Perhaps more important, he didn't want to connect into anyone else's vibes by touching their energy with his own. He couldn't trust the seers not to pick up his tension regarding this latest threat and begin probing, and he prayed to God that none of the negative radiation coming through the airwaves had affected the baby. But now even his and Damali's abstinence made sense-they were being poisoned through the airwaves. Maybe all of humanity was. Those facts kept his nature in check; there was important shit to attend to.
But as he basked in this brief stolen moment watching Damali without her knowing he was there, an eerie, yet soothing calm soon slid over his taut nerves, making him begin to relax. Her third-eye radar was down and her calmness fed his. She was humming a little tune that he couldn't quite place and the refrigerator door was wide-open as she stood in front of it considering her options. One graceful hand clutched a huge family-sized bag of barbecue potato chips-heresy in Marlene's camp-and the other was dug down deep in the bag up to her elbow. The sight of Damali extracting a single large chip from the bag as though she were a diamond dealer checking a precious stone for flaws, and then popping the whole thing in her mouth with a sigh, made him smile.
This was the part of her pregnancy he'd been waiting for, the part he'd imagined a hundred different ways . . . where he could be useful, where he could help. He couldn't do the heavy lifting by carrying the baby for her, but he could make the craving runs for her. He could be her personal army of one. He could take a bullet for her, hunt down and kill anything that even thought about hurting her. Hell to the yeah-he could do that. He could feed her, keep her safe, and make sure she didn't want for nothing. Could be her soldier or die trying. That would at least give him something constructive to do. He was so glad she felt better. . . . God he loved her so much.
"Marlene's gonna have a cow," he said with a chuckle, finally entering the kitchen.
Damali spun around and hid the chips behind her back, laughing.
"You're busted," he said, peeking around her back and trying to grab her contraband.
Her pretty brown eyes sparkled with mischief and her cheeks were full with what appeared to be a chipmunk's loot. She covered her mouth with one hand, chewing quickly and crunching loudly, and using her body to block him from taking her chips. "Don't tell Mar I smuggled these in," Damali finally gasped, laughing hard enough to make him laugh, too.
Carlos closed the small gap between them and hugged her, whispering in her ear while still laughing. "Your secret's safe with me, senora . . . but I'll need a bribe."
"Always a catch," Damali quipped playfully, kissing his neck, but holding her chips away from him.
Carlos cocked his head to the side. "You know where I'm originally from, girl . . . fair exchange . . ."
Damali gave him a lopsided smile and opened her bag of chips, ignoring him. "Kettle Chips . . . there's no negotiation. They're all mine," she said with a sigh. "I don't know what happened, but this morning I woke up and that's all I wanted."
"You got out of bed too early, that's why," he said, still chuckling, then giving her a wink and closing the refrigerator behind her.
"Yeah, well," she said, waving her hand at him and prancing away. She raised her eyebrows, glanced around the kitchen like a thief, and then lowered her voice. "That's how I got like this in the first place-not getting up when I should have."
They both laughed and he leaned against the refrigerator door with a shrug.
"What can I say?"
"Nothing."She placed her hand on her hip and devastated him with her megawatt smile.
"What you want to eat, baby? I'll go get it." The playfulness suddenly left his voice and was replaced by a tone so gentle she just stared at him. That seemed to cause her smile to fade into a softness that touched her eyes.
"I don't know," she said quietly. "But I love you."
He pushed off the fridge and opened his arms. She filled them and he rested his cheek against the crown of her head. She smelled wonderful, a concoction of shea butter and almond oil and barbecue chips. The satiny feel of her skin beneath his palms as he stroked her arms and the soft, velvety texture of her locks against his face made him close his eyes.
Her warmth had married his and they stood that way for what seemed like a long time; him just hugging her in the middle of the kitchen floor; her just hugging him back with a bag of chips crushed against his spine. It was Heaven on earth, a gift granted in small slivers of time between worry and fighting and sharing the planet with duty and other people. He so wanted her to eat something healthy before they had the team meeting, and well before he had to disclose to her the conversation he'd had with J.L. After that, she probably wouldn't be able to keep anything down.
"What's the matter, baby?" Damali murmured, finally pulling away from him.
"Nothing," he lied. "I'm just glad your appetite is back and you're feeling better."
"I do feel better," she said, staring up at him. "It was awful . . . and I didn't want to upset you by telling you how bad I was really feeling. Headaches that felt like an ice pick was going through mybrain, and the nausea was a bitch."
Her gaze searched his face and he kissed the center of her forehead.
"I'm sorry . . ." he said awkwardly.
"Wasn't your fault, puhlease," she said, dramatically scowling at him, trying to make him smile."Goes with the territory."
"Yeah . . . I guess," he said offhandedly. "But, like, did you notice it at any specific time?" he added, fishing for information.
Damali nodded and released their embrace so she could go back to munching on her chips. "Every time I'd get comfortable to watch the news or a movie, or even listen to the radio, within five minutes, I was as sick as a dog."
He watched her carefully as she crunched on potato chips and tried to talk at the same time. Mild panic began to brew within him again; what if the baby hadn't been getting enough nutrients because of all this? Chips just didn't seem right. What if the poisonous messages had attacked her or the fetus beyond just nausea? If the old Chairman of the Vampire Council could claw out her womb to make her miscarry before, what could the Ultimate Darkness do to Damali or the baby? He quickly shoved every mental outburst into the black-box within his mind and sealed it shut like an ancient sarcophagus. She never needed to know about or feel even a hint of his concerns while she was carrying.
"Carlos, maybe I'm crazy," she mumbled through a mouthful of chips, oblivious to his growing concern, "but I swear talk radio kicked my behind . . . I could play my old music on the stereo or on my iPod, but all the new stuff on the radio just made me evil, and it seemed like I was allergic to the computer-I couldn't download jack off the Net without jumping up fifty times to go hurl. So I just tried to walk and sleep . . . baby, I'm sorry I've been such a trip. I know these past few weeks have been really hard on you, with the mood swings and the sickness." She held his gaze for a moment. "And I know I've been all teary-eyed and not real . . . you know . . . romantic. Just wanting to hug, but that's it . . . I don't know."