Pregnant With Alpha’s Genius Twins

#Chapter 153 – In the Closet

A few hours later, in the early light of dawn, Victor and I lurch back into the cottage. I consider the calm

peace of this space, which is so close to Victor’s house but now feels like a separate world. It’s almost

bizarrely quiet here after such commotion all morning.

Victor and I stayed through it all – stayed to watch the firetrucks put out every ember, stayed to ensure

that Rafe, Bridgette, and Burton all got into cars and were taken safely to a nearby motel. We stayed to

ensure that all of the Betas were safe and those deemed non-essential – now that there was no house

to guard – were transported back to the training facility.

I certainly stayed to ensure that Victor apologized profusely to the poor Beta he had punched – just a

kid, really, on one of his first assignments. The boy took it well, smiling ruefully at Victor, saying he’d

taken worse from his brothers at home. The two parted as friends but I intended to see that he got a

large bonus in his next paycheck.

Then, once it was all done, once everyone else had been settled in new spaces, Victor and I went

home ourselves.

As we’re standing in the kitchen, allowing the ache of tiredness to finally take over our bodies, the front

door bursts open and the boys come spilling in, Archie running along with them.

“Mama!” Ian cries, dashing to me while Alvin runs straight to his father, wrapping his arms around his

knees in a fierce hug.

I sit down on the floor, wrapping my boy in my arms, the little dog jumping on my shoulders and

working to lick my face. Victor lifts Alvin up in his, holding him close.

“What happened, mama?” Ian asks, his voice muffled by my hug.

“The big house burned down, baby,” I murmur to him, “but don’t worry – no one was hurt.”

“Is it all gone?” Alvin asks, pushing back on his father’s shoulders to look into his face. Victor nods to

him.

“Did someone set it on fire?” Ian asks, looking between us. Victor and I look at each other then.

Truthfully, we don’t know – the firefighters didn’t come to a conclusion yet.

The chief firefighter had come over to us, his face quite grave, only about an hour ago. “Do you two

have any idea what started the fire?” he had asked.

When Victor assured him that he did not, the Chief had taken off his helmet and run his hands through

his hair. “Look,” he had said, leveling his gaze at us. “I don’t like to make calls like this without further

investigation – so take what I’m about to tell you with a grain of salt, because further discovery could

turn something up.”

Victor had nodded at him, assuring him that we understood. Then, the chief had continued. “There’s no

evidence in this house, none at all,” he says, “of faulty wiring, or of electrical failure or malfunction.

We’re still looking for evidence of it, but in cases like this?”

He looked between the two of us carefully.

“My thirty years of experience,” he had continued, “tells me that this is foul play. I tell that to you now in

case you need to take extra steps to defend yourself, which can never hurt. But we’ll get the full

analysis to you in a few days.”

Victor had thanked him, shaking his hand, before letting him go.

Now that we’re looking at each other in the kitchen, in front of our sons, I know that both of us are wary.

Beyond the Chief’s analysis, it’s too coincidental for the house of an Alpha pack leader to randomly

burn down like this.

I know, in my heart, that when the firefighters return their report there will be no evidence of faulty

wiring or something equally innocuous. Looking into Victor’s face, I know he shares my suspicions.

“The firefighters will tell us when they know,” Victor says, looking seriously at Alvin. “We just have to be

patient and let them do their jobs.”

“Can we go see it?” Ian says, attempting to peer beyond me at the back door.

“No, baby,” I say, lifting him off me and standing up. “It’s too late – or early –“ I sigh, putting a hand to

my forehead. “Whatever it is, we’re too tired. And the firefighters are still doing their work. You can look

from your window upstairs.”

The boys nod to each other and hurry towards the steps, eager to see.

They stop, though, suddenly, at the bottom of the stairs. My eyes snap to them, suspicious. “Boys?” I

ask. “What’s wrong?”

They both sniff the air, Archie doing the same.

“I smell something,” Ian murmurs, curious.

“Me too,” says Alvin.

My heartbeat ratchets up immediately. “Smoke?” I demand.

Alvin shakes his head at me. “No, and it’s…older. From a few hours ago. But it’s…familiar…”

Victor moves over to them, sniffing the air, and then frowns. “I don’t smell anything,” he says.

“Well, your nose is probably all messed up,” Ian says, pointing up at his father’s face. “From all the fire

smells.”

Victor shrugs, looking at me, conceding that it could be true. I too come over and try to sniff but I shrug

at the three of them, smelling nothing.

“It doesn’t matter,” Alvin says, “whatever it is, it’s gone now.” The twins smile at us and then running up

the stairs towards their room. Victor and I follow, peering into their room and every other room upstairs,

wary. But there doesn’t seem to be anything out of place.

Victor turns to me with a little shrug, which I return. It’s nothing, I guess.

“Bed?” Victor asks, tiredly, running a hand through his hair.

“Shower,” I say with a sigh, “then bed. I’ll never get the soot out of the sheets if we just turn in now.”

Victor gives me a small smile and then follows me to the bathroom, where we climb into the shower

together.

The water is cool and fresh, feeling amazing against my skin. Despite that, though, this is – quite

frankly – the least s****l shower I’ve ever taken with a lover. We are too tired to do anything but apply

soap to each other’s bodies and hair, gently washing the soot and the terror of the evening away.

I am bone tired then, fifteen minutes later, when I put on a fresh set of pajamas and roll into bed. Victor

groans, climbing in next to me.

I curl up next to him, putting my hand on his chest, ready to sleep for a hundred hours – a thousand –

when suddenly a sound interrupts us.

The sound of an old rotary phone ringing its tinny bell.

Coming from my closet.