Page 79 of Blood Red Rage

“No, and how dare you order me.” My left eye twitched. She was standing beside the wardrobe wearing black leggings and one of my shirts, her dark-blond hair piled messily on top of her head, arms folded beneath her breasts and enough defiance burning in her eyes to start a fucking revolution.

She was so fucking beautiful, pregnant, mine. And currently making me consider whether locking the bedroom door from the outside was actually as unreasonable as everyone kept claiming.

“You need to rest.”

“I have rested.”

“You were downstairs for three hours yesterday.”

Her mouth fell open. “Listen to yourself!”

“I am.”

“Then listen harder.” My jaw clenched as she marched toward me, actually marched.

“You have kept me in this room for most of the last two weeks.”

“Because you're pregnant.”

“I’m pregnant, Viking. Not dying.”

“Don't.” One word and the room changed. Her expression softened for half a second because she knew that anything involving her dying wasn't fucking funny to me.

She sighed. “Fine. Bad choice of words. But you know what I mean.”

“No, I don't.”

“Of course you don't, because apparently finding out I have something the size of a blueberry growing inside me means you've lost whatever remained of your sanity.”

I frowned. “Blueberry?”

She closed her eyes. “Oh my God.”

“Is that how big the baby is?”

“That is what you're taking from this conversation?”

“How big?”

“I don't know exactly!”

“Then we should call the doctor.”

Her eyes snapped open. “No.”

“I'll call him.”

“You will not call the bloody doctor because you don't know whether your child is a blueberry or a sesame seed!”

I was already reaching for my phone, but she slapped it out of my hand. Silence. I looked at the phone then at her.

Bryn pointed at me. “Don't.”

I narrowed my eyes. She narrowed hers harder. Christ, how had I ended up mated to the only woman alive who apparently possessed absolutely no survival instinct?

“Pick up the phone,” I ordered.

“You pick it up.”