Burned Hearts (Burned 3)

I knew it was crazy—it wasn’t as though our son had any clue who Dane and I were, let alone how disheveled I looked. Perhaps it was because Dane looked so sensational, as usual, that I feared I’d fail by comparison.

Macy leaned close and carefully placed the baby in my arms. She swept back the little beanie he wore and I gasped at the thicket of black hair on his tiny head.

“Holy cow,” I gushed. “Look at that.”

The strands were the same obsidian as his father’s and just as soft. He even had Dane’s dark complexion. The blue eyes were mine.

Dane said, “My mother was from Madrid. He has her coloring. But that hair. It’s just like my dad’s.”

“He’s so beautiful.” I stared in awe. Nothing had prepared me for this moment. I hadn’t really considered what it would be like to hold my son in my arms for the first time. This itty-bitty guy with his small balled fists and his perfect cupid mouth that sort of gaped like a fish out of water. He gurgled and gasped and I fell in love with every sound he made, as well as the sight of him.

“Too perfect, huh?” I asked Dane.

“Just perfect enough.” His voice was filled with emotion. Pride. Joy. Love.

I glanced at him. He was mesmerized. I didn’t blame him.

We both admired our little creation, who wiggled and squirmed, but in a way that made me think he was just looking for that cozy sweet spot in my arms.

When he found it, he settled in and let out a sigh. Or so I thought. Who knew? Could’ve been gas. It was cute either way.

“Amsel,” Dane said in his low voice.

“Hmm?”

“It’s German.”

Like Dane’s father.

“Means ‘blackbird.’”

My gaze landed on the tuft of hair again. “Apropos.”

“Yes.”

“Amsel Bradley Bax,” I quietly announced.

“He’ll change this world.”

My attention shifted to Dane. Had his father thought the same thing when he’d laid eyes on Dane for the first time? Had he innately known of Dane’s potential for greatness?

I stared a while longer at my husband, a new puzzle piece forming in my mind.

Who was Dane’s father? Rather, who had he been? And had he known his son would be someone so significant, influential, powerful?

Was this genetic?

The society popped into my head. Dane had been recruited outside of the circle, when the others had been inaugurated by virtue of heredity.

Except for Vale Hilliard. His father was part of the society, yet Vale wasn’t. Were there others who hadn’t made the grade? What happened when they fell short? Did they take up a role similar to Vale’s? Serve as part of the network, on-hand to do whatever was demanded of them because they were the soldiers, not the leaders?

“Hey,” Dane said as his lips grazed my temple. “What are you thinking?”

I didn’t want to spoil the moment with the subject of the Illuminati, so I said, “Just that we’ve been given the most precious gift imaginable. Honestly, Dane, he’s so fantastic.” My head dipped and I brushed the tip of my nose against my son’s. “Amsel,” I whispered. He cooed.

Dane’s fingertips brushed along the baby’s plump cheek. “He’s definitely something else. We’re really lucky, Ari.”

“Yes. We are.”