My sub-bones start cracking and Breccan’s glare becomes harder. Theron laughs. He’s lucky he’s moved out of Breccan’s way or I’m sure he’d get another thump to the nog.
“Grace had her reasons. Her transition here hasn’t exactly been an easy one,” I defend. “Everyone needs to cool down.”
“Cool down?” Molly’s voice is shrill. “She could have information regarding my daughter!”
The door flings open—as though we need another mort crammed in my space—and Draven stalks in, his nostrils flaring. He pulls his mate against him and glowers silently at each of us, daring us.
“I don’t know your daughter,” Grace mutters. “If I did, I’d tell you…”
“But…” I encourage.
She tilts her head up at me, her brows pinched together. I lean my forehead to hers and then peck her lips in a familiar way. A way I do often with Jareth. This seems to give her the push she needs because she turns to face them again.
“Exilium Penitentiary is on Earth, or Mortuus as you all call it. It’s on the northwestern hemisphere near the Pacific Ocean,” Grace explains.
Theron cocks his head and Breccan glances at me in confusion.
“What’s Pacific Ocean?” I urge. “A facility?”
Molly frowns. “In history on Earth II, we learned about old Earth—the one destroyed by bombs and radiation. Up until recently, I didn’t realize Earth was Mortuus as we were never told that. But the Pacific Ocean was a body of water on Earth. Or…here.”
“Like Lake Acido?” Theron ponders aloud.
“Bigger. Much, much bigger. Do you not know what an ocean is?” Molly asks them, her anger gone as she looks at us sadly.
All four morts in the room shake their nogs.
“Right, so if I had a map, I could point it out,” Grace says in exasperation, clearly keen on divulging what she knows now. Pride makes me wrap both arms around her so I can hug her tight.
“Coordinates. Would that help?” I ask, nuzzling her hair.
“Perhaps. We could figure it out together.”
If only she would let us figure out the three of us—her, Jareth, and myself—and our mortling growing bigger by the solar in her stomach.
“We will figure it out together.”
***
“How many humans?” Breccan demands, pacing the command center.
Grace sits close beside me and Jareth takes up the chair on her other side. As soon as the commander called the meeting for the entire faction, I pulled Jareth aside and filled him in. We both feel as though she needs us on her side, especially considering everyone is angry with her for keeping the information to herself. It makes us want to protect her all the more.
“Hundreds.”
Voices mutter heatedly in the room before Breccan raises a hand to silence everyone.
“And morts?”
“I’m unsure,” Grace mutters. “I wasn’t told I’d be studying aliens. Only my own kind.”
Calix’s chair squeaks as he leans back. His son Hophalix is sprawled on his massive chest looking ever so tiny. A pang shoots through me as I try to imagine Jareth holding the mortling growing in Grace’s womb. Would he stroke its soft nog the way Calix does with the gentlest touch? Would he press a soft kiss to its nog and whisper sweet words like Calix does? Every fatherly bone in my body craves to have what Calix and Breccan have. Soon, my dream will come true. If everything wasn’t such a mess, I’d almost be inclined to ask if I could hold the mortling. His blond hair glistens like spun gold in the light and his skin is so pale. Such a precious little thing. It’s hard to imagine it’ll grow to be big and strong like his father one day.
Grace’s stomach grumbles and she shoots me a pleading look. We’ve been here for far too long. I’m sure she’s hungry.
Jareth leans over and grips her thigh, squeezing gently. “I’ll get you something to eat.” He flashes her a crooked grin—one that always has me naked in minutes. “Sit tight.”
“Wouldn’t dream of leaving,” she says dryly.
He stands and ruffles her hair before walking off. Everyone scowls icily at us. I wrap my arm around her and pin each person down with my glare—even the delicate human females, which earns me growls from each of their mates.
The more they want to put the blame on her for the situation we’re in, the more I want to protect her from it. For being so strong all the time, Grace seems to gratefully accept my comfort. When her palm goes to her stomach, I know our mortling is moving, so I caress her belly so I can feel the life flipping and flopping inside her.
Grace lets out a heavy, resigned sigh. “I didn’t know Willow was there…”
“But,” Breccan urges.
“Please don’t hate me,” she whispers, turning her head to look over at Aria, who’s nursing her mortling.
Aria stiffens and pales. “I make no promises.”
Grace sniffles, making rare anger surge to my surface. Jareth usually loses his temper, but I cool him off. With Grace, I’m the one getting angry…on her behalf.