Pregnant With Alpha’s Genius Twins

#Chapter 182 – The Trump Card

Inside the house, Ian, Emma, and Delia jump when they hear the sound of the bombs.

Mrs. Walsh just sits still. It’s a sound she’s heard before, one she was expecting.

“Wha-” Ian says, his mouth open and his head turned towards the windows, wishing, desperately, that he could see out. “What was that?”

“Bombs, darling,” Mrs. Walsh says from her spot in her armchair by the unlit fire, her head resting back against the fabric, exhausted. “That is the sound of the battle beginning.”

Ian grimaces and Emma knows that he wishes, above all, that he could be there. Ian is a boy who needs to be in on the action – he will be absolutely restless until he feels that he’s at the center of it all, helping his side.

Keeping him here, safe and sound, is torture for him.

“Mom,” Emma says softly, turning her face to her mother, trying again. “This can’t seriously be what you want for your pack, for its future.”

Mrs. Walsh turns her face away, as she did before.

They had tried, earlier, to persuade her. To convince her that a pack with Emma and Evelyn at the head, instead of John and Joyce, would be the better choice for everyone. But she had simply sat down in that chair and not responded – not at all – to anything that Emma had to say.

Delia hadn’t said anything, had merely sat quietly on the sofa. She knows that it’s not her fight. Eventually, Emma had given up and went to sit with Delia. They had sat in silence until the sound of the bombs started.

Ian surprises them all, though, by going to sit in his grandmother’s lap.

She welcomes him there, wrapping her arms around him as he curls up with his head against her chest. She rests her chin on his head.

“Grandmama,” he says softly. “Why does my grandfather hate my dad so much? Why does he want to kill him?”

Her face goes pale at that and she looks down at her grandson. He’s clever enough, she knows, to realize that the two forces going at each other outside are, indeed, his father and his grandfather. So she can’t lie to him to make it any better.

real intention, Ian,” she says softly. “I don’t think he wants to kill

away the control?” Ian

a little, knowing that her husband is, in fact, the aggressor in this situation – even if Victor is the one to come to the property, Walsh started this fight. “Your grandfather thinks that he will be better at leading the people than your father is. That he knows best, and that your

and I are going to inherit both packs in a little bit of time. They’ll be combined anyway. This all seems…” Ian takes a moment, staring at the iron shutters over

soft. “If people are going to get hurt, even die. When these packs are going to unite anyway, in the

Walsh looks down at her grandchild, surprised, and then stares at

in the same

against his skin and his eyes as he blinks, surveying the damage done to his enemies. But his scientists had been

ground, screaming, their hands going to their faces, their eyes, their backs arching in agony as they fight against the chemical attacking

he wipes it away, knowing that the men will be grateful, in the end. He doesn’t know a single man among them that wouldn’t trade three days of pain for a swift death,

have fallen, writhing in agony themselves – likely those who hadn’t turned before the wind had carried the wolfsbane amongst them –

has turned now. With the majority of Walsh and Willard’s forces

opens his mouth and shouts, commanding his army

forward, picking up speed again as they hurtle towards

go for a wound at every opportunity, instead of a kill. To press the advantage, but to be aware

such command. Still, they are too far away still for short-range pistols or even machine guns to accurately shoot, and Walsh’s uninjured forces are scrambling to man the front lines. Victor’s smile deepens as he runs, knowing that the odds are in his

dash in and take over without a fight. He will have something up his sleeve, and Victor is on the lookout for it, prepared for

chain-link fence surrounding a watch

Why the hell do they need to concentrate on manning a watchtower when his army is rushing forward towards them in

Beta black climbing the steps of the watchtower, Victor

s**t.

going to play his trump card.

piercing noise of an amplifier being attached to a microphone. Several of Victor’s Betas wince

to the front of the watch tower. Victor ignores the command and, receiving no contrary order, his