Chapter 89 89
“I… I’m going to be a father?” he asked, the words leaving him almost soundless.
For the first time since she had known him, Fernando stumbled over a sentence.
Sofía tightened her fingers around his hand and nodded.
A breathless laugh broke from his chest.
He pushed the duvet down from her body and adjusted his oversized shirt around her, making sure it covered her thighs before lowering himself. Gently, almost reverently, he pressed his ear to her stomach.
“I can’t hear the heartbeat,” he murmured, brows knitting together. “Why can’t I scent him?”
His wide green eyes lifted to hers, open and almost boyish in their confusion.
“Corinne said it would be safer to keep the pregnancy hidden until you returned,” Sofía explained softly. “So Cécile masked the baby’s scent.”
Understanding dawned across his face and he gave a small nod. Without warning, he wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face against her belly, holding her as if she might disappear.
“You’ve made me the happiest man alive today, Ana,” he whispered, pressing a tender kiss against her stomach. His voice fractured.
“I still can’t believe you’re back,” she breathed, threading her fingers through his hair.
Then she felt it.
Warmth against her skin.
Her eyes widened.
Was he… crying?
She tugged gently at his hair. A low growl rumbled from him as he lifted his head, and she saw it clearly his mighty frame unshaken, but his eyes bright with unshed tears.
“F-Fernando…”
He didn’t allow her to finish. He surged upward and captured her lips in a deep, consuming kiss.
At first it was soft, almost fragile. Then it shifted intense, desperate, hungry. He kissed her as if he had been starved of her for months, as if tomorrow was not promised. The raw emotion behind it tightened her chest until breathing felt impossible.
Her fingers traced the rough stubble along his jaw, thicker now after three long months.
When he finally pulled back, they were both panting.
Sofía cupped his face, studying him as she sat up. Dark shadows rested beneath his eyes. His beard had grown fuller, lending him a harsher, more dangerous edge. His body seemed stronger, broader, his muscles defined as if war had carved them sharper.
Her trembling fingers brushed his shoulder.
He hissed.
Her heart dropped.
Her lips quivered as she reached for the buttons of his shirt. He caught her wrist gently.
“P-please,” she whispered.
He swallowed hard and released her.
She undid the buttons slowly and peeled the fabric back.
A horrified gasp tore from her throat.
A vicious claw wound stretched from his shoulder down toward his ribs, the angry gash covered in salve but still raw.
Tears streamed freely down her cheeks as she stared at it, pain flooding her expression so fiercely it made his chest ache.
“W-why didn’t it heal?” she asked, voice splintering as she bit down on her lip to hold back sobs.
“It was silver,” he answered gruffly.
The world seemed to tilt.
She knew what silver did to werewolves. She had read enough studied enough history to understand its cruelty.
“W-who did this?” she whispered.
“Bastien.”
The name struck her like lightning.
Her body went rigid. Nausea twisted in her stomach.
“I confronted him,” Fernando continued, his voice low and controlled. “He killed your parents. Your father saw him murder a man in the alley in wolf form. Your father attacked him with a broken whiskey bottle. Bastien lost his eye.”
His jaw tightened.
“He killed your” His voice faltered briefly.
Sofía felt hollow. Numb.
“I killed him,” Fernando finished coldly.
He didn’t tell her about the torture. About how Ricardo and Étienne had taken turns ensuring the man suffered before death claimed him.
Her head snapped up, tear-filled blue eyes colliding with his icy green ones.
“Your parents have justice now,” he said more softly.
Her heart nearly leapt into her throat.
“He was Andrés’ right hand. My enemy too. I ended them all.”
The words were forced through clenched teeth.
She didn’t know how to respond. Her pulse thundered in her ears.
He pulled her onto his thigh instinctively. She stiffened and tried to move away.
“I might hurt you,” she murmured.
“No,” he said stubbornly, lowering his face into the curve of her neck. He inhaled deeply, her sweet, addictive scent calming the storm inside him. For the first time in days, he felt steady.
She was his home.
His peace.
His love.
His mate.
“I love you,” he whispered.
When she didn’t answer immediately, he leaned back, frowning.
Tears were slipping silently down her cheeks.
“Why are you crying?” he asked, concern overtaking his features.
She met his gaze.
“Thank you,” she mouthed.
He understood. She was thanking him for avenging her parents.
His response was another fierce kiss heated, full of promise.
He eased her back onto the mattress and hovered above her, bracing himself on his elbows. Gentle kisses followed across her cheeks, along her jaw, down her neck.
His heart swelled as he caught his own scent on her skin. She had worn his shirt. She had surrounded herself with him.
His mate had missed him.
Carefully, slowly, he unfastened the buttons of the shirt she wore. The fabric slipped aside, exposing her body to his heated gaze.
His eyes darkened.
He bent to her, his touch softer now, reverent rather than desperate. His hands and lips moved with tenderness, worship rather than hunger.
Sofía trembled beneath him.
He pressed light kisses along her stomach before murmuring playfully, “Don’t mind me, little champ. Go to sleep. Dad’s about to show your mom how much he missed her.”
He tapped her belly gently, making her laugh breathlessly, joy and longing tangling inside her chest.
After shedding the last of his clothes, Fernando adjusted her carefully, mindful of her comfort. Then he joined her fully.
It was not just need.
It was reunion.
It was relief.
It was love poured into touch.
Her moans mingled with his groans as they moved together, rediscovering each other in the quiet darkness.
They were one again.