Chapter Text
“Will, no,” Hannibal wept, smoothing his still, cold face, unable to bring himself to do what he knew he must in order to save their child.
Take the baby and risk losing Will in the process.
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t.
He would save him, as he hadn’t been able to save Melinda. He would bring his mate through this, his ferocious and unpredictable Omega who had fought to sheer exhaustion and, perhaps, hadn’t the strength to fight any longer.
“You’re my husband, Will. Your battles are my battles, just as mine are yours, remember?” he whispered, his words as urgent as the kisses he pressed to his mate’s cold, stiff fingers. “And when you tire, I fight in your place, as you would in mine. I said before there is no weakness in tiring, having fought for so long. I will fight for you, Will, always and forever.”
He pressed Will’s lax fingers to his cheeks and closed his eyes, reaching for his mate through the bond, fighting down his panic to open himself wide.
“All-Mother Superior said an Alpha-Omega bond is every bit as important to the bonded pair as one’s lungs, or heart, or mind,” he breathed, their words inspiring him with hope. He sought Will with the strength of his love, casting it like a lifeline with faith his mate would take hold. “You have been my voice of reason, my conscience, my heart and my soul, now let me be your strength, Will. I will give you everything I am, to my very last breath. All you have to do is accept it.”
Something stirred in the bond, a faint curl of awareness, of response. Hannibal’s eyes flew wide and he focused on its tiny tickle, forcing himself to calm. Will’s pulse slowed in time with Hannibal’s, his shallow breathing evening out, the tension in his taut body easing.
“That’s right,” Hannibal said, gasping the words on relieved tears. He leaned up over Will to press a kiss to his forehead, trembling as a light flush tinged Will’s pale skin with warmth. “That’s right, my love. I’m here with you, always and forever, Will.”
“My Lord?” Mrs. Henderson said, lingering just behind him. “Please, my Lord. Is there anything we can do?”
“Fetch the midwife, Mrs. Henderson,” Hannibal said, straightening to the task at hand, straining for the touch of his mate through their bond even as he shifted him on the bed. “We have a baby to deliver.”
Somehow, the chaotic darkness of his drugged and shocked mind brought Will to stand once more atop the cliff of his nightmares. The black sky draped above him streaked with lightning that crackled and stank of ozone, gusting with the Dragon’s sulfurous breath.
My conscience, my heart, my soul...
The soft, urgent voice came from nowhere and everywhere, elusive as Will searched for it, gasping when a deep, piercing ache clutched his belly.
Let me be your strength...
It came from the summit, drifting through the snarl of the raging storm to snare him. Will took a shaking step, but pain divorced him from control of his body, cutting across his belly in an arc of agony. He looked down, blood flowing down his bare legs in a wash of heat. The cut Mason had given dealt him skated wider, gaping to bare the emptiness within.
I’m here with you, always and forever, Will...
He stumbled towards the edge of the bluff in a panic of horror, feet slipping in a mess of his own blood, the pain sinking its teeth deep. A figure stood with arms wide and waiting, perched atop the crumbling edge over the roaring, angry water, just like in his nightmares.
Will! Stay with me! Stay with me...
A presence rose behind him, watchful and waiting, great wings stretched to blot out the world itself. Will staggered beneath the weight of its regard, desperate to reach the summit, desperate for any relief from this awful, tearing pain. The figure waited, patient and motionless, an unwilling spectator to his pain.
‘Useless things are only fit for burning...’ The memory of his father’s voice uncoiled from the depths of the storm, brushing his heart like fingers in search of cracks. ‘This is how it always would have ended, William. Put this mistake to rights. Mend the hole you’ve torn in the heart of his world.’
The pain washed over him, wrenching and awful and dragging him to his knees. The presence loomed over him, bending low to curl its shadowy fingers around his body.
‘It is a kindness, William. It is a kindness to yourself as well as to your husband. If you truly do love him, then do not hesitate now...’
Something cried out, sharp and short. The wail of a child, the scream of Will’s soul as he fought to escape his suffering.
I’m here, Will! I’m right here with you, my love...
Will grit his teeth and surged to his feet, bearing up beneath the weight of his father’s regard, beneath the oppressive resentments his heart had harbored all the long years of his life.
He reached out for the figure on the clifftop and his father laughed, whispering, ‘Go ahead, William. See what it gets you. Do you know why he stands there at the summit? It’s the best place to watch you fall...’
The nightmare that had plagued him stood before him now, the figure waiting, the cliff with its crumbling face prepared to drop him, the awful and final betrayal when he would reach out and be left to fall into nothingness.
But Hannibal would never let him fall.
Hannibal would fight to save him. Be it against dragons or darkness or nightmares, he would always keep his promises. His love gave Will hope he could trust in, hope he could have faith in, hope that he was not alone with his demons, not anymore.
Not ever again.
Will drew on his strength and drove himself forward, resisting the mockery of his own doubts, the dark and secret anger which still hoped to trap him in his own desolation. Arms outstretched, he threw himself forward with faith he would be caught, and the surety of Hannibal’s promise rose up around him. It cradled Will in warmth, chasing away the hurt and exhaustion that plagued him. It bore him safely away from the ragged cliffs of his fears and the monsters which lurked there to settle him in the silence of the river below.
You are my husband and I will protect you...
He drifted in the river of his childhood, no horror able to reach him through the blanket of his husband’s presence. The shadow of his father rippled beneath the black surface of the water, smiling at Will as the current snared him, pulling him deeper into the darkness. The pain eased, peeling away from him the further he allowed the river to take him, pulled from his life by the eddying current into the unknown at last.
No...
The refusal bloomed in his chest, the warmth around him penetrating deep to wrap like fingers around his heart, fixing him in place.
I refuse to live without you! It cannot be borne, Will! Do you understand me?
The words beat like a second heart, teasing his memory. There was something important he had to remember, something which this thick and endless darkness tried to hide from him.
It is always yours to choose, Will... I’m begging you—choose me...
The stifling absence of light was pierced by a tiny ember, its glow intruding on his calm. Will watched it pulse like a heartbeat, a minuscule firefly signaling for an answer.
He moved against the current, drawn by the light. The river spilled around him in a wash of his regrets, showing him the moments of his life from his first breath to his last.
His last.
Peace overcame him, tranquil understanding that—brief as it had been—he had come to the end of his own story, the final chapters all the sweeter for their bitter start. He looked back into the yawning darkness, the contours of mystery darker shapes on velvety night, and he stirred towards it.
Will Lecter-Graham, don’t you dare take another step!
‘Hannibal?’
His mate’s name echoed inside of his head, inside of his heart and soul, pulling him away from the call of the river with strengthening resolve. The light before him flared, reaching for him, beckoning him closer.
Will’s heart thundered in the muffling silence. The current tugged at him as if in fear of the light, urging him to turn away, to give himself over to its embrace and close the book on his life without looking back. It offered him release from the shackles of his life, the freedom to flow wherever the river might take him and find out at last what lay in wait.
He looked at the light, so distant, so far, and he was so very, very tired...
‘Will! Stay with me! I have no home at Hartford House if you are not here with me! I need you! We need you! Come back to me...’
‘I haven’t the strength,’ he knew. It drained from him into the water, sapping his determination.
I will be your strength...
Love and understanding flowed into him, a line like a tether drawing him to safety, pulling him from the promises of death. It gave him the strength to push against the current, to wade towards the light and the happiness he knew awaited him there.
‘Hannibal,’ he whispered, reaching for him, abandoning regrets and resentments to the past, where they belonged. It took an eternity to reach it, but the light grew stronger around him, falling on his skin with the warmth of the golden, glowing sun, like the gleam in his husband’s eyes when he smiled.
‘... tell you a story about a fool, and an Omega, and a Great Red Dragon...’
Will drifted in the light, following the soft murmur of his husband’s voice as he told the story of their lives, every syllable infused with affection. It lured him closer, drawn by the power it held, compelled by the sure embrace of Hannibal’s love surrounding him.
‘... and then I made a very serious mistake...’
Will pushed towards his voice through the beckoning light, plunging into the future it promised with hope even the gods themselves would fear to challenge.
“Hannibal,” he breathed, spreading his arms wide, swallowed in comfort and finding the joyous welcome he’d once thought beyond his reach—the fullness of a bond completed, forged in the fire of a Dragon’s maw and honed in shared peril.
“... I dared to question him, and do you know what he did?”
The golden light took on the familiar shapes and contours of the ceiling over Hannibal’s bed, his blurry vision slowly sorting it to make sense. He was warm from the tips of his curls to the curl of his toes, blissfully content and boneless with relief. He floated in the encompassing presence of his mate—the earthy musk of his skin carrying new notes to tease his nose, the heat of him seeping into Will’s flesh to warm him from the inside out. Hannibal’s body pressed so tightly against Will’s there was no room between them, just as it should be. His head was pillowed on Hannibal’s hard shoulder, but no discomfort could find its way through to bother him, not now that he’d been drawn from the lure of the river.
“He raised his arm,” Hannibal said, the deep, Alpha purr of his voice a throaty rumble of vibration as he spoke, “and he slapped me in the face with his trout, just as I deserved.”
Will smiled, turning his head towards Hannibal’s voice, his bleary eyes focusing sharply on his husband and what lay cradled against his chest in the warm curve of his arm, adding those layers of scent to his husband’s Alpha perfume.
For a heartbeat he thought he was seeing double, but he realized that two tiny babies lay sleeping in the easy curve of their father’s arm. Will uttered a soft, delighted cry, his heart bursting with love, granting him renewed strength to move.
Hannibal’s arm shifted against his back to help him turn, tipping Will more fully against his chest so he could nuzzle their newborn babies, pressing his lips to the soft skin of their cheeks and shoulders.
Will wept, drawing their sweet baby scents into his lungs and soul, alike but distinct; Alpha and Omega, one wiggling furiously at the indignity of it, the other cooing and content.
“They are the most perfect and beautiful babies I have ever laid eyes on,” Hannibal whispered, stroking Will’s curls and shoulders with his free hand, a low, unceasing purr rising in his chest as he held his mate and children. For all the tears he’d cried this long night, these were ones of joy at last, the tenderness of his love for his family drawing them from him without reserve.
“Two,” Will said, his throat raspy and raw but his smile brilliant. He worked a trembling hand from beneath the layers of blankets and delved into the covers to touch their fingers and toes, counting and kissing each one. “Two!”
“I did try to tell you,” Hannibal said, shifting to sit up straight against the pillows, settling the sleeping babies in the nest of his lap where his mate could better reach them. “I’ve never known you to do anything by halves, Will.”
Will stared at them, enraptured by their features, so like Hannibal’s in every way.
“They have your mouth,” he said, tracing one pouty lower lip, then the other, a delighted laugh escaping him when the little Alpha male stretched and tried to latch onto his finger with a grunt. “And your demeanor. My hair, however; gracious! Look at how much of it there is!”
He tried to sit up but a dull warning of pain paused him, a flaring ache where the wound of his nightmare had sliced him in two.
“I’m sorry, Will, I had to stitch you,” Hannibal said, feeling Will's pain as his own. He slid his hand from Will’s nape to grasp his arm, helping him to sit up. “You’re going to be sore for quite some time, I fear. You might be a bit woozy, too. I had to give you laudanum to counter the drug in your system and ease your pain.”
Will eased upright, a small part of his joy stolen by the realization of what had happened.
Hannibal had been forced to take the babies, just as he had all those years ago with Melinda...
Hannibal immediately shook his head, drawing Will to him to kiss the faint tremble from his lips, purring, “No, darling, I didn’t have to do anything so terrible as that. It was the cut Mason gave you. It was quite deep and worrisome to begin with and your labor only worsened it; I wanted to take no chances with infection.”
“Then the babies?” Will asked, clutching Hannibal’s shoulder for support as he settled, leaning over to look his fill at them, their perfect and beautiful little darlings. Just the sight of them chased his pain away, both the tug on his stomach and lower still.
“You were... astonishing, Will,” Hannibal said, and softly shook his head, sighing, “Despite everything, being filled with a drug that could have killed you, being nearly frozen to death in the river and dosed with laudanum, you still managed your labor without any hesitation.”
“You delivered them,” Will said, a slight smile finding its way to his lips as his spirits rose, the darkness of the past evening lifting from his heart.
“We delivered them,” Hannibal said, tucking Will against his side to rest his arm around his back, hand cupping the slight curve of his hip. “Ms. McClane, and I thank all the gods and stars for this, has attended a great number of early births. Between us all, we were able to get the babies delivered safely.”
“A midwife? Did you send for her?” Will asked, entranced by his infants, unable to keep from stroking their round little cheeks.
“No, your father brought her,” Hannibal said, the low, disapproving Alpha rumble in his voice causing his infant son to hiccup with surprise, his face flushing and screwing up on a short, sharp yowl.
Will rubbed his little chin and throat, cooing to soothe him, and the baby settled with a gurgling grunt. In a gentle whisper, Will said, “I’m assuming he meant to pretend she delivered them herself?”
“So it would seem, though she had no idea of any of it,” Hannibal said, kissing Will’s temple. “All she was told was there was an emergency and she was needed immediately.”
“Not exactly a lie,” Will said, smoothing the blanket over his babies, running his fingers over them, committing this moment to his senses and memory.
Hannibal rubbed their round little cheeks, the scratches and bruises on his hands penetrating Will’s awareness. He looked up at Hannibal’s smiling face, at his euphoric expression shadowed by bruises and gashes.
“You should have seen me before I bathed,” Hannibal murmured, amusement filling the bond. Will smiled, reassured his husband had not been badly wounded. “I looked a perfect fright.”
“I must not have looked much better,” Will remarked, cautiously placing a kiss to a particularly colorful bruise on Hannibal’s cheek.
“No, you looked... gods, I don’t even wish to recall it,” Hannibal said, the tight, strained words accompanying a pang of physical hurt through the bond, his distress for Will so great it manifested a sharp ache. Hannibal turned his head just a fraction, tender and raw and tremulous. His words escaped on a whisper, half broken on tears, “I will never be more frightened in my life than I was this night. Nearly losing to you to river, to Mason, to Dolarhyde.”
Will’s heart broke on the ache of Hannibal’s pain, on the fear and panic still coiling through their bond, drawing strength from his words as much as his memories of the riverside.
“I was so frightened,” Hannibal said again, his golden gaze searching Will’s beloved face. “Even once I brought you home, there were so many times, Will. So many times I could feel you slipping away from me, breath by breath—”
“You called me back,” Will whispered. “When I wanted nothing more than to let go, when the pain was so crippling I couldn’t bear it, it was your strength I drew on, Hannibal. It was your voice that parted the darkness and called me back.”
Hannibal’s glittering amber eyes held his, shadowed with pain and the knowledge of how close he’d come to losing Will for good.
“For a moment, I wasn’t sure you would heed me,” he whispered, a blink spilling tears down his high cheeks. He shuddered, vividly struck by that awful moment when he’d physically felt Will move towards death rather than away from it. “When you pulled away from me—”
“You stopped me, Hannibal,” Will said, aching when his husband cut off in pain, the desolation in his bond almost too much to bear. “You said, ‘don’t you dare take another step!’”
“Did I?” Hannibal asked, baring his heavy Alpha fangs in a slight smile. “I frightened the staff half to death shouting at you, saying everything I could to reach you. I hoped at least if I gave you orders, you’d be cross enough to come back, if only to cosh me.”
“I am never cross,” Will reminded him, drawing Hannibal’s fear through their bond and pushing it away, leaving it filled only with the wonder Will felt. “But I must admit it got my attention.”
Hannibal’s smile widened, still stiff around the edges, still shadowed with the losses they had come so close to taking this long, terrible night. His amber eyes brightened, however, when he admitted, “I could feel you through the bond, Will, slowly but surely making your way back. I was so terrified you wouldn’t.”
“It was difficult, but I had help. You fought for me, Hannibal,” Will said, thinking of the Dragon, of that presence atop the cliff, of the river’s gentle insistence. “In more ways than one, you fought for me.”
“We fought together,” Hannibal said, pride and love and joy shining in his amber eyes. “For our lives and our children and one another. We have saved one another in so many ways, Will, and we always will.”
“Always and forever,” Will promised, the strength of their shared bond moving them past words and into the quiet depths of perfect understanding.
The little Alpha made a soft, cranky sound, the intensity of their regard disturbing his rest. Both of them chuckled at his look of frank disapproval, so like Hannibal’s in every respect. It focused Will sharply on the present, dragging the last corner of his mind from what he’d seen in the depths of the darkness. It could wait, he knew. For many years, for decades, for as long as he could make it, it would wait.
“Gods, they’re so small...” he breathed, distracting himself with their perfection, moved to marvel at them all over again.
“They’ll grow quickly, never worry on that count,” Hannibal assured him, cupping the little Omega’s fuzzy-haired head. He searched the bond, looking for any part of Will that might have lingered behind, any crack in the teacup which might allow him to slip away, but he found nothing.
He was whole.
They both were.
“Do you feel up to holding them?”he asked, his voice husky with love, with relief, with gratitude that Will had chosen him even through the worst of things.
Will nodded, his breath leaving him on a soft, delighted laugh. Hannibal shifted in the bed and mounded the pillows behind him, helping Will sit up with their support. The movement made him wince as his tender, abused parts protested, but his discomfort vanished the moment his children were laid in his arms against his chest.
His heart skipped and stuttered, finding a new rhythm as he held the babies they had waited for, for so long. Tears rose unbidden and unheeded, a smile curving his mouth without his awareness. He trembled, cradling them against his heart. They both fussed briefly but settled, soothed by his heartbeat, safe in the arms of their parent in ways Will had never experienced even in his own infancy.
“You’re so tiny,” he purred, rocking them gently, kissing the wild thatch of their dark brown curls. “Oh, my gods, Hannibal...”
Hannibal met his gaze, both of them tearful and joyous, their bond filled to bursting and coursing between them with a life of its own.
Hannibal pressed close to his side in an embrace, one arm around his mate, his other hand lifting to touch their children. He tickled one little rosebud mouth with his fingertip, both he and Will laughing softly when the baby turned and pursed their lips, mouth working. One hand flailed, tiny perfect fingers with tiny perfect nails. Hannibal curled his own finger beneath, wondering that anything could be so very small, each baby a new miracle that begged disbelief for how perfectly Nature could arrange things. He leaned down and kissed those minute fingers, smitten to his soul.
“Well,” he whispered, grinning, “It looks as if it’s official. Grandfather has the heir he demanded and you are stuck with me, Will Lecter-Graham.”
Will laughed, cutting his blue eyes to Hannibal’s in amusement. “Stuck? I thought the future was always mine to choose?”
“It is, but the gods know I cannot be without you,” Hannibal reminded him, and Will smiled. “If it takes the next seventy years, I will daily convince you to choose me.”
“Should I be on guard against another wardrobe?” Will asked, brows rising in amusement. “Or do you intend to persuade me with your masculine charms?”
“Don’t think I won’t. I’d do anything in my power to influence your decision in my favor,” Hannibal warned, his grin echoing Will’s own.
“Heavens, so long as you keep your shirt on, I'll keep my wits about me,” Will reminded him, blue eyes dancing with delight.
“It’s quite unfortunate for you that you weaken at the sight of me, but there’s no sense arguing any of it. We share a bond,” Hannibal went on, his mournful tone belied by the amusement in their bond. “Try as you might, you can't wriggle out of this marriage now. You’ll just have to make do and deal with my infatuation as best you can.”
“What a terrible fate,” Will murmured, tipping his head for a soft kiss and rewarded with a gentle press of warm lips against his own.
“It will be tiresome for you, I know,” Hannibal said, his voice thickening with emotion as his playful teasing gave way. “I will likely drive you mad with wanting to be rid of my moral decrepitude, but you simply cannot be gone from me. I won’t have it. I’m your Alpha and you’re my Omega and you’ll have to learn to shove along. Perhaps you could distract me with more children?”
Will’s head fell back on a hearty, surprised laugh. Incredulous, he asked, “More? We’ve just had two!”
“Yes, I think more children would do quite nicely,” Hannibal said, tickling his fingers beneath the tiny Omega’s jaw, beyond delighted when they chirped and wiggled against his touch. “At least a dozen more should do the trick, and if every single one of them is an Omega then so be it.”
“Oh really?” Will asked, nuzzling his husband to kiss the high, stark sharpness of his cheek.
“Well, I am hopelessly enamored of them by now, what with two of them in my life I love so dearly,” Hannibal purred.
“Luckily for us both,” Will purred, “I will always choose you, Hannibal.”
Hannibal grinned and found Will’s mouth with his own for another coaxing, sweet kiss. The reciprocity of their bond swam between them, only heightening the strength of what they felt for one another.
A soft knock parted them as Berger poked his head in, and Hannibal muttered, “Didn’t I say I would fire them?”
“Hush,” Will whispered, asking, “Yes, Mr. Berger?”
“Ah! Beg pardon, m’Lord, just checking to see if you was awake?” Berger stammered, blushing to have interrupted them, “Ms. McClane is asking after you.”
“I am, Mr. Berger, thank you, and—Jimmy!” Will gasped, the events of the night returning in a rush with force enough the Omega in his arms began to cry in response.
“He’s got one hell of a bruise, but he’s awake, my Lord, and chomping at the bit to see the babies,” Berger said, drawing closer as Will soothed his startled children. Berger looked nearly as proud of himself as Hannibal did and quit the room with a soft, dazed smile.
Thoughts of Jimmy turned Will’s mind back to what had happened, the horror of it still veiled behind a haze of drugs and hallucinations. He shivered and Hannibal caressed him, soothing away his shudder with a throaty, deep purr.
“I don’t wish to think of it,” Will admitted, reluctant to revisit any part of it.
“Then don’t,” Hannibal urged him, kissing Will’s soft cheek, fingers smoothing over the round bellies of their babies. “We can worry later, Will.”
“Can we?” Will asked, his heart clenching on the question. “Mina must surely have fled by now! And my father will be rallying support. I haven’t the time to—”
“We’ll make time,” Hannibal said, and Will subsided, the calm in their bond easing his worry, allowing him to focus on what was truly important—his children, his husband, and the happiness their little family felt.
“We shall have to deal with my father,” Will said, knowing that a great deal of happiness depended on safety, and none of them was safe with his blood relatives on the loose. “And my sister.”
“Your sister is confined to her suite,” Hannibal murmured, kissing the snub of his nose.
A bolt of panic sliced through the bond as Will cried, “The passages! Hannibal, she’ll escape—”
“No, she’ll do nothing of the sort,” Hannibal said, shaking his head. “I have two sets of eyes on her at all times and I am determined to have those passages blocked up. Zeller read of them in Mina’s letters and Grandfather confirmed their existence. Nothing like this will ever happen again if I can help it. I shudder to think how Mason Verger was sneaking into our rooms in the night and stealing correspondence!”
“I was the one who told her of them,” Will whispered, stricken. He cuddled his children close, comforting himself with their nearness.
The guilt bubbling up through their bond brought a low, rough chuff from Hannibal’s throat and he gave his mate a squeeze, telling him, “You had no indication she would ever do something so terrible, Will. And she had quite a lot of help, unfortunately.”
“Mason,” Will said, the name conjuring a tusked swine, grinning and violent as it cut into his belly. He twitched and the Omega in his arms uttered a soft cry, attuned to their mother’s distress. “Sh, hush, darling. I’m here, my sweet. I’m here...”
“Mason won’t be helping anyone do anything now,” Hannibal said, watching his mate soothe their child. “By all reports, the girls did a very thorough job on him.”
“And... and Francis?” Will asked, focusing on his children to distract himself from his growing guilt.
“The river took him,” Hannibal said, the soft rumble of his voice easing Will’s tension. “The wounds he suffered would have killed him, Will.”
“I killed him,” Will whispered, blinking hard against the thought of it. “What I said—”
“No, darling, if anyone killed him, it was me,” Hannibal said, his mouth still bitter with the coppery taste of Dolarhyde’s blood. “He was dying when he went into the water, Will. It was blood loss, not words, that killed Francis Dolarhyde. And I would gladly tear his throat out a thousand more times for what he did to you.”
Will shuddered, his guilt and the terror of his ordeal dissipating beneath the calm of their bond. The soft press of his mate’s nose beneath his jaw soothed him, Hannibal’s lips finding and kissing the mark on his neck with gentle care.
“I suppose, if we’re determined to deal with things properly, we shall have to take the babies to the nursery,” Hannibal whispered, “and remand them to the care of Mrs. Henderson for the time being until proper help can be found.”
The babies wriggled and stretched, yawning and snuggling against one another in the warm nest of blankets and their parents’ arms. There was no darkness to overshadow the brightness of their lives, no whisper to fracture the happiness they filled Will with. Holding them, feeling them in his arms, seeing the minute flicker of their expressions, Will found he could no more dwell on the past night than he could put them away from him. Hope had come to life in his arms and he was determined to enjoy it in its fullness.
“Soon,” he whispered, tipping his head to kiss them, to delve into their sweet baby scents and drown himself in love, “but not yet, Hannibal. First, we need to name these little darlings.”
“Nonsense, we’ll name them Hannibal,” his husband said, thrilled to abandon any talk of the horrors they faced and eager to share his husband’s joy.
“We’re not naming all of our children after you,” Will told him, chuckling.
“Well, at least one,” Hannibal said, feigning offense.
“I think one Hannibal Lecter in the world is quite enough. Besides, if anyone should have a child named after them, it should be the person who did the carrying!” Will said, gazing down at his children with rapt devotion. “What do you think of naming our Omega after your mother? We could always call them Saul, if they prefer male address.”
“Hannibal Saule Lecter,” Hannibal mused, smiling.
“No, just Saule,” Will said, shaking his head, unable to keep from smiling when his husband was so set on amusing him. “Though I do still prefer Lucas for our son. It’s Grandfather’s middle name, and he would dearly love to have his great-grandchild named for him.”
“Hannibal Lucas Lecter,” Hannibal said, rubbing the baby’s belly with one large, warm palm. “You would like that, darling, wouldn’t you? Hm? Being named for your papa, as well? Is that what we should call you?”
“Hannibal,” Will said with an exasperated laugh.
“Well, if you insist,” Hannibal said, lifting his darling little baby into his arms to cradle him, saying, “Hannibal it is.”
It took time for Mr. Danvers and the investigators to gather all the facts, time in which Will rested, curled up in the nest of Hannibal’s bed with their children in his arms and healing from his ordeal. He gave his accounting of what had happened, every detail that his cloudy but remarkable memory could manage, and the investigation sorted itself from there.
There was very little left of Mason Verger to be collected from the treeline where he’d fled, but enough to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt he would not trouble anyone any longer. Of Francis Dolarhyde, however, there was no trace. Hannibal had little doubt he was dead, badly wounded as he’d been and broken in spirit, but he knew he would not rest easy until there was a body to confirm it.
It was Matthew Brown’s body that was recovered instead, discovered by those who volunteered to drag the river for Francis. There was no clue left as to how he had died, Nature and the inevitability of time had rendered him unrecognizable, but the leather apron still wrapped around his body was undeniably that of Matthew Brown.
And entwined around the bony remnants of his outstretched hand was the trailing white hem of Mina’s nightgown, still tangled from where Will had torn it free to fight his way out of the river.
Will wept when he was told, the kind of wracking, shaking sobs that had been held back too long, the pain of that endless, nightmarish night purged from him on a surge of grief for a friend who had, even in death, helped to save him.
Found, too, were the bodies of the guards who had gone missing that fateful night, piled like cordwood atop one another in the woods, throats cut just like Randall Tier’s, just like those officers from Marsham Heath. Francis again, on the orders of Mina, clearing the way for his trek to the river with Will.
When it came time to deal with his sister, Will made the arrangements personally, grim and firm and determined. Too many people had been hurt, killed, all for the sake of her selfishness. The least he could do to honor their memory was see Mina held accountable for it.
It was a very cold, very bright day when Will finally descended from his little nest with Winston and Tier’s girls at his heels. Snow lay thick beyond the windows, blanketing the world in muffling quiet. Inside, the sound of hammering echoed faintly through the walls, discordant and distracting, but a necessary evil.
“Good morning, my Lord.”
“Good morning,” Will murmured to the guard at the door, composing himself as he approached the small, hastily-converted storeroom where Mina had been moved. He paused there, wishing he’d gone with Hannibal and the children to see Grandfather, or had lingered overlong in the bath under Jimmy’s watchful eye.
But he couldn’t, he knew. Confirmation had come last night that they had arrived in Hartford Town and today was the day.
They were coming to collect her, and Will needed to say his goodbyes.
“Open the door, please,” Will said, expecting to be nervous, but finding he was calm. Dangerously calm.
There was a soft clink and click as the heavy lock was turned, and the guard opened the door for him.
She stood at the window, dressed as if for mourning with her hair carefully tended. She did not turn around when Will entered, the dogs crowding in with him on high alert. She looked so fragile and alone Will was forced to draw a deep breath, struggling to sever the ties his Gift had made to her, the understanding that had nearly allowed a tragedy to play out beneath this very roof.
“Good morning, Mina,” he said, waiting to see how she would respond.
She said nothing. A guard crossed in front of the window, their shadow falling like a veil over her face, brief and fleeting. Will quietly turned the single chair around and pulled it closer to the door before sitting, still cautious in his movements.
“I see you’re managing on your own,” he said.
“I realize you’re very cross with me, Will, but I would greatly appreciate it if you’d allow Gretchen to attend me,” Mina said, her tone airy and light. “It’s been almost impossible to do up my gowns.”
“Miss Speck was arrested and taken to the Capital, Mina,” Will informed her. “She’s being held as one of your co-conspirators and was as eager to unburden herself as Timothy.”
The sound of hammering resumed quite near, loud and unpleasant but not disruptive enough to prevent a reply. Mina chose not to respond to that, however. Her shoulders tightened in a slight tell of anger or frustration, but not fear. He knew she had quite enough sense to be fearful, but she wasn’t.
Not yet.
“I’m sorry for all the noise,” Will said, deciding it was as benign a subject as any he could start with. “We’ve decided to board up the passages that run through the house, considering how lethal they’ve proven to be.”
Mina turned from the window with a smirk, watching him from beneath the heavy curve of her lids with secretive assessment, as if bemused by how he had gotten the better of her.
“Hannibal did an excellent job stitching your face,” Will said, keeping his voice soft and low. “You shouldn’t carry too much of a scar.”
“No thanks to you,” Mina said, tilting her chin up in a familiar gesture of stubborn irritation.
“I will have scars of my own, Mina,” Will said, meeting her furious blue eyes with his calm, bland gaze. “Scars you may not have put there yourself, but are responsible for all the same.”
She flushed. She had that much good grace, in the end, or perhaps it was just wishful thinking on his part.
There was so much about her that he simply could not recognize. So much that had been hidden from him, some of it willfully so on his part, and the blame solely his own.
“Mason didn’t survive,” he said, and Mina flinched, looking away towards the window but searching far beyond the confines of the glass. “I thought you might like to know what became of him.”
“I expected he wouldn’t,” she said, her voice softening. “Not with those dreadful monsters loose. Did he scream?”
“I imagine so,” Will said, watching her and wondering where his sister had gone, the girl who had embraced him and shared a crib with him and played with him as children. The woman before him was an absolute stranger, a sum of unknowns without mercy or pity, chilling in her capacity for evil. “It was a very gruesome end for anyone, but I cannot say I’m sorry. He cost a good many people their lives... but I know you will mourn him in your own way.”
“Yes,” Mina said, taking a shaky breath. “We were alike, he and I, in so many ways. I suppose you know we were lovers.”
“I do,” Will said, his mouth pursed in disapproval. He fiddled with the chain on his pocket watch, uncomfortable and dismayed. “Hannibal had the lock box opened, Mina. We found the Addendum copy, the letter you stole from me. All of the letters.”
“Did you, now?” she asked, sighing the words as if bored, as if nothing of this situation touched her.
“Yes. It was very clever of you to steal your correspondence back from Timothy and from Father before anyone else could find it,” Will remarked, frowning. “You never imagined your plan would fail, did you? That the lock box would ever be opened? Is that why you kept such damning evidence? Or did you simply lack the time to destroy it all?”
“Do you truly have to ask me that?”
“You should confide in me, Mina,” Will told her, eyes narrowing with irritation. “You should at least attempt to rationalize what you have done! Explain it to me, Mina, please!”
“I don’t owe you any explanations,” she said, plucking at her skirt and leaning heavily against the cold wall to stare at the frost on the window.
Will stiffened with anger and flatly said, “The letters and documents speak for themselves. We know everything.”
“Everything,” she said, snorting on a scoffing laugh. “Now that I highly doubt. No one ever knows everything, Will.”
“True,” Will admitted, frustrated with her. “We know enough. Father has been arrested for the part he played. The local Magistrate took him into custody just yesterday.”
“Will there be a trial?” she asked. Will was very aware of the cunning that flitted across her face, how her mind searched and searched for a means by which to turn the situation in her favor.
“No. His Grace wants it settled quietly with a minimum of scandal,” he said, putting a definitive end to her plotting on that count. “The Lord Chancellor and the High Court will receive the letters, both the ones sent to you as well as the ones you took from Broadriver and from your husband. They will rule on the evidence as it is presented to them and take his testimony into consideration, though I doubt he will be able to say much which could sway them.”
Mina’s lower lip trembled at the mention of her father, but she otherwise did not react.
“Hannibal is suing for possession of Broadriver as compensation,” Will told her, wondering if the mention of its fate might stir something in her. “I imagine it will be granted. The next Earl of Reddig will have to settle for the townhouse, whoever he may be.”
“I never did like that ghastly place,” Mina murmured, reaching up to trace a starburst of frost on the windowpane.
“I suppose there is a silver lining,” Will said, cocking his head as he regarded her. “You won’t ever see Timothy again. The evidence of his complicity will be added to the charges already raised against him.”
“He’ll be executed for treason anyway. I always did warn him he was a fool,” Mina said, unmoved. “When I found out what he’d done, falling into bed with a foreign government, that is what started this whole business. So I suppose you could say, this is all his fault.”
Will felt her smile, felt the wry, bitter amusement in her voice, and he tensed in response.
“I couldn’t divorce him, couldn’t separate myself from him,” she breathed, her words fading to a mere whisper with the weight of her thoughts. “But I could escape him.”
“By becoming me?” Will asked, but it wasn’t a question, not anymore. Timothy would have been a traitor with a mad wife locked away in an asylum, in her first version of events. When that failed, he would have been a traitor whose wife took her own life out of shame. There was no version of Mina’s story Will would have emerged from unscathed, but she had always been the star of her own theater, all other roles incidental to her plot.
“Tell me, Will, what of Francis?” She trembled but refused to look at him, every inch the haughty lady offended, always playing her role with flair.
“We haven’t recovered his body from the river yet, but he is presumed dead,” Will said, his tone brisk. “He was stabbed by Mason and his fight with Hannibal was... brutal.”
“That wouldn’t have stopped him,” Mina mused, her smile wry.
“I stopped him,” Will admitted, unsettled but resolved to face what he’d done. “I told him I didn’t need him.”
“Then you as good as cut his throat,” Mina said, echoing Will’s own thoughts with uncanny accuracy.
“I regret the necessity, but I would do it again, if needs be,” Will said, his hand covering his sore belly beneath the loose spill of his maternity blouse. The stitches were a hard ridge beneath his drifting fingertips, one of the many scars he would bear from that hellish night. “I would do anything necessary to protect my children.”
“How lucky they are that you love them so much,” she said, a slight scold in her tone as if reproaching Will, as if he had not loved her to the point of folly where it had nearly cost him everything he held dear.
“Mina,” Will said, asking the question that meant the most. “Was it worth it?”
She finally looked at him. Not through him or around him or in his general direction, but at him, one twin to another, sister to brother.
“It would have been,” she said, and the expression on her face was so like their father’s that Will suppressed a shiver, shocked by the coldness he found in place of the warmth he’d always imagined. His throat constricted with grief he hadn’t allowed himself to feel, with pain he’d refused to acknowledge, the last bit of his faith in his sister’s love torn asunder by her calm, unfeeling words.
“Would you have regretted it, Mina?” he asked, honing his pain into strength, just as he had with their father. “One day, when my children called you ‘mother’ in my stead? When my husband returned from war and declared you an imposter? Would you have regretted it?”
She stared at him in silent consideration before whispering, “Who knows?”
“I think you would have,” Will murmured, looking at her with his Gift, seeing the fragile places half lost in shadow where her fears drew tight and thin, her sense of self as delicate as butterfly wings and easily fractured like glass. “How could you not? Pretending to be me? Everyone calling you by my name? Slowly but surely, it would erode you into nothing, your passions curbed, your life shackled to Hartford House, your lovers forsaken and your Dragon tamed. What future did you imagine here, Mina? Rich as Croesus with nothing to spend it on? Empty ballrooms and empty gardens and empty parlors, avoiding neighbors and tying lures to stave off boredom, telling lies to hide your sins?”
Her nostrils flared on a harsh inhale. Her pulse fluttered in her long throat, flickering beneath her skin, her mouth tightening on a frown.
“You would have regretted it, Mina,” Will said, whispering the words to her with a small smile. “As time and my children and your duties sapped your resolve, you would find no rest for your weary head in the long, lonely nights. And every time you looked in the mirror, you would be reminded of the brother you murdered as surely as you murdered yourself.”
She stared at him with the wild, dangerous eyes of a doe before the hunter, anger and horror trembling through her pale limbs and quivering on her lips as she saw the truth in his words.
A knock sounded on the door, sharp and firm, followed by Mr. Hawkes announcing, “They have come, my Lord.”
“Bring them in, Mr. Hawkes, thank you,” Will said, pushing to his feet with slow dignity and healthy respect for the trauma his body had undergone.
Mina watched him, her wild stare narrowing with suspicion, recognizing the contours of a trap but unable to discern its details. Suspicion gave way to alarm, however, when she saw the men who had come to fetch her.
“Will?” she said, her voice rising on a note of hysteria as he shooed the dogs out to make room. “Will, what’s going on?”
“You asked about Francis, Mina, but you never asked about yourself,” Will said, stepping to one side as the men approached her with the same wary alertness of Tier’s girls. “Did you imagine I would keep you here indefinitely? Rapunzel in her tower, trapped away from the world but still allowed to see it? None of our sisters wanted to deal with you and you have no male relatives left, so the decision fell to Hannibal. Rather, to me.”
“Will!” It came out a shriek as they seized her, shackling her arms and lifting her off of her feet. “Will!”
“These men are from Mayham Hospital,” Will said, watching with stoic reserve as she was dragged towards the door. “I’m sure you’ll find it very comfortable there, Mina.”
Her grasping fingers snared the front of his blouse, tightening like a vise and forcing the men to pause.
“After all,” Will murmured, prying her fingers loose one by one, “it is the same place you were going to send me at first, and I know you would never send me any place where I would ever be unhappy. Because you love me so much...”
“Will!” she mewled, her cries of his name turning to screams as she was bodily carried from the house.
He followed in her wake, an unwilling but resolute witness for those who no longer had eyes to see her fate.
“Will!” Mina screamed, fighting to hang onto the men as they pushed her into the bleak, enclosed wagon they’d arrived with. They slammed the door and locked it, one of them throwing bolts, the other turning keys in the padlocks.
Will gave them their fee for fetching her. There was no need for further instructions, as everything had been arranged through Mr. Buddish and the courts, which was lucky as very little could be heard over Mina’s panicked, outraged shrieking.
As the men took their places on the wagon, Will moved to the back to look in at his sister, who immediately grasped the bars and pressed her face to them, pleading, “Will! Will, darling! I’m so sorry! Please, don’t do this.”
Will searched her face, so like his and so different, identically different. It chilled him to think of how easily he could have become like her, driven to any extreme for his own desires, willing to sacrifice lives to get what he wanted, able to steal and lie and connive without conscience or hesitation.
“I hope you get well soon, Mina,” he said, his words soft and crooning. “I trust you understand why I cannot visit you where you’re going, but you’ll be in my thoughts. Always.”
“But, Will! No!” she begged, trying to slide her hand through the bars to reach him. “I’m not mad, Will! I’m sorry I hurt you! I promise you, I’ll be the sister you deserve! You’ve always been so good to me, Will! I only want to take care of you! Please, Will! I can’t go to such a place! I’m not mad!”
A dark, small smile curved Will’s lips and he whispered, “I know.”
She stared at him, incomprehension filling her wide blue eyes with confusion before she realized what he’d said. The wagon jolted into motion and she screamed, beating at the bars in a frenzy, shrieking his name.
Will stood in the drive until the falling snow muted the sound of her voice, until the rumbling wagon vanished behind a fog of swirling flakes. He waited to feel guilt or regret, but they never came.
The only thing he felt instead was enormous satisfaction.
Six Years Later
A din of happy chaos filled Hartford House, spilling in through the open windows and open doors with the bright light of the afternoon sun. Guests lingered in the garden, talking and laughing and enjoying the pleasant weather as much as the bountiful hospitality of Hartford House.
Inside, where it was relatively cool, though not precisely peaceful, Will Lecter-Graham tugged on his jacket and checked his watch, smiling when he saw not too much time had passed. Winston, his coat a little rougher with age and not so swift as he used to be, heaved himself up to trail after him, following Will downstairs.
Randall Tier’s girls trotted towards him, heralding Hannibal’s arrival as surely as the warm pulse of his Alpha scent and the vibration of their bond. Will smiled with anticipation, every reunion a thrill of delight no matter how short the separation.
“You look very pleased for an Omega who just had champagne sloshed down his front,” Hannibal said, amber eyes crinkling in a grin as he approached. He reached out, unable to wait, and took Will’s hands in his to kiss them, adding, “But then, it gave a marvelous excuse to see you wear your new clothes. Nichola did an outstanding job—you look perfectly exquisite, Will.”
“Thank you very much,” Will said, indulging in a little preening under such appreciative scrutiny. “And thank Cousin Atticus for his stumble, as I had no plans to change to begin with.”
“I think it had more to do with the plunge of your décolletage than his clumsiness, the bounder,” Hannibal said, his voice falling into a low, displeased growl. His own gaze fell on the chest in question, bared to advantage by the cut of Will's Omegan jacket, and his tone turned soft with appreciation when he said, “Nursing certainly only adds to your charms, my dear.”
“That’s not for you,” Will said to him, his smile turning wry as he added, “little good though it does to remind you. What is that you have? A letter?”
“Yes, another letter. It just arrived,” Hannibal said, releasing Will’s hand to tug the exposed envelope from his front pocket where he’d hastily tucked it.
“From Mina?” Will asked.
“Yes,” Hannibal said, turning it to check the posting mark. “She’s very determined to speak to you, Will. Very determined, indeed.”
Will said nothing, though the bond seethed with a darkness Hannibal had come to associate with Will’s family. Rather than risk casting a pall over such a wonderful day, Hannibal slid the envelope into the breast pocket of his jacket out of sight.
“I’ll put it with the others,” he said, knowing Will greeted the news with mixed emotions. He closed the distance between them, hand straying down the exaggerated curve of Will’s slender back, tracing the hard stays hidden beneath the heavy cloth. Hoping to divert him with something more pleasant, he whispered, “That is still the most titillating piece of clothing ever created to test one’s discipline.”
“It had best not be testing it now,” Will huffed, angling a repressive look at him. “Jimmy just spent fifteen minutes getting me into this outfit, Hannibal. You can’t undo all of his hard work with your appreciation. Not yet, anyway.”
“Mm, but you smell absolutely luscious,” Hannibal purred, pressing his nose beneath the curve of Will’s jaw to draw a heady breath of his scent. “Even more so than usual. How soon?”
“Less than a month,” Will said, smirking. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m spending this heat at Marsham Heath. Just me, my new bathtub, and an excellent book Freddie recommended. Ms. McClane has already located a wet nurse for me and it’s high time the baby is weaned.”
“Wouldn’t you rather spend your heat with me?” Hannibal coaxed, tipping his head to brush his lips up Will’s jaw and cheek, pressing his advantage when Will smiled.
“Hannibal, do you know how many children we have?” Will asked, leaning into his touch despite himself. “I’ll give you a moment to count.”
“Nonsense, I know precisely how many children we have,” Hannibal said, nibbling at Will’s earlobe. “Four.”
“Hannibal,” Will scolded.
“Five,” he corrected, grinning.
“In how many years?” Will pressed, raising his hand to cup Hannibal’s cheek, the pull of him nearly irresistible. Nearly.
“Nearly seven,” Hannibal said without hesitation, defending himself with, “In my defense, you do tend to give them to me in pairs, Will. We’d have had three if you weren’t so keen on doubling your investment, as it were.”
“Doubling my—” Will cut off, elbowing his husband in favor of scolding him, saying, “I’ve had all of two heats in the last six years, Hannibal! I will enjoy this one! And unless you know of a way to successfully prevent adding to our brood, I will be enjoying it alone.”
“Alone?” Hannibal murmured, leaning close to rest his forehead to Will’s. “Without me?”
“‘Alone’ would generally preclude you, yes,” Will said, his determination wavering.
“No one got pregnant last night, did they?” Hannibal whispered, and was rewarded with a brilliant pink blush rising on his mate’s cheeks. “Hm?”
“No, you haven’t gotten pregnant so far,” Will admitted, his smile as wry as his sigh. “Very well, Hannibal. But I warn you, if I end up carrying again—”
“You’ll cosh me like you have every other time,” Hannibal purred, delighted by his decision, “and proceed to be the most adorable pregnant Omega in the world, followed by the best mother, all while performing your lordly duties. One wonders how you manage.”
Will allowed himself to be kissed, murmuring, “Flatterer.”
“It isn’t flattery if it’s true,” Hannibal said, nuzzling him for a deeper kiss.
“Papa!”
They pulled apart at the soft, sweet call, both of them smiling at the dainty little Omega running towards them, but Hannibal’s smile was particularly wide and enamored. Deep satisfaction and contentment poured through their bond every single time he laid eyes on their children, but especially when he looked at the solemn and wide-eyed replica of his mate, who very definitely knew they had their Papa wrapped around their little finger.
“Darling! You make that dress even more beautiful,” Hannibal called, and whispered to Will, “I thought Saturdays were pants days?”
“Saturdays are dress days now,” Will whispered back, stretching his hand out in encouragement. “At least temporarily.”
“Since when?” Hannibal asked, bewildered.
Will laughed and told him, “Since this morning when we saw Abigail’s dress and were overcome with envy.”
“Well, don’t tell Abigail I said so,” Hannibal said, bending to scoop them up and heft them high against his chest, his arm tucked firmly beneath them to steady them for a kiss, “but I think you look even more beautiful than she does, Saule.”
“Where are your brothers?” Will asked, straightening the bedraggled flower they’d poked into their dark curls and smoothing their cheek.
“With Grandy,” came the quiet reply, Saule’s sleepy blue eyes cutting to the doors outside before they ducked their head against Hannibal’s shoulder, shy of the crowd.
“With Grandy, is it? That should please him,” Hannibal said, rocking his little Omega in a hug. “Should we go sit with him for a while?”
Will nodded, saying, “I was going to check on him and we have some time before anyone notices we’re missing. We’ll have to hurry back, though. This reception is for you, after all.”
“With Aunt Margaret drinking and the orchestra playing,” Hannibal said with a smirk. “I imagine our guests are fully entertained.”
“She does so enjoy a celebration,” Will laughed, the three of them heading back the way Saule had come, the dogs milling around them. “Everyone is very proud of you, Hannibal. I hope you know that?”
“I do,” Hannibal said, rubbing Saule’s fragile back. “But the party couldn’t have managed such sweeping reforms without your keen intellect, Will. Unofficial member or not, you’ve been instrumental in helping Omegas and women gain the right to participate in government.”
“Not unofficial for much longer, I hope,” Will said, grinning. “Which is precisely why we’re celebrating, Councilman Lecter.”
“Well, you do know how much I enjoy spending endless hours with my exhausting relations,” Hannibal teased, and laughed when Will did, both of them thinking fondly of the irrepressible and eclectic Dimmonds.
The rest of the children were just where Saule had said, making busy chaos in Roland’s suite under Mr. Zeller’s watchful eye. Grandfather sat with a blissful smile on his face and the baby in his lap, enjoying the antics of their over-excited little ones.
“This is a cheerful sight,” Hannibal said, carrying Saule in to settle them next to Grandfather, who hugged them against his side, smiling his lopsided smile. He had never recovered fully from his stroke, but he had regained a remarkable amount of mobility and a fair amount of his speech, enough so to legally abdicate his position as the Duke of Westvale to his grandson and heir. Hannibal had feared he would fade without the title that was so much a part of him, but Roland spent every moment he could with his great-grandchildren and was delighted to have the weight of responsibility lifted off of his shoulders at long last.
“I thought I would read to you for a bit and take a break from our guests, Grandfather, but it looks as if you have visitors,” Will said, moving to kiss Roland’s cheek and lift the baby into his arms, cradling him with a soft purr to soothe his fussing. “I hope they haven’t exhausted you.”
“I think it’s the other way around, by the size of that yawn,” Hannibal remarked, noting more than one sleepy face among their children. He moved to kiss Grandfather’s forehead, asking, “Are you sure you don’t want to get dressed and come out?”
“N-no, it’s too much,” Roland said, waving a shaky hand at the suggestion. “I w-would rather stay here.”
“As you wish,” Hannibal said, smiling down at him. “But you do realize you’re about to be descended on by a bevy of Dimmonds?”
“An un-unavoidable fate, I fear,” Roland said, and uttered a raspy, breathless laugh.
“You’ve been minding Grandy, haven’t you?” Will asked, rocking the baby as he cast a serious look over his children.
“Yes, mama,” was the dutiful and undoubtedly inaccurate reply from them each, prompting Will to say, “Perhaps we should ring for nanny?”
“Ms. Starling needed a minute to catch her breath,” Zeller said, volunteering the information from a safe distance where the dogs had gone to rest. “Didn’t realize what she signed on for.”
“Saved by circumstances,” Hannibal said, grinning at the relief he saw on their beloved little faces.
“Grandy doesn’t want us to go! Grandy wants you to tell us a story, Papa,” Nigel said, the request taken up at once by a chorus of high, coaxing voices to which the baby added his burbling voice, only falling still when Will nuzzled him.
“A story?” Hannibal asked, seating himself with mock dignity on the settee next to Roland’s bed where Will had settled with their youngest propped up in the curve of his arm. “What sort of story? Shall I tell you of Chiyoh? How she traveled across the ocean to visit Nippon and take Lady Murasaki home at last?”
“Or perhaps how Abigail met Nicholas when she was abroad?” Will suggested, chuckling at the baby’s expression of utter astonishment to see his siblings pulling faces at him from the bed. “Or Papa could tell you some Lietuvan fairy tales. That should keep you all awake.”
“For the next several years, most likely,” Hannibal muttered.
“No, tell us your story!”
“Ah, yes!” Hannibal said, tapping his temple with one finger. “I’ll tell you of my summers in Lietuva!”
“No, Papa, of you and Mama,” Saule corrected, curling against Roland’s side, their beautiful dress forgotten in favor of the story they all were told from the moment Will’s waist began to thicken.
“Let me see, where should I begin?” Hannibal said, hefting Charlie up over his head before sitting back with the little boy in his lap, making room for Nigel to clamber up next to him. The little Alpha delved against Will’s side, seeking the calming assurance of his mother’s scent and settling at once, his slim fingers curling around the baby’s fat little foot. “I know, how about the Garden Party? Hm? It was a beautiful day at Fernhill and your cousin Bedelia was being entirely as impossible as she ever has been—”
“No, Papa, you start at the start!” Hannibal Lucas said, his expression of affront so identical to his father’s that Will had to turn his head away to hide his amusement, lest his eldest son take offense. “At the start!”
“At the start? You’re quite right, of course! How silly of me,” Hannibal said, casting a glance at Will as he said, “I suppose there’s time?”
“We’ll make time,” Will promised with a smile, kissing the baby in his arms and hugging Nigel to his side. He stretched his hand out and Hannibal took it, fingers twining in a warm caress. The strength of their shared love swelled between them through their bond, powerful enough to overcome every shadow of their past without regret.
“Very well,” Hannibal said, drawing a deep breath and smiling as he held his husband’s bright blue gaze, “Thirty-eight years ago, the Earl of Reddig entered into a contract with the Duke of Westvale to give one of his grandchildren of marriageable age to the Duke’s grandson at a time when it suited him to one day marry. He happily put that contract behind him and did everyone the disservice of dying without mentioning said contract to his son...”
End
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