Ronan

Chapter Thirty-Eight

In the past, she'd read about women who enjoyed being pregnant.

I'm not one of them.

She'd known her stomach would get big—but surely that wouldn't happen this fast?

It'd barely been a couple of months and she could hardly see her toes. Her feet were sore all the time, constantly feeling swollen. But it was a sight to see. The great and powerful Ronan taking time out of his schedule to massage her feet every evening.

He'd taken to this pregnancy thing a lot easier than she had.

Probably 'cause he's not lugging the baby around!

Pregnancy was driving her insane.

If Ronan had been protective before, that had only gotten worse now. They bickered daily about ridiculous elements of her safety.

Just last night he'd rallied her about how she cleaned herself.

"I don't see why I can't use the shower."

"You might slip and hurt yourself."

"I think I'll be fine."

He remained resolute, not budging. "We have a tub you can soak in. If you want a shower, wait for me."

"You're being ridiculous."

But he kissed her in that mind-boggling way he had a talent for, nipping away her every complaint.

"Please?"

Before she knew it, he'd have her walking around this place in bubble wrap.

In the day, she was more bored than ever while he was out. She'd caught up on her television, watching the broadcasted filming of the Blood Sports and Race Across The Common World. These hours alone were driving her mad.

Hell, she was driving herself mad. What she'd give to be able to stop thinking.

And there were so many things to think about. Her kid would be born into a world of danger. The news had only doubled Ronan's motivation to find the prophecy, claiming he now had a child on the way to protect too.

She wondered how this would work for them as a family. She couldn't exactly see herself and Ronan dining around a table with Meg, Claudio, and a baby.

Her in way of passing the time was to take walks around the realm. The strain of walking back up the hill to the villa balanced the copious amounts of food the baby demanded. That, and she'd found a new love for gardening.

Proelii was a blank slate for potential. She was eager to see it grow.

Making her way through the rubble, she felt the brush of the wind zipping with mystical energy. Similar to what she felt from warlock magic—but somehow wrong.

Her body tensed.

"Ronan? Is that you?"

"It's a strange thing, the longing for home." I know that voice. That chilling voice that dripped like cold water down her spine. Would that voice ever cease haunting her?

She's here.

This had to be some sick, cruel joke.

She couldn't know they were here.

Ronan had magic blocking the tracking of their location.

The bitch must've found a way to circumvent it.

She sat idly on a pile of rubble, one leg crossed over the other, rapping the fingers of her only hand against her knee. She looked refined, just as she had back in the day, platinum hair tied back with her pantsuit at the ready.