Page 98 of Of Flame and Fate

He quiets, and I do, too, yet not for long. “You’re expecting her to bear your children.”

“A son,” he clarifies. “But only if she wants to.”

He takes a seat on one of the wrought iron benches. “Perhaps we should discuss the matter,” he says. He sprawls across the bench, one leg bent, the other stretched.

One of his arms rests against the back, the other dangles loosely at his side. His shirt is ruined, the collar appearing chewed off and the expensive fabric is likely splattered with brain bits. He should look ridiculous, but I don’t think Misha ever could.

“What happens if she doesn’t want to have your kid? Who will bear your son then?”

“I have other options,” he replies casually.

“You mean, Ileana.”

His sudden stillness is response enough. “What do you know about that?” he questions.

“Just that it wouldn’t be a good match. She’s . . .”

“Powerful,” he answers for me.

“That’s what it all comes down to, doesn’t it? Getting more and being more. It’s why Johnny is here.”

He raises a perfect brow. “Need I remind you, you’re the one who asked me to keep him.”

“I asked you to keep him safe on behalf of the Alliance,” I counter.

He motions in the direction of the guesthouse. “And I have.”

“Yes, just for the chance to one-up the witches.” I knew he wouldn’t give up an opportunity to influence Johnny, or for Johnny to owe him a favor. Misha considers his interactions with other supernaturals like a game of chess and will always seek the right moment to hump the queen.

He flashes a fang, not bothering to deny it.

“About your future kiddos,” I begin. “What makes you so sure you’ll produce a son over a daughter?”

He shrugs. “I’ll simply will it to happen.”

“Oh, yes, I heard about your semen.”

“My what?” he asks, chuckling.

“You know what I mean.” I shift my weight to one hip. “Why the sudden interest in family?” I ask. “Is your biological clock ticking or something?”

Misha’s smile fades. “There comes a point when every being becomes aware of his own immortality. As I am one of few vampires capable of creating a legacy, I feel obliged to do so.”

“Sounds like it’s more than a sense of obligation to me,” I say carefully, watching how his focus sweeps across my face.

“Perhaps,” he agrees, his voice and his stare growing distant.

I almost ask if Celia has anything to do with this. But that’s a can of worms better left sealed and buried. He wanted children with Celia. He wanted Celia, period. Her relationship with Aric never discouraged him, but her pregnancy . . . that affected him in ways I never imagined.

“Why does it trouble you to know that I’ve chosen children with another?” he asks, affirming my thoughts.

“Because if you’re going to have babies, Misha, have them the right way. Not like this.”

“Like how?”

“With a young woman you’ll never love.”

“You assume a great deal,” he tells me.