Ronan

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Elowyn, a woman blessed by occasional visions from the future, had given her pregnancy tests.

Pregnancy tests. Why?

Because she probably thinks I'm pregnant.

But that couldn't be the case—right?

How many hundreds of thousands of times had she slept with Ronan? They had a hundred or so years of experience shagging each other's brains out. Never once had they had a baby scare.

Because I've always been careful.

She'd always been sure he'd bolt the second a baby came in the picture. Her hold on him had already been so fragile. She wouldn't have taken a risk to snap it. She'd been purchasing mystical contraception from witches the second she heard about it.

But there were no pills in Triumph. Hell, the thought hadn't even occurred to her.

She eyed the pregnancy tests. It wouldn't show positive from just then. But this wasn't the first time. They'd slept together twice, maybe three times now. Contraception had slipped her mind completely.

Her hands fell to her stomach.

Am I pregnant?

Elowyn evidently thought so.

This can't be happening.

She hugged the sheets around her body tighter, snatching the tests from the hamper.

Now what?

Ronan was still in the bedroom, awaiting her return. She couldn't go in there and just... just what? Just tell him?

Hey Ronan, I think I might be pregnant with your child.

Absolutely not. So not happening.

She stuffed the tests under her arm, racing over to the bedroom.

The warlock was still in the bed when she stood in the threshold. Obviously, since he could barely move.

With his delicious sex hair and fuck me eyes, the need to mount him rose all over again. Remembering she was probably carrying a baby Ronan had her sex drive sobering.

"You took your time," He accused playfully.

I'm so dead. So screwed. Nope, been there, done that.

"I need a couple minutes. Wait here for me?"

"Where are you—"

She didn't give him a choice, slamming the door on him.

Okay, make this fast.

Maybe there was nothing to worry about. Maybe Elowyn was fucking with her.

Funny way of welcoming me to the family.

She bolted across the villa to the bathroom furthest from their room. Better the warlock didn't hear if she were to suddenly have a meltdown.

I can't have a baby. I just—I just can't.

The timing couldn't be more wrong. Sure, she'd just decided Ronan was hers—the world be damned. But they'd literally just come down from a fight. A fight that had her stabbing him, nearly landing him dead. And that wasn't even the half of it.

A world of bullshit stood between them.

His war, for starters. She couldn't raise a child with a Dad who was constantly in and out of the picture, off to fight the good guys then back late to change a nappy. His prophecy demanded his total focus. Rosa was already struggling to accept his drive to obtain the stupid prophecy, but there'd be hell to pay before her child came second place. His enemies were endless. Would they target their kid?