Page 95 of The Rebirth
I chuckled as Layla placed Luna into the playpen, and I followed suit with Ellie.
Then I snagged my wife’s arm and tugged her to me. “You’re glowing.”
My gorgeous huntress smoothed a hand down her tight-fitting black cocktail dress that hugged every curve on her body to perfection. “I’m happy, vampire.”
“I want to show you something.” I guided her to my laptop at the kitchen island.
She eyed the papers beside my computer. “Please tell me that’s not another letter from Roman Brown. I really want to enjoy our party today without any bad news. It’s been so nice these last several months. Adam is gone, no more genetic engineering, and our kids are safe. But Roman—”
I snaked an arm around her waist. “I don’t want you to worry about him.”
We weren’t surprised that Roman was alive. However, it would be difficult for him to engage in any sort of genetic engineering. We’d destroyed all the data on Adam’s cloud servers and hard drives. Plus, Rudolph Parsons, the scientist, wouldn’t be an issue. We’d confiscated his notes but then offered him a job. He’d been working for Adam against his will, and he’d expressed his interest in helping us find a way to reverse the genetic-altering process or blocking it altogether in the event someone like Adam came on scene again.
She snorted. “My concern is more for Abbey. She’s still having dreams about Roman, and that letter he sent you last month is just creepy as fuck.”
He’d mailed the letter to me, but the note inside was addressed to my niece. “Abbey, my dearest love. Roses are red, violets are blue, watch your back because I’m coming for you.”
Webb had gone into a wild rage like I’d never seen before. I couldn’t blame him. Jo had talked her husband down off a ledge—at least for now. Abbey, the young seer, had dreamt what her encounter with Roman would be when she was older. So we were operating as normal, with tight security, scouts on the hunt for Roman or any threats, and two bodyguards assigned to Abbey when she started at Sacred Flame Academy the following school year.
Webb and Jo knew they couldn’t keep her locked up. Abbey needed room to grow, hang out with kids her age, and most importantly, she needed to learn how to control her witchcraft.
“Enough about Roman. I want to show you this property on the coast of Georgia.” I handed her the sheets of paper with pictures of the house inside and out, the details of the sprawling four-thousand-square-foot home, and other information about the area.
She glanced over the document. “This looks beautiful. But the price, Sam.”
I touched a finger to her lips. “Shh. I have a nice nest egg I’ve been saving up.”
“Georgia sounds like a great spot,” she said.
I traced a finger over the swell of Layla’s tits and down her cleavage. “It’s perfect, like you.”
She blushed, goose bumps popping up on her chest and arms as she set the papers on the counter. “Then maybe we should take a trip down there to check out the home.”
“I’ll call the realtor next week,” I said, pecking her on the lips.
She stroked her fingers through my close-trimmed beard. “I really like this look on you.”
I chuckled. “You mean you like how my facial hair tickles your pussy.”
She gave me a flirty yet seductive smile. “Okay.”
Someone knocked on the door, shattering our sultry moment.
Two hours later, our party was in full swing. Guests chatted in small groups. Some doted on our children, others were gathered by the Christmas tree with drinks in hand, and I stood beside my wife as we listened to Zoey Thornton. Layla had been talking to her on and off for the last three months and learning about what it meant to be a Mystic. But Zoey had family in New England, so it only made sense for her to drop by.
“I have so much on my plate now, Zoey,” Layla said.
The short witch with salt-and-pepper hair regarded Layla with her gray-blue eyes. “The Mystic is your destiny, Layla. You are the Monroe witch with quadruplets, and your yellow eyes also confirm the prophecy. Through my extensive research and delving into our archives, the last destined Mystic in the seventeenth century had yellow eyes as well.”
I had a beer in one hand and placed the other on Layla’s lower back. “If I’m hearing you correctly, Layla doesn’t have a choice.”
“We always have a choice,” Zoey said, then addressed Layla. “But embracing your destiny will show our community that a Monroe witch shouldn’t be feared. That alone will plant the seed of light and over time will extinguish the darkness we’ve been living in for so long.” She sipped on her wine.
“The fact that I’m a vampire doesn’t affect whether I become the Mystic?” Layla asked.
“Not at all,” Zoey said. “Word has spread that witches can’t be turned.”
“Technically, they could,” I said.
