"Before all this," he said, not entirely sure he was going to say anything until he was already saying it, his voice coming out quiet and unhurried in the way of something that had been sitting in his chest for a while and had chosen this particular soft silence to surface, "I would have taken you to breakfast. Proper breakfast, the kind with too much coffee and those little jam portions that you have to open four of to make it worth it."

She made a sound that was almost a laugh.

"And I would have been insufferably early to pick you up," he continued, "because I would have been worried you’d think I wasn’t coming, and I would have brought you flowers that I pretended were casual and definitely thought about for three days, and I would have sat across from you and talked about nothing for two hours and thought about nothing except whether you were going to smile again."

The teacup shifted slightly in her hands.

"I would have been so good to you," he said, and it came out honest in the way things came out honest when you were too tired to dress them up, "in the world before this, I would have been so careful with you, you wouldn’t have known what to do with it."

The room was quiet except for the distant sound of something moving in the scrub outside and the faint hum of the kettle still warm on the counter.

"Everything is going to be okay," he said, softer now. "They’re coming all of them, and you know that."

"I know," she said, and her voice was small and tired and real.

"And when they get here," he said, "you’re going to sleep properly for the first time in days and Victor is going to check every inch of you for damage and Voss is going to stand outside the door and convince himself that’s not what he’s doing, and the cubs are going to be extremely loud about being reunited with you, and it’s going to be completely overwhelming and you’re going to pretend you’re fine and you’re going to be fine."

She was quiet for a moment.

"Lucan," she said.

"Yes."

"Thank you for the tea."

He turned and looked at her then, really looked at her, tired and gold-eared and holding a chipped motel mug like it was the most precious thing available, which at this particular moment it was, and felt something in his chest that was too large to name and too familiar to need naming.

"Drink it," he said. "It’s getting cold."

She drank it, and outside the window the road to Bowral stretched empty and pale under the morning sky, and somewhere up that road something white was moving fast, and it was not stopping.

Lucan watched her finish the tea, her delicate throat moving as she swallowed. Something primal and possessive stirred within him, a need to touch her that was becoming impossible to ignore. He set his own cup aside and moved toward her, the small space between them suddenly feeling like an ocean he needed to cross.

"Come here," he said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper.

Felicity looked up at him, her blue eyes wide and questioning. Without waiting for her response, he carefully took the teacup from her hands and placed it on the table. Then, with a gentleness that belied his massive frame, he gathered her into his arms.

She’s carrying my cubs, our cubs, inside her.

The thought hit him like a physical blow as he cradled her against his chest, one arm supporting her back, the other beneath her knees. She was so small, so impossibly delicate against his larger frame. The contrast made something primal and possessive flare in his chest.

He carried her to the worn sofa, settling her in his lap. Her blonde hair spilled across his arm like autumn leaves, and he breathed in her scent, wild honey and something uniquely her.

"I’ve been wanting to do this," he murmured against her temple.

His hand traced the curve of her jaw, tilting her face up to his. When their lips met, it was gentle at first, a slow exploration that built gradually into something deeper, more urgent. He savoured the taste of her, the softness of her mouth, the little sounds she made when he nipped gently at her lower lip.

Mine.

All mine.

The mother of my children.

Lucan’s hand slid down her neck, feeling the flutter of her pulse beneath his fingertips. He followed that pulse with his mouth, pressing kisses along her collarbone, feeling her shiver beneath his touch.

"You’re so beautiful," he whispered against her skin, "so perfect."

His hands moved to the hem of her shirt, sliding beneath to find the warm, soft skin of her stomach. He paused there, his palm spreading wide over the slight swell that was just beginning to show.

"Our cubs," he said, and his voice was rough with emotion. "Growing inside you."

Felicity’s breath caught as his hands moved higher, finding the soft curves of her breasts. They were fuller now, sensitive and heavy in his palms. He cupped them gently, reverently, his thumbs tracing circles around her nipples through the thin fabric of her bra.

"So perfect," he repeated, watching her face as her eyes fluttered closed. "Everything about you."

He lowered his head, replacing his hands with his mouth, kissing the exposed swell of her breasts above her bra. Her skin was like silk beneath his lips, warm and scented with her.

Lucan’s hand slid down to her hip, tracing the elegant curve where it flared from her narrow waist. His fingers dipped beneath the waistband of her pants, feeling the smooth, soft skin there.

"You’re so small," he murmured, his inner voice a chaotic mess of desire and reverence. "So delicate, but you’re stronger than all of us, aren’t you? Carrying our future inside you."

He kissed her again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against hers as his hand continued its exploration of her body. Every curve, every dip, every soft sigh, he committed them all to memory, determined to remember every part of her.

Lucan froze, his protective instincts immediately overriding everything else.

They’re nearly here, he thought.