Princes of Legacy (Royals of Forsyth University, #9)

by Angel Lawson

Wicker always smells clean, but there’s an edge of something spicy buried beneath it, sharp as a razor.

“There,” he says smugly, dipping down to brush his lips against my cheek. “My woman. My baby. My name.”

“Now that one,” Lav says, tossing a shirt in the medium pile, “the way he looks at you?” “What about it?” “I’ve seen that before too.” She turns to watch Wicker approach Lex in the middle of the room. “He’s not ready yet, but when he finally is…” She trails off, but honestly, I’m dying to know. “What? What happens?” “It’s going to feel like falling off a cliff.”

I’ve never worn the name. I’ve never mourned it. I’ve never breathed it, bled it, or claimed it. But it’s still mine.

Yes, my ‘to do’ list involves everything from prenatal care to scheduled torture. I really may be an Ashby.

Wicker and I created this baby with blood and passion. Pace and I forged him in the heat of wild possession. But Lex and I made him right here, with a longing so fierce that it transcended things like science or territory lines.

And mothers aren’t just here to love and care for you. They're also here to kick asses, teach manners, and show you how to treat women. Mothers,” she concludes, “show you something a father can’t always teach.”

“Justice doesn’t come without a little pain, right?”

“Well, some of us weren’t raised in East End, where the average emotional intelligence falls somewhere around narcissists and megalomaniacs.”