time. For two months.

But some of the features of Delaney’s plan were just being implemented now.

That was all he seemed to do these days. Pace. Mutter to himself. Pore over every last detail of this damned plan.

And it didn’t even match the level of detail he normally adopted in planning things. In fact, as plans went, it was a rather hasty one.

He and his fellow producers had had to scramble to establish a new sense of order after the human women’s video plea, which resulted in a PR nightmare that Delaney was still cleaning up.

Not to mention after Delaney himself had to…dispose of the Alpha.

“Had” was the wrong word. Made it sound like Milo had forced his hand. It had become a necessity, and any blood spilled was a waste.

But still, Delaney had enjoyed it. The look on that pathetic dog’s face…

But the Shannon baby thing had truly been a debacle.

In so many words, Shannon had dismantled the exchange system and managed to turn the entire viewership against its own head producer.

He settled into a swivel chair, drumming his fingers on the sound panel.

What ingratitude.

After all he and the production team had done for them.

No one was being chased through a forested arena any longer.

And it wasn’t as though the offspring had ever been mistreated once they were taken.

Quite the opposite: they were placed into extraordinary care so they could grow into the strongest killing machines possible.

Meanwhile, what did the producers request in return?

Only a modicum of surveillance and a say in how the children of Lazarus would grow up. Hardly anything unreasonable.

What more did Shannon want?

Delaney would have had her head, too, if he’d had the chance.

But the more rational part of him knew that that wouldn’t be possible.

Even if he got the opportunity to kill her, it would only make her a martyr.

Which, apparently, Milo had become after his unfortunate expiration.

A martyr for “Lazarus Liberation,” or so this rebellious front was being called.

Well, with a name like that, it certainly didn’t need any more martyrs.

Delaney slipped a headset around his neck and switched on the microphone.

“Paging Derek.”

A second of silence. Then a crackle.

A weary voice.

“Yes, sir.”

“How are the reinforcements looking?”

“Just fine, sir.”

“How many have you collected there, by the way?”

The voice stalled, betraying a brain lost in counting. Delaney waved his hand.

“You know what, don’t answer that. Whatever you’ve got, double it.”

A pause.

“Double?”

“We can’t be too careful at this point. The last thing we need are any more of these humans—or shifters, for that matter—getting another smart idea.”

“Sir, I don’t think we have the resources to—”

“We are, sir.”

The voice had an edge to it now.

“Good. Not that I expected anything less, of course. You know what you’re doing.”

“That’s actually why it will be so difficult to double our ranks—the selection process is time-consuming—”

A pause.

“Do you not respond to orders, guard? Is that how you operate now?”

“No, sir.”

Two curt, staticky blasts.

“Well, then. Get your ass back to work. I want double your current number of troops compound-ready in forty-eight hours.”

Delaney switched off the headset before the voice had a chance to reply.

Come to think of it, he didn’t remember appointing Derek himself. He seemed to make a decent enough head guard.

Or at least wise enough to know Delaney controlled Rowan’s safety and could pull it away at any moment.

He’d have to keep an eye on the guy.

As if he didn’t have enough people to keep an eye on these days.

“Shh, shh…”

Baby Milo fussed in Leo’s arms.

“It’s all right, Momma will be here soon…”

Leo rocked him, but Milo wasn’t responding favorably.

“Hush…rock…uh…”

From what Leo had heard, there used to be practically an overabundance of lullabies. Songs to put kids to sleep.

Most of those songs were lost now.

He was no singer, and even if he were, he couldn’t think up anything for the life of him.

Milo was crying. Again. For the third time in the past hour.

Leo held him gingerly against his shoulder, bouncing and moving as steadily as he could. Shannon was out on Council business.

She had taken to motherhood quickly; she had recovered quickly, too.

Once that was out of the way, she had been anxious to show her comrades in arms that she was no down-and-out breeder.

That she was ready to come back with ten times the strength to throw behind Lazarus Liberation.

Unfortunately, Leo was pretty sure he wasn’t nearly as gifted at the parenting thing.

He was trying, of course he was trying, but Shannon’s services were needed just as badly on the home front.

For starters, Leo could never quite tell why the baby was crying.

Like now, for instance: he didn’t need changing, he’d been fed an hour ago, and he had slept pretty soundly.

The thought crossed Leo’s mind to take him out for a stroll along the corridor when the key turned in the lock.

“Hi,” he said with obvious relief as Shannon stepped in.

Her brown hair had grown out a little, and she was as beautiful as ever. She tugged at the high neckline of her sweater.

“Gosh, Leo, it’s warm in here.”

“Yeah, I— I think we both were feeling a little cold.” He patted Milo’s back; the child had stopped wriggling so much and was beginning to quiet.

“You don’t have to overkill it on the thermostat,” she murmured but she was already gesturing for Leo to hand him over, which he did gladly.

“Shh, shh, baby Milo,” she cooed, and twirled him around slowly, using her hips to propel the two of them in a concentric circle.

Not totally unlike what Leo had done, but much more effective.

“I don’t want him to freeze,” whispered Leo.

“He won’t, he won’t.”

Her volume was so low she was essentially just mouthing, but her gesticulations were emphatic enough that Leo hopped over to the thermostat and nudged it down a couple degrees.

“Done.” He looked at her, looking for her approval.

Over the baby’s shoulder, she gave a thumbs-up.

“So”— he settled on the bed, keeping his volume low— “how was the meeting?”

“Not an official meeting. More of a discussion. About the message.”

“Again?”

“Ah, f—” Her lips formed a curse, but she was an expert at reeling herself in. Leo helped her sit beside him.

“This room is too damn small to raise a child in,” she whispered.

He wrapped his right arm around her shoulders. “At least we have a child to raise,” he replied without hesitation.

She glanced at him, looking exhausted and briefly exasperated, before giving in to a sweet, soft smile and pecking him on the lips.

“Yeah. You’re right.”

For nearly two weeks now, Blythe had been feeling sick.

Here it was, mid-morning on her day off, and she had yet to get out of bed. When she sat up, she was overtaken by one hell of a headache.

It wasn’t unheard of for shifters to get the flu. They weren’t immortal, after all. But Killian had never known a shifter to stay sick for this long.

He initially wanted to stay in from his Council meeting this morning, but Blythe insisted that he go. His duties as Alpha shouldn’t wait, she’d insisted.

So Blythe was left to her own devices for the morning, sitting up in bed with the company of her own thoughts.

That was Blythe’s growing conviction. But it scared her.

There was a real possibility of all this coming to fruition.

Freedom. And more carnage along with it.

Anyway, that was enough to make any liberation-minded Lazarus dweller a nervous-slash-overexcited wreck.

There were certainly more stressors around than usual.

Maybe it was an aftereffect of the turning process.

That had certainly been a nerve-racking environment, when Killian had turned Blythe.

It had been for the best, and they both knew it.

She was now a tiger. But she hadn’t expected it to come with so much physical discomfort, especially weeks after the fact.

But all she could do was try to ride it out. There wasn’t much medication in Lazarus these days.

Still sitting up, she was just beginning to drift off again…

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

Killian stood in the doorway.

“Oh.” She lifted her head—nope, that hurt like hell. And made her dizzy. She dropped it back against the headboard. “Oh…ow.”

“How are you feeling? Any better?”

“I’ve got the worst headache.”

Killian came and sat at the foot of the bed but on her side.

“How was the meeting?” she asked.

“Wasn’t a meeting. But no one knows what the hell to do anyway, so I guess it was the best we could manage.”

His hand found hers.

“Is that all? A headache?”

“No, I’ve”—she gestured with her free hand—“I’ve been so tired and thirsty, and I still haven’t been able to keep any food down since yesterday…”

She heard an intake of breath. Very slight, but she noticed.

“Killian?”

His hand pulled away.

“Blythe, before I turned you, we…”

“What?”

She lifted her head. Okay, she could lift her head. That was it.

“We…had sex not long before that, right?”

Her eyes darted away from him and then back.

“Right.”

“Do you think…”

They stared at each other. The result of turning a human woman was sterilization 100% of the time, but what if…before she was turned…

“…you might be pregnant?”