She nodded.
Then his hand moved again, spreading wide and possessive across her abdomen. “I can’t wait to put our baby in here.”
She gasped a little—half laugh, half sharp pleasure—when he nuzzled her neck, his scruff scraping over the sensitive flesh beneath her ear before he bit down on the soft cord of her neck. “I want to change your last name,” he murmured against her skin.
She tilted her head, heart fluttering. “Alright…”
He paused.
“Kearney was my sperm donor’s name,” she whispered. “It means nothing to me. Feel free.”
“Good,” he growled. “Because now you can’t back out.”
She smiled, eyes shining in the low light. “Not a chance. But I don’t see a ring.”
Thane didn’t waste time.
The moment the Horsemen had gathered in old kitchen over morning coffee, he’d said it without ceremony, like it was bursting out of him. “We are getting married.”
There was silence.
Lirian only raised a brow. “Figured with all the ruckus last night. I thought a couple of monkeys had gotten loose from the zoo.”
Faolan felt the blush rise up her neck, but Thane only grinned.
Zel exhaled like he’d just lost a bet. “Should’ve stocked champagne.”
Maro, leaning back in an armchair, eyed Faolan with a slow smirk. “There’s no ring yet,” he said. “Until the event…I’d say the game is still on.”
Thane didn’t reply.
Instead, he took Faolan by the hand and dragged her straight out.
She protested. Or at least she tried to.
“This is ridiculous,” she hissed as they entered the third jewellery boutique.
He only glanced at her sideways. “You picked me, remember? This is what comes with it.”
The fourth store did it.
Behind glass and velvet sat a ring that made her breath stop.
A large sapphire—deep, vivid blue, the kind that shimmered like bottled midnight. It was set in warm yellow gold, circled by sixteen rose-cut diamonds in a delicate coronet setting. The band was slim, simple, and elegant. The stone was large enough to draw notice, but not vulgar.
Thane didn’t even ask. He could read her like a book. He slid it onto her finger like it had always belonged there.
Faolan stared down at it. Then at him. “You’re mad.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “About you.”
Chapter 50
The next day, Faolan sat across from a no-nonsense Sergeant Willis in the corner office of the precinct. The debrief was meticulous. Names. Descriptions. Contacts. She gave them everything she could. The most important thing, the children were safe. The ring had been broken.
They didn’t know about Anatoly and she didn’t volunteer.
But Malcolm had talked and given them names for a reduced sentence. He’d given up one final name that made waves in the system—Chief Assistant Constable Horiston. The man who’d been forging paperwork, turning blind eyes and unlocking the wrong doors.
