Pregnant With Alpha’s Genius Twins

#Chapter 23 – Sick Twins

The next morning, Betas who hustle about Victor’s kitchen as he enters it, making phone calls,

surveying the sight-lines from the kitchen and living room. “Good,” he says, nodding.

“Good morning, baby,” Amelia purrs, pressing a hot cup of coffee and cream into his hand and giving

him a kiss on the cheek. Victor glances at her and nods, gesturing to the Beta pack leader to come

over.

“Thanks for coming early, Edgar,” Victor says. “I want two teams working at all times – one on

surveillance of the house, the other doing reconnaissance. I want answers. This can never happen

again.”

Edgar nods, swift and efficient. “Yes sir. Apologies, I should have had a bigger team at the parade

yesterday – I should have been there myself –“

Victor waves a hand, dismissing it. “The amount of protection you supplied yesterday matched my

commands. However, situations have changed – I should have adjusted the instructions to include the

boys.”

“Yes…” says Edgar, hesitating. “The…boys. Should I prepare…”

“Yes, Beta, you should prepare your team to protect the two boys at all times. They are my sons, and I

will acknowledge them as such as soon as I can arrange it.”

Edgar nods slowly, unable to stop his eyebrows from raising just a little bit.

“Their mother, too, full protection.” Victor continues. “Her name is Evelyn Walsh, though she changed it

to Ortega when she went Rogue. They’re living in the property out back,” he says, gesturing towards

the back windows. “I want you on all three of them, full time care.”

Edgar nods and salutes. “Yes sir.”

“We start now, Beta. Any questions?”

“No sir,” Edgar says.

“Good.” Victor nods and drains his coffee. “You stay here, start organizing the patrols. I’ll take the

reconnaissance team with me to the office to start research.”

Edgar moves back towards his men, giving his own orders. Amelia appears beside Victor and he

smiles at her, putting an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll see you tonight, baby?” she asks.

Victor nods. “I’m going to drop in and see the boys when I come back from the office,” he replies. “But

I’ll be home for dinner.” Amelia gives him a smile as Victor puts his coffee up in the sink and snaps,

drawing the Betas to order.

“Let’s move out, boys.” The Betas salute as one and then head out of the house, Victor at their tail.

“Victor,” Amelia calls as he goes. He turns and waits as she catches up. “Victor, about Evelyn…well, I

was thinking…how much do we really know about her? About where she comes from?”

Victor frowns. “She comes from a very good family, the daughter of Alpha Walsh. Whose reputation,

surely, you know.”

“Yessss…”Amelia says softly. “I do know of Walsh, though I didn’t know he had another daughter.

Especially a Rogue daughter. Do you think…” she hesitates again.

“Amelia, I have to go. Can you just spit it out?”

“Well, do you think she told him about his grandchildren? Or did she keep it a secret from him, like she

did from you? Is there any possibility…”

Victor sees where she’s going and grimaces, ashamed of himself for not thinking of it before. Of course

Evelyn would have kept the boys secret from everyone, and an Alpha grandfather would want his only

grandsons almost as much as Victor wanted his sons. Family was everything.

“Thank you, Amelia,” Victor says, giving her a swift kiss and heading out the door. “This is useful.”

“See you tonight,” she murmurs, blowing on her coffee and closing the door behind him, a smirk on her

cherry lips.

“Mama, I don’t feel good,” Ian’s voice is whiny as he wanders into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. I finish

chopping the bell pepper and drop it into the sizzling pan before crouching down so that I’m on eye-

level with my boy.

“What’s wrong, baby?” I ask, opening my arms. Ian comes forward and I look over his clammy skin, his

glassy eyes. “Open your mouth, stick out your tongue,” I say. He does so and I note that his throat is

inflamed. “What hurts?” I ask.

“My stomach,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “And I am all hot.” Ugh, great, a stomach bug.

“Alvin!” I call, knowing already that my inseparable twins have shared this as well. Sure enough, Alvin

comes into the kitchen flushed and grumpy. “Do you feel sick too, sweetie?”

“Mmhmm,” he says, coming over to me for a hug. I hold my sweaty boys close for a moment and then

stand up. “Okay, boys, battle stations. Upstairs, pajamas on. We’re getting you to bed.”

Both boys whine in protest – they hate going to bed early under all conditions – but I clap my hands,

silencing them. “Up, go.” I command, and they do.

As they head up the stairs, I turn off the pan and place a lid on it. Chicken fajitas will have to wait – it’s

nothing but chicken soup tonight. As I move to the cabinet to bring down a can of soup, the back door

opens and Victor comes in.

“What, no knock?” I say.

Victor looks at me for a moment, confused. “What? It’s my house.”

I narrow my eyes. “It’s my house, Victor. I live here, I pay rent. I have rights.”

He chuckles, dismissive, and closes the door. “Where are the boys.”

“They’re upstairs,” I say, rolling my eyes at his audacity. “Actually, Victor, you might want to head home

– I know you were scheduled for a visit, but the boys are sick –“

“What?” he says, suddenly tense. “They’re sick? With what? What’s wrong?”

I am surprised by this sudden worry. “It’s not a big deal, Victor. They’re just not feeling well – it’s

probably just a bug –“

“Do they have fevers?” He moves to take off his coat, heading for the stairs.

“I don’t know –“

“You didn’t take their temperature?!”

“I literally just found out two seconds ago, Victor!” I chase him to the staircase. “I’ve barely had time to

breathe, let alone –“

“Where’s you’re thermometer!” A command, not a question.

I roll my eyes again, getting sick of the gesture. I wave a hand at him even though he can’t see me

anymore and head back into the kitchen, opening the soup and pouring it into a pot to heat quickly. Ten

minutes later, with two bowls on a try, I head upstairs.

Victor is in boys’ room, the plastic thermometer in his hands. “No, daddy,” Ian says, whining. “It doesn’t

go under my tongue, it goes in my ear.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Victor murmurs, “temperatures are taken under your tongue –“

“Nooooo,” Alvin cries, his illness making him impatient. “You’re wroooooooong.”

“Give that to me,” I say, putting the tray down and taking the thermometer out of Victor’s hands.

“They’re right, it’s a new kind of thermometer. It’s not 1950 anymore.” Ian obligingly turns his ear to me

and I place the thermometer gently in, pressing the button.

A moment later it beeps, returning a temperature of 103. “Is that, um…is that high?” Victor asks, clearly

worried.

“Yes,” I murmur, moving to Alvin’s bed to take his as well. “But not too high.” Alvin’s temperature

matches Ian’s as it always does. Another solid 103.

I tuck the boys tightly into their beds, wrapping them in blankets like little mummies so they can hardly

move. Neither says much as I work, except for little moans of protest.

Victor stands between their beds a little helplessly, watching me work. “What do we do?”

“You can go, Victor,” I say, shaking my head at him. “They’re just going to lay here for a couple of

hours, they’ll be fine. But there’s not much to do but wait.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ll stay. They need me.”

I laugh gently. “They really don’t,” I say. “But okay. Let’s try to get some food in them.” I gesture towards

the soup, and he picks up a bowl, sitting on the edge of Ian’s bed. I watch him, smiling a little, as he lifts

a spoonful of soup towards Ian’s lips.

“Nooooo” says Ian, turning his head way in revulsion. This is also out of character – my boys are

always good eaters.

“Come on, buddy,” Victor says, “just a couple of bites to keep you strong.”

“No!” Ian yells, twisting his head away in the other direction.

“One bite,” Victor pleads.

“No!”

“I’ll buy you a pony,” Victor wheedles.

Ian opens an eye, considering. Victor sees a gap. “I’ll buy you a car –“

“Victor,” I scold, interrupting.

“I want a carrrrr,” cries Alvin, grumpy and tired, his emotions getting the best of him. I sigh and put the

soup on his bedstand, seeing that we’re not getting anywhere.

“Okay,” I say. “Daddy will buy you both cars. But you can only drive them when I’m dead, so I don’t

have to watch.”

Victor chuckles softly. Then, suddenly, Ian sits stock-straight in bed, his face turning ashen.

“Uh oh,” I say, moving towards him. “Victor, quick, he’s –“

Then, before I can get to him, Ian retching, leaning over into Victor’s lap, throwing up all over Victor’s

Armani shirt and pants.

Grimacing at the thought of the drycleaning bill, I sit behind Ian on his bed, stroking his hair back and

making soft noises to calm him. Victor, to his credit, doesn’t jump or yell or do anything that mike make

Ian feel guilty. He just goes slightly green and holds his breath until Ian turns his head, crying softly, to

rest against my chest.

“It’s okay, baby,” I whisper, patting my son on his back. I give Victor an ironic smile, apologizing silently.

He shrugs.

“What can I do?” He asks.

“Get new sheets and blankets,” I say, gesturing towards the boys’ closet. “And new pajamas. And a

trashcan for Alvin,” I say, pointing at the second twin, whose face has just gone white in the next bed.

“He’s next.”