Page 28 of Angel's Smoke

Was that what Anna was doing here? Iron shook his head and let the side of his forehead rest against the glass, rapping his knuckles on the window in time to the tumultuousness of his thoughts.

In the span of five minutes, he’d felt the full kiss of his powers again after innumerable ages without them. The second Anna placed her hand in his, a wellspring of angel fire had burst from his core, spreading throughout his frame and infusing his muscles with memories of strength and satiety. Knowing what to expect had been far different than the influx of magic and emotions he’d not been able to access since falling to the mortal realm. Overwhelmed and uncertain, he’d flung Anna away from him just in case his fire didn’t behave as it should have.

Had he known she was pregnant, he never would have been so reckless. He would have been more controlled, more?—

A paralyzing thought gripped him, chilling his blood.

Did I hurt her? Her baby?

“Ah, much better.” Anna walked into the living room, her long wet hair pulled back into a braid far more intricate than how he’d seen Chrome’s mate, Drea, usually wear her hair. A French braid, he thought it was called. Otherwise, she was the picture of comfort. Lounge pants, sweatshirt, and thick cozy socks provided a far softer contrast to his usual ensemble of flannel and jeans.

Like the trees’ bark, it was her sort of armor, one that also spoke of endurance and protection. Of defenses.

The sadness it called forth was a bitter pill on his tongue.

He walked around the coffee table, which he’d put back in place, along with the rest of the furniture. “Are you all right? Hurt at all? I pushed you back hard and saw you hit the wall.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit shaken up. It was only the fleshy part of my arm. My stomach’s actually more worse for wear than anything else, but that’s not from anything you did, and it’s getting better.” She hugged herself and plopped down into the armchair she’d claimed earlier.

Never on the couch. Always in the chair alone.

“Do you want me to make you some tea?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Honestly, I’m sick of tea. I’ve kind of been stuck with the herbal stuff because of my lowered caffeine allowances. Unfortunately, that crap tastes like whatever junk was left on the floor at the tea factories.”

“Why are you alone?” He didn’t mean for the question to be so abrupt, but he’d never been in the habit of dancing delicately through dialogue.

Anna’s eyes widened, then darted to the living room window. “Poor choices, I suppose.”

When she didn’t elaborate further, Iron took a seat on the couch in front of the window, forcing her gaze to focus on him. Once it finally landed where he wanted, those soft green eyes had begun to mist over.

“My baby’s father, Travis, and I were together for six years. I’m older than him by four years, but his dream was bigger. He wanted to be a life coach guru, and I wanted to be a nutritionist. My telehealth business was what kept us afloat for those early years, until it didn’t, and I had to find new ways to get clients so he could attend mastermind retreats, rub elbows with the next promising someone or other, and bet on a life that would be better for both of us. And then I got pregnant.”

Those pursed lips lifted into a small, sad smile that twisted his gut, even as she rested her hand on her stomach. “When I told him, he showed his hand.” She shook her head. “It’s funny, but my mother, when she was still in my life, always told me that when someone shows you who they really are, you should believe them. Turns out, the little life I was willing to bet on, the one we’d created together, didn’t fit into his entrepreneurial risk assessment. In the end, I forced him to leave me with the cabin and a promise for him to stay in California. I wasted far too many of my good years on that asshole, and I’m not about to let him have any more.”

Iron pushed back the rage threatening to coat his words. “How far along are you?”

“About sixteen weeks. I have my next checkup on Friday.”

“Do you have any other family?”

Anna took a deep breath. “Yeah. This little pumpkin.” She rubbed her stomach. “Though, I think it’s technically the size of an avocado now. Otherwise, no one I really speak to.”

“Anna,” Iron said, unsure what the hell to say. He leaned forward and tried for all the world not to leap to his feet and get closer to her. Fuck, he could hear it. The small hurt in her words that she clearly had so much practice at keeping small or hidden.

“So, what happens now?” she asked, cutting him off while sinking farther into the chair, into herself, and curling her knees up in front of her.

The wind lashed its roaring blows against the picture window, which, on any other day, would have no doubt reflected back at Anna the beautiful solitude of her life in the mountains.

But it wasn’t justherlife. She would soon have a child to care for and raise. The comfort she’d crafted here wasn’t so much a security blanket but a lie dressed in the trappings of hard work and hope.

He’d bonded with her, had been chasing after her for months in his own way, and now that he’d finally found her, he was less certain where to go from here.

She was pregnant, and he would sooner rip his wings off than risk Cyro and his demon charmers getting a hold of her, a prospect that only increased in likelihood if she became a part of his life.

He’d been down this road once before long ago and had spent countless years trying to forget the pain he still bore the mark of beneath his leather cuffs.

For now, though, Anna was safe, secluded behind the screen of the storm. And it was daylight. Even if they knew about her, charmers couldn’t touch her and were just as susceptible to the elements as mortals were.

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