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And my fingers on the triggers.

“Holy. Crap.”

Until I back them off. With sudden, sickened swiftness.

“Stop. No, Reece. Stop!”

I catch his backward flick of both hands, his version of priming his lightning barrels, and I’m terrified that he’s already too deep in his battle zone to hear my scream. Luckily, my downward blast gives me the boost to fly in front of the shaft.

At once, I block the aperture with my outstretched arms. Reece, finally getting the point, redirects his lightning tines to the side. They rip an impressive slice out of the wall to my left. I almost want to reward him with a fist pump, but the creatures in the elevator are sucking every molecule of my attention. And shock. And astonishment. And wonderment. And about a thousand other emotions that invade my senses in the same cavalcade, threatening to crush my chest.

I can’t move.

I’m locked in place, hands still gripping the sides of the opening.

My breaths pump in and out of me in astonished, agonized heaves.

“For the love of fuck!” Reece roars. “Emmalina, what the—”

“Kids.”

“What?” he barks.

“Kids!” The single word taxes my physical strength and emotional composure. My glow surges anew as the fierce lioness inside takes over, but I’m able to get in some normal inhalations at seeing Reece acknowledge them too. Sort of. While he’s stood down with his arms and hands, his posture is still as threatening as a Sith’s, and his stare is still as piercing as an Asgardian’s.

“Kids.” I give the word a third verbal stomp, already discerning my husband is hearing but not listening. The utter stillness from him can mean one of two things: he really doesn’t understand yet, or he’s dead. “As in children!” I challenge once more, figuring it’s at least worth a try.

But there’s still no change in his expression as I turn around. If anything, he’s throwing up more mental shields as he scoots forward, watching my back literally as well as figuratively. Yeah, that is the best word for it. My own defenses have raised again, but I meet the confession with shame. Whether we’re about to confront children or adults or an elevator full of frogs, it doesn’t matter. Of the many truths Lux has proven since his birth, the one that impresses me now is this: what one sees isn’t always what one gets.

I drop to my knees. Tears brim and then roll down my cheeks—as I struggle to vocalize what I’m really looking at.

“Angels.”

My stud hero of a husband hunches behind me, wrapping his hand around the back of my neck. His fingers are trembling.

Because he feels it too. He knows it too.

“Reece. They’re…they’re angels.”

Chapter Two

Reece

I’m so ready to believe her.

Fuck, I hate admitting it…but I am.

The twin girls appear older than Lux—at least on the outside—by at least a year. They look like three-year-olds who should be modeling in clothing and toy ads after being discovered by an agent in the Brentwood Whole Foods. They’re decked in the finest, trendiest toddler wear as if to prove it, with hair and coloring that look like Moana and Snow White had a pair of angel love children. I’m awestruck by their black curls, cinnamon skin, and expressive eyes.

No. Not expressive.

All-seeing.

All-knowing.

Not exaggerations.

At first, they seem fascinated by Emma—probably her light hair and eyes, the opposite of what they see in the mirror every day—but as soon as they refocus, peering at me, I almost fall off my haunches and back onto my ass. Nobody except the woman in front of me and the child she gave me have been able to stare so completely down to my soul.