He paced back into the room and stopped at the foot of the bed.

“You should be sleeping.”

“Mmm. Later. Not tired yet.”

Hope gave him a once-over. He chuckled and bent forward, hands on the end of the bed.

“I could help with that,” he said.

“You could …”

“I will.”

He crawled across the bed and tugged down the sheet over her, his hand sliding down her thigh. She considered the offer. Not sex, sadly. That had gotten unwieldy a couple of weeks ago, and they’d switched to backup plans. Karl’s backup plan was nice. Very nice. However …

“Not tonight,” she said, moving his hand away before she changed her mind.

His brows shot up and she sputtered a laugh.

“Never thought you’d hear those words from me? Sorry. But you’re distracted and I’d rather wait until you’re not. Otherwise …” She lowered her voice. “It’s less than perfect.”

Now it was his turn to laugh. That was the thing about Karl that others didn’t understand. His ego might barely fit in a room, but he knew it. It was like that muscular body, developed as a way to deal with his world, so much a part of him that it didn’t take much to maintain. Karl knew what he was. A first-rate fighter. A peerless jewel thief. A wealthy, cultured, powerful, handsome man. Not a bad catch, really. If you could get past the ego part.

Hope told him so as he slipped under the sheet and lay down beside her. He only laughed and tugged her against him, head on his arm.

“If you were concerned about my ego, you shouldn’t have agreed to marry me,” he said. “Or have my baby. Beautiful young wife. Beautiful baby on the way. Two more reasons for me to be very, very pleased with myself.”

“She might not be beautiful.”

His brows shot up again. “Genetically impossible.”

Hope laughed and moved closer, closing her eyes to luxuriate in the heat of his body. His hand moved to her stomach.

“How is she?” he murmured.

“Sleeping, I think. I haven’t felt her move in a while.”

His hand massaged her stomach.

“Are you trying to wake her up?”

“No, of course—”

The sheet bobbed as the baby kicked. She glared over at him. “Happy?”

“Sorry.”

He rubbed the spot. She sighed, but only to be dramatic. These days, she should know better than to tell him when their daughter had gone quiet. It only worried him, and he had enough to worry about.

Hope thought back to the first time she’d met Karl Marsten. At a museum fund-raiser where he’d been determined to steal something and she’d been determined to stop him. Had someone told her that she’d be married to Karl Marsten one day, she’d have laughed herself to tears. She might have grown up as a socialite, but Karl was exactly the kind of man she’d spent her life avoiding. Even after they became friends, the thought of winding up here, in his bed, wearing his ring wouldn’t have occurred to her. Okay, maybe the “in his bed” part. But definitely not the ring. And the baby? Unfathomable. Karl Marsten was not the kind of man to be tied down with a wife and child.

On their wedding night Hope had raised the issue of children. She’d done it jokingly—okay, we’re married now, so when do we take the next step? She could still remember his face when she said it. His expression. Not shock. Not horror. Longing, quickly hidden as he stammered and mumbled. Yes, stammered and mumbled, two things she would have insisted were beyond Karl Marsten’s capabilities.

When would they start a family? Well, he wanted one. That is, if she wanted one. He hoped she wanted one. But there was no rush. Not really. She had her career, and of course, when she was ready, he’d take his share of responsibilities. More than his share, if that helped. But it really was up to her. Entirely up to her. So … when did she want to start a family?

Now. That’s what she’d said. Now. And while there was no way of knowing for sure, no one would ever convince her that their daughter was not conceived that night. Their wedding night.

“You should sleep,” Karl said, pulling her from her thoughts.

“I know. I’m just … I guess you’re not the only one who’s distracted.”

“I’m less distracted now,” he murmured, his fingers dropping between her thighs. “Why don’t you let me see if I can help with—”

A cell phone rang. Karl leaped up—one second she was resting against him, the next he was standing beside the bed, having somehow managed to not even get tangled in the bedsheets. She rose to say that it was just one of the guard’s phones—theirs were on the bedside table, silent. But when she opened her mouth, he motioned her to stay quiet.

She sighed and lay back on the bed. And just when she’d been about to take him up on that offer. The truth was that Karl wasn’t going to be any less distracted until every member of the reveal movement was dead or locked in a Cabal prison.

Hope sighed again. She supposed that protective streak was the price you paid for being with a werewolf, but even Clayton seemed positively nonchalant about his family compared to Karl. She didn’t even want to think what it would be like when their daughter was old enough to date. It might be wise to fit her for a nun’s habit at birth.

Karl was now standing in the hall, leaning over the stair railing, straining to hear the conversation. He didn’t need to strain. The guard was one of those guys, usually encountered on public transit, who doesn’t quite trust the amplification qualities of modern technology and practically shouts into the receiver.

Even Hope could hear him say “What?” into the phone.

Karl tensed, but the guard’s tone didn’t give any cause for alarm and she wasn’t picking up any chaos waves.

“It’s nothing,” she said. “Come back to—”

He lifted a finger, still asking her to be quiet.

“Sure,” the guard said. “Bring it over.”

“What’s going on?” Karl called down when the guard rang off.

“Nothing, sir. Peters next door offered to bring over some pizza. He has extra.” A pause. “Would you like some?”

The guard seemed relieved when Karl said no. She didn’t blame him. While Karl was careful not to eat too much in public—even with those who knew he was a werewolf, he considered it uncouth—the night guards had arrived to find the fridge bare. As high as a normal werewolf’s metabolism runs, it has nothing on a stressed-out one.