Page 86 of Blood Oath Christmas
The timeline clicks into place. That explains so much—her distance, her fear, the way she looked at me like I was a stranger. She'd discovered she was carrying my child right after witnessing the brutal reality of my world.
"That's why you ran." It's not a question.
Tears well in her eyes. "When I visited my mom, she put the fear in me. She… she warned me about what kind of life this would be for a child. I didn’t know I was pregnant yet, but she said I needed to think about whether I wanted to raise a baby surrounded by violence and danger." Her voice breaks slightly. "I was terrified, Konstantin. I didn't know what to do."
The protective instinct that's been driving me since the moment I first saw her intensifies tenfold. She's carrying my child—my heir. The thought fills me with a fierce pride I've never experienced before, mixed with a terror I refuse to acknowledge.
I move closer to her on the bed, reaching out to cup her face in my hands. "Solnyshko, look at me."
Her blue eyes meet mine, still swimming with unshed tears.
"I understand why you were afraid. I threw you into this life without preparation, without giving you time to adjust. But you need to understand something." I brush my thumb across her cheekbone. "As your father told you, there's no getting out of this life. Not for you, not for our child. But being the wife of thePakhan, being my family, that offers more protection than anyone else can provide."
"But the violence?—”
"Will always exist in our world," I finish for her. "But our child will be raised knowing how to navigate it, how to be strong in it. They'll have the protection of the entire Mikhailov family."
She searches my face. "Are you… are you happy about this?"
The question catches me off guard. Happy doesn't begin to cover what I'm feeling. I never thought I'd be a father. Never imagined I'd want to be. But the idea of Ivy carrying my child, of creating a family with her, fills me with something I can barely name.
"I'm terrified," I admit, my voice low. "And I've never been happier in my life."
The smile that spreads across her face is like sunrise after the longest night. She launches herself into my arms, and I catch her against my chest, holding her tight.
"I was so scared you'd be angry," she whispers against my neck.
"Never." I pull back to look at her. "You're giving me something I never knew I wanted. A family. A future."
I kiss her then, pouring all my emotions into it. My love, my protectiveness, and my promise to keep her and our child safe. She responds with equal fervor, her hands fisting in my hair as she presses closer.
When we break apart, both breathing hard, I rest my forehead against hers. "We'll figure this out together, Ivy. All of it."
She nods, and I can see some of the fear leaving her eyes, replaced by something that looks like hope.
"There's something else," she says softly. "Something Russian tradition says about pregnancy."
I raise an eyebrow, curious.
"Anya told me that in Russian culture, the first three months are kept secret. That you don't tell anyone until you're sure the baby will be healthy."
"Anya's right. It's an old superstition, but many still follow it." I study her face. "Then we keep this between us for now. Just until we're past the first trimester."
The thought of Ivy growing round with my child sends heat coursing through me. I trace my hand down her side, imagining how she'll look in a few months.
"Konstantin," she breathes, and I can hear the desire in her voice.
"You're so beautiful," I murmur, pressing kisses along her jaw. "And you're going to be even more beautiful carrying our child."
She shivers at my words, her hands sliding down my chest. "Show me," she whispers.
I don't need to be asked twice. I capture her lips again, this kiss deeper, more demanding. My hands roam her body with new reverence, knowing she's carrying our baby. Every touch is worship, every caress a promise.
When I lay her back against the pillows, she's flushed and breathing hard. Her blonde hair spreads across the dark fabric like spun gold, and her blue eyes are dark with want.
"Mine," I growl against her throat, and she arches beneath me.
"Yours," she agrees, her voice breathless. “And you’re mine.”
