THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 17
The air in Ghost’s apartment still hummed with the fading resonance of celebration, but the joyous chaos had settled into a warm, contented quiet. Paper lanterns cast soft, multicoloured pools of light on the worn floor. The scent of jollof rice and sweet puff-puff mingled with the faint, hopeful fragrance of the lilies. Jessica sat nestled in a worn but comfortable armchair, a hand resting on the magnificent curve of her belly, exhaustion and profound happiness etched on her face. Beside her, perched on the armrest, was Sebastian Scar.
He hadn’t left her side since the moment he’d stepped through the door. One arm was draped protectively around her shoulders, his large hand resting possessively on her bump, feeling the powerful, reassuring kicks of his son. His other hand held hers, his thumb tracing slow circles on her knuckles. The cold, hardened kingpin was gone. In his place was a man visibly awash with wonder, tenderness, and a fierce, almost overwhelming protectiveness. He couldn't hide his excitement. A genuine smile, rare and radiant, softened the harsh lines of his face as he watched Jessica accept a final glass of water from Chioma.
"You need to rest, *omoge*," Chioma fussed gently, using the Yoruba term for 'beautiful child'. "All this excitement isn't good for the little warrior."
Scar nodded immediately, his voice unusually soft. "She's right, my love. You've been through too much today." He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple, breathing in her scent – safety, home, *future*. He acted as if she were spun glass, his movements careful, his embrace constant, a physical manifestation of his terror at the thought of her disappearing again. Every time she shifted, his arm tightened infinitesimally; every time she smiled at one of the men, his gaze followed her with possessive adoration. The raw vulnerability he displayed, this public clinging, was as shocking to his men as his earlier rage had been.
As Chioma began gently clearing plates, William stepped forward, clearing his throat. The relaxed atmosphere shifted slightly, a current of solemnity returning. Kola, Musa, Femi, and the others gathered closer, their expressions turning serious, respectful, but also apprehensive.
"Boss," William began, his voice steady but heavy with unspoken weight. "First… on behalf of all of us…" He gestured around the room, encompassing the gathered men. "We owe you and Jessica a profound apology. We hid the truth. We kept Jessica from you. We deceived you." He met Scar’s gaze, which had sharpened but held no immediate anger, only a watchful intensity. "It wasn't disloyalty to you, sir. Never that. It was… it was loyalty to *her*." He nodded towards Jessica. "And to your unborn child. We saw what Amanda was doing. We saw the poison she dripped into everything. We knew she’d kill Jessica if we didn’t act, and likely the baby too. We needed time. Time to gather proof solid enough to shatter her lies and keep Jessica safe while we did it. We chose to protect what we knew mattered most to you, even when you couldn't see it. We beg your understanding… and your forgiveness."
Scar studied William, then slowly scanned the faces of the other men. He saw no defiance, only earnest contrition and the steely resolve that had driven their dangerous gambit. He squeezed Jessica’s hand. "You kept her alive," he stated, his voice low and thick with emotion. "You kept *my son* safe. When I…" He paused, the memory of his own murderous rage towards Jessica a fresh wound. "When I failed to see the truth. That debt outweighs the deception." A collective sigh of relief seemed to ripple through the room. "Now," Scar’s voice hardened, the tender lover replaced by the avenging king. "Tell me everything. Leave nothing out."
William nodded, pulling out a slim tablet. Kola stepped up beside him. What followed was a meticulous, damning reconstruction of Amanda’s treachery.
Kola detailed the digital forensics: "The CCTV deletion wasn't just timed during the chaos, Boss. It was executed using *your* encrypted master credentials, accessed from Amanda’s personal tablet within the penthouse. We recovered the login timestamp and device ID. She had a keylogger planted months ago, likely when she 'accidentally' spilled wine on your old tablet and insisted on getting it 'cleaned'."
Musa spoke next, his voice rough: "The poison, Boss. Aconite. Rare. Traced to a disgraced chemist operating a back-alley lab in Badagry. Amanda visited him twice under a false name in the weeks before… *it* happened. Paid in untraceable crypto. Femi and I tracked him down. He confirmed it was her, described her perfectly, even remembered the red diamond serpent ring she wore. He was… persuaded… to give a recorded testimony." The implication of that 'persuasion' was clear.
Femi added, "The cook, Mama Nkechi. Amanda got to her. Threatened her grandson who was in trouble with some local thugs. Promised to make the trouble disappear if Mama Nkechi wiped *only Jessica’s* favourite coffee cup with a cloth Amanda provided *after* Jessica made the coffee but *before* she handed it to you. Mama Nkechi thought it was just Amanda being spiteful, trying to make Jessica look careless. She had no idea about the poison. She’s terrified, Boss, but she confessed everything when we showed her the threat to her grandson was orchestrated by one of Amanda’s paid street enforcers."
William displayed the evidence on the tablet: the digital logs pinpointing Amanda’s device, the chemist’s shaky video testimony, transcripts of Mama Nkechi’s tearful confession, financial trails leading back to Amanda’s shadow accounts. "She framed Jessica perfectly, sir," William concluded, his voice tight with anger. "Used your trust, your systems, and innocent people as tools. She poisoned you to eliminate Jessica and reclaim her place. She nearly killed you to get what she wanted."
As each piece of evidence slammed home, Scar’s body grew rigid beside Jessica. The tender hand on her belly became a claw, trembling with suppressed fury. The warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by a glacial, terrifying darkness. The image of himself choking, the white foam, the agony – not caused by some faceless enemy, but by the woman he’d once been bound to, the woman who’d shared his childhood, all to destroy the woman he loved and the child she carried. The betrayal was absolute, monstrous.
When William finished, the silence was volcanic. Scar slowly rose to his feet. The gentle protector was gone. The Lion of Lagos, wounded and enraged beyond measure, stood in his place. He didn’t speak. He didn’t look at Jessica, though his hand briefly squeezed hers in a silent promise. He turned, his movements lethally precise, and walked towards the apartment door. He paused only to pick up the heavy black pistol Ghost silently handed him, checking the chamber with a cold, mechanical click that echoed in the stillness.
"Stay with her," Scar commanded Ghost, his voice a low growl that vibrated with pure menace. "Guard them with your life." Then he was gone, striding into the hallway, William, Kola, Musa, and Femi falling into step behind him like shadows of death.
***
The drive back to the villa was a blur of speed and suffocating silence. Scar sat in the back of the armored SUV, staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle pulsed in his cheek. The evidence replayed in his mind – Amanda’s manipulations, the cook’s fear, the chemist’s greed, the deliberate, calculated attempt to murder him and frame Jessica, to destroy his future. Rage, cold and absolute, consumed him.
They stormed into the penthouse. Amanda was lounging on the cream sofa, sipping champagne, dressed in a silk negligee as if expecting a different kind of visitor. The sight of Scar, flanked by his grim-faced lieutenants, his expression murderous, made her freeze mid-sip. A flicker of fear crossed her face, quickly masked by defiant arrogance.
"Sebastian! Darling, what's—" she began, attempting her usual purr.
"Silence." Scar’s voice cracked like a whip. He stopped a few feet away, the pistol held loosely but pointedly at his side. "You poisoned me." It wasn't a question.
Amanda’s eyes widened with theatrical innocence. "Poisoned? Sebastian, have you lost your—"
"Spare me the act," he snarled, taking a step closer. "The chemist in Badagry. Mama Nkechi. The keylogger. The CCTV deletion. Your tablet." He listed the evidence like a death sentence. "You tried to kill me. You framed Jessica. You threatened an old woman’s grandson." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "For *what*? A throne you were never fit to sit on?"
The mask shattered. Amanda slammed her champagne flute down, shattering it on the glass table. She surged to her feet, her beautiful face contorted with venomous rage. "Fit for? That throne was *mine* by birthright! Our fathers promised it! You were *mine*! Then that gutter rat slithered in with her simpering innocence and stole you! Stole *everything*!" Spittle flew from her lips. "Yes, I poisoned you! I wanted you weak, needing me! I wanted her blamed, destroyed, *gone*! And I would have succeeded if it weren't for these *traitors*!" She spat the word at William and the others.
Her eyes, wild and hate-filled, locked onto Scar’s. "You think she loves you? That whore? She’s using you! Just like her mother used men to climb out of the slums! That baby? It’s probably Ghost’s, or some other street—"
The gunshot was deafening in the opulent room.
Amanda screamed, staggering back, clutching her upper left arm where Scar’s bullet had torn through silk and flesh. Blood bloomed crimson, stark against the pale fabric. She crashed onto the sofa, gasping, her face white with shock and pain, staring at Scar with utter disbelief.
Scar stood frozen for a split second, the gun smoking in his hand. The raw, blinding fury that had propelled the shot warred with cold control. Killing her now, in cold blood, would be too easy. Too merciful.
"Get her out of my sight," Scar commanded, his voice icy, his gaze fixed on Amanda’s writhing form with utter contempt. "Take her to the secure clinic. Patch her up. Then lock her in the basement cells. No visitors. No privileges. She lives to face justice. *My* justice." The promise in his voice was more terrifying than the gunshot.
William and Kola moved swiftly, hauling a shrieking, cursing Amanda to her feet. Musa followed, already speaking into his comms to alert the clinic.
Scar watched them drag her away, the crimson stain spreading on the cream upholstery. The rage still simmered, but a profound exhaustion, and a desperate need, washed over him. He needed Jessica. He needed his son. He needed to make amends.
***
He didn’t return to Ghost’s apartment. He sent for Jessica and Chioma, bringing them back to the villa in a heavily guarded convoy. He went straight to the wing housing Jessica’s family.
Jessica’s parents and younger siblings were gathered in their living room, the atmosphere tense with the distant echoes of the gunshot and the sudden flurry of activity. Fear was etched on their faces. When Scar entered, flanked by Ghost (who had stayed glued to Jessica’s side) and William, they flinched.
Scar stopped in the center of the room. He didn’t sit. He looked at Jessica’s mother, then her father, meeting their fearful gazes directly. He saw the strain of months under house arrest, the worry for Jessica, the humiliation.
Then, to their utter astonishment, Sebastian Scar, the most feared man in Lagos, the man who held their lives in his hands, bowed his head. Not deeply, but significantly. A gesture of profound respect and contrition.
"Mr. and Mrs. Adebayo," he began, his voice rough but sincere, devoid of its usual command. "Jessica." He looked at her, standing protectively near her parents, Chioma beside her. "I owe you the deepest, most sincere apologies. Words cannot express the regret, the shame I carry for the suffering you have endured because of my blindness, my failure, and the evil of another."
He took a breath, the weight of his words heavy in the room. "You were brought here for safety, but it became confinement. You lived under guard, separated from Jessica, fearing for her life, fearing for your own, because I believed a lie. I failed to protect Jessica. I failed to protect *you*. I allowed a viper into our home, and she poisoned everything – my body, my mind, and your peace." He looked directly at Jessica’s parents. "The inconvenience, the fear, the suffering you have had to go through… it is unforgivable. But I beg your understanding, and if possible, in time, your forgiveness."
He straightened. "The woman responsible, Amanda, has been dealt with. She will never harm any of you again. Jessica is innocent. She has always been innocent." His voice softened as he looked at Jessica, his hand instinctively reaching towards her belly before stopping himself. "And she carries my son. Your grandson."
He gestured towards William. "Your house arrest is lifted. Effective immediately. These men are no longer your guards, but your protectors. This wing is yours. Come and go as you please. The city is yours. Anything you need, anything you desire, you have only to ask." He met Jessica’s father’s eyes again. "I know trust must be earned again. I will spend the rest of my life earning yours, and Jessica’s, if she allows me."
The silence that followed was thick with shock, relief, and hesitant hope. Jessica’s mother burst into quiet tears. Her father, a proud man weathered by hardship, looked at Scar with a new, cautious measure of respect. He gave a slow, solemn nod. "We suffered," he acknowledged quietly. "But our daughter is safe. Our grandchild is coming. That is what matters now."
Scar nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He turned to Jessica, his eyes filled with a vulnerable plea. She stepped forward, away from her parents, and walked into his open arms. He held her tightly, burying his face in her hair, the horrors of the day momentarily banished by the solid, living reality of her and the life they’d created. Home wasn't just a place; it was this woman, this child, this fragile, hard-won peace reclaimed from the jaws of treachery. The storm wasn't entirely over, but for now, the Lion was home, guarding his den, his mate, and his future cub.
TO BE CONTINUED...
THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 17
The air in Ghost’s apartment still hummed with the fading resonance of celebration, but the joyous chaos had settled into a warm, contented quiet. Paper lanterns cast soft, multicoloured pools of light on the worn floor. The scent of jollof rice and sweet puff-puff mingled with the faint, hopeful fragrance of the lilies. Jessica sat nestled in a worn but comfortable armchair, a hand resting on the magnificent curve of her belly, exhaustion and profound happiness etched on her face. Beside her, perched on the armrest, was Sebastian Scar.
He hadn’t left her side since the moment he’d stepped through the door. One arm was draped protectively around her shoulders, his large hand resting possessively on her bump, feeling the powerful, reassuring kicks of his son. His other hand held hers, his thumb tracing slow circles on her knuckles. The cold, hardened kingpin was gone. In his place was a man visibly awash with wonder, tenderness, and a fierce, almost overwhelming protectiveness. He couldn't hide his excitement. A genuine smile, rare and radiant, softened the harsh lines of his face as he watched Jessica accept a final glass of water from Chioma.
"You need to rest, *omoge*," Chioma fussed gently, using the Yoruba term for 'beautiful child'. "All this excitement isn't good for the little warrior."
Scar nodded immediately, his voice unusually soft. "She's right, my love. You've been through too much today." He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple, breathing in her scent – safety, home, *future*. He acted as if she were spun glass, his movements careful, his embrace constant, a physical manifestation of his terror at the thought of her disappearing again. Every time she shifted, his arm tightened infinitesimally; every time she smiled at one of the men, his gaze followed her with possessive adoration. The raw vulnerability he displayed, this public clinging, was as shocking to his men as his earlier rage had been.
As Chioma began gently clearing plates, William stepped forward, clearing his throat. The relaxed atmosphere shifted slightly, a current of solemnity returning. Kola, Musa, Femi, and the others gathered closer, their expressions turning serious, respectful, but also apprehensive.
"Boss," William began, his voice steady but heavy with unspoken weight. "First… on behalf of all of us…" He gestured around the room, encompassing the gathered men. "We owe you and Jessica a profound apology. We hid the truth. We kept Jessica from you. We deceived you." He met Scar’s gaze, which had sharpened but held no immediate anger, only a watchful intensity. "It wasn't disloyalty to you, sir. Never that. It was… it was loyalty to *her*." He nodded towards Jessica. "And to your unborn child. We saw what Amanda was doing. We saw the poison she dripped into everything. We knew she’d kill Jessica if we didn’t act, and likely the baby too. We needed time. Time to gather proof solid enough to shatter her lies and keep Jessica safe while we did it. We chose to protect what we knew mattered most to you, even when you couldn't see it. We beg your understanding… and your forgiveness."
Scar studied William, then slowly scanned the faces of the other men. He saw no defiance, only earnest contrition and the steely resolve that had driven their dangerous gambit. He squeezed Jessica’s hand. "You kept her alive," he stated, his voice low and thick with emotion. "You kept *my son* safe. When I…" He paused, the memory of his own murderous rage towards Jessica a fresh wound. "When I failed to see the truth. That debt outweighs the deception." A collective sigh of relief seemed to ripple through the room. "Now," Scar’s voice hardened, the tender lover replaced by the avenging king. "Tell me everything. Leave nothing out."
William nodded, pulling out a slim tablet. Kola stepped up beside him. What followed was a meticulous, damning reconstruction of Amanda’s treachery.
Kola detailed the digital forensics: "The CCTV deletion wasn't just timed during the chaos, Boss. It was executed using *your* encrypted master credentials, accessed from Amanda’s personal tablet within the penthouse. We recovered the login timestamp and device ID. She had a keylogger planted months ago, likely when she 'accidentally' spilled wine on your old tablet and insisted on getting it 'cleaned'."
Musa spoke next, his voice rough: "The poison, Boss. Aconite. Rare. Traced to a disgraced chemist operating a back-alley lab in Badagry. Amanda visited him twice under a false name in the weeks before… *it* happened. Paid in untraceable crypto. Femi and I tracked him down. He confirmed it was her, described her perfectly, even remembered the red diamond serpent ring she wore. He was… persuaded… to give a recorded testimony." The implication of that 'persuasion' was clear.
Femi added, "The cook, Mama Nkechi. Amanda got to her. Threatened her grandson who was in trouble with some local thugs. Promised to make the trouble disappear if Mama Nkechi wiped *only Jessica’s* favourite coffee cup with a cloth Amanda provided *after* Jessica made the coffee but *before* she handed it to you. Mama Nkechi thought it was just Amanda being spiteful, trying to make Jessica look careless. She had no idea about the poison. She’s terrified, Boss, but she confessed everything when we showed her the threat to her grandson was orchestrated by one of Amanda’s paid street enforcers."
William displayed the evidence on the tablet: the digital logs pinpointing Amanda’s device, the chemist’s shaky video testimony, transcripts of Mama Nkechi’s tearful confession, financial trails leading back to Amanda’s shadow accounts. "She framed Jessica perfectly, sir," William concluded, his voice tight with anger. "Used your trust, your systems, and innocent people as tools. She poisoned you to eliminate Jessica and reclaim her place. She nearly killed you to get what she wanted."
As each piece of evidence slammed home, Scar’s body grew rigid beside Jessica. The tender hand on her belly became a claw, trembling with suppressed fury. The warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by a glacial, terrifying darkness. The image of himself choking, the white foam, the agony – not caused by some faceless enemy, but by the woman he’d once been bound to, the woman who’d shared his childhood, all to destroy the woman he loved and the child she carried. The betrayal was absolute, monstrous.
When William finished, the silence was volcanic. Scar slowly rose to his feet. The gentle protector was gone. The Lion of Lagos, wounded and enraged beyond measure, stood in his place. He didn’t speak. He didn’t look at Jessica, though his hand briefly squeezed hers in a silent promise. He turned, his movements lethally precise, and walked towards the apartment door. He paused only to pick up the heavy black pistol Ghost silently handed him, checking the chamber with a cold, mechanical click that echoed in the stillness.
"Stay with her," Scar commanded Ghost, his voice a low growl that vibrated with pure menace. "Guard them with your life." Then he was gone, striding into the hallway, William, Kola, Musa, and Femi falling into step behind him like shadows of death.
***
The drive back to the villa was a blur of speed and suffocating silence. Scar sat in the back of the armored SUV, staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle pulsed in his cheek. The evidence replayed in his mind – Amanda’s manipulations, the cook’s fear, the chemist’s greed, the deliberate, calculated attempt to murder him and frame Jessica, to destroy his future. Rage, cold and absolute, consumed him.
They stormed into the penthouse. Amanda was lounging on the cream sofa, sipping champagne, dressed in a silk negligee as if expecting a different kind of visitor. The sight of Scar, flanked by his grim-faced lieutenants, his expression murderous, made her freeze mid-sip. A flicker of fear crossed her face, quickly masked by defiant arrogance.
"Sebastian! Darling, what's—" she began, attempting her usual purr.
"Silence." Scar’s voice cracked like a whip. He stopped a few feet away, the pistol held loosely but pointedly at his side. "You poisoned me." It wasn't a question.
Amanda’s eyes widened with theatrical innocence. "Poisoned? Sebastian, have you lost your—"
"Spare me the act," he snarled, taking a step closer. "The chemist in Badagry. Mama Nkechi. The keylogger. The CCTV deletion. Your tablet." He listed the evidence like a death sentence. "You tried to kill me. You framed Jessica. You threatened an old woman’s grandson." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "For *what*? A throne you were never fit to sit on?"
The mask shattered. Amanda slammed her champagne flute down, shattering it on the glass table. She surged to her feet, her beautiful face contorted with venomous rage. "Fit for? That throne was *mine* by birthright! Our fathers promised it! You were *mine*! Then that gutter rat slithered in with her simpering innocence and stole you! Stole *everything*!" Spittle flew from her lips. "Yes, I poisoned you! I wanted you weak, needing me! I wanted her blamed, destroyed, *gone*! And I would have succeeded if it weren't for these *traitors*!" She spat the word at William and the others.
Her eyes, wild and hate-filled, locked onto Scar’s. "You think she loves you? That whore? She’s using you! Just like her mother used men to climb out of the slums! That baby? It’s probably Ghost’s, or some other street—"
The gunshot was deafening in the opulent room.
Amanda screamed, staggering back, clutching her upper left arm where Scar’s bullet had torn through silk and flesh. Blood bloomed crimson, stark against the pale fabric. She crashed onto the sofa, gasping, her face white with shock and pain, staring at Scar with utter disbelief.
Scar stood frozen for a split second, the gun smoking in his hand. The raw, blinding fury that had propelled the shot warred with cold control. Killing her now, in cold blood, would be too easy. Too merciful.
"Get her out of my sight," Scar commanded, his voice icy, his gaze fixed on Amanda’s writhing form with utter contempt. "Take her to the secure clinic. Patch her up. Then lock her in the basement cells. No visitors. No privileges. She lives to face justice. *My* justice." The promise in his voice was more terrifying than the gunshot.
William and Kola moved swiftly, hauling a shrieking, cursing Amanda to her feet. Musa followed, already speaking into his comms to alert the clinic.
Scar watched them drag her away, the crimson stain spreading on the cream upholstery. The rage still simmered, but a profound exhaustion, and a desperate need, washed over him. He needed Jessica. He needed his son. He needed to make amends.
***
He didn’t return to Ghost’s apartment. He sent for Jessica and Chioma, bringing them back to the villa in a heavily guarded convoy. He went straight to the wing housing Jessica’s family.
Jessica’s parents and younger siblings were gathered in their living room, the atmosphere tense with the distant echoes of the gunshot and the sudden flurry of activity. Fear was etched on their faces. When Scar entered, flanked by Ghost (who had stayed glued to Jessica’s side) and William, they flinched.
Scar stopped in the center of the room. He didn’t sit. He looked at Jessica’s mother, then her father, meeting their fearful gazes directly. He saw the strain of months under house arrest, the worry for Jessica, the humiliation.
Then, to their utter astonishment, Sebastian Scar, the most feared man in Lagos, the man who held their lives in his hands, bowed his head. Not deeply, but significantly. A gesture of profound respect and contrition.
"Mr. and Mrs. Adebayo," he began, his voice rough but sincere, devoid of its usual command. "Jessica." He looked at her, standing protectively near her parents, Chioma beside her. "I owe you the deepest, most sincere apologies. Words cannot express the regret, the shame I carry for the suffering you have endured because of my blindness, my failure, and the evil of another."
He took a breath, the weight of his words heavy in the room. "You were brought here for safety, but it became confinement. You lived under guard, separated from Jessica, fearing for her life, fearing for your own, because I believed a lie. I failed to protect Jessica. I failed to protect *you*. I allowed a viper into our home, and she poisoned everything – my body, my mind, and your peace." He looked directly at Jessica’s parents. "The inconvenience, the fear, the suffering you have had to go through… it is unforgivable. But I beg your understanding, and if possible, in time, your forgiveness."
He straightened. "The woman responsible, Amanda, has been dealt with. She will never harm any of you again. Jessica is innocent. She has always been innocent." His voice softened as he looked at Jessica, his hand instinctively reaching towards her belly before stopping himself. "And she carries my son. Your grandson."
He gestured towards William. "Your house arrest is lifted. Effective immediately. These men are no longer your guards, but your protectors. This wing is yours. Come and go as you please. The city is yours. Anything you need, anything you desire, you have only to ask." He met Jessica’s father’s eyes again. "I know trust must be earned again. I will spend the rest of my life earning yours, and Jessica’s, if she allows me."
The silence that followed was thick with shock, relief, and hesitant hope. Jessica’s mother burst into quiet tears. Her father, a proud man weathered by hardship, looked at Scar with a new, cautious measure of respect. He gave a slow, solemn nod. "We suffered," he acknowledged quietly. "But our daughter is safe. Our grandchild is coming. That is what matters now."
Scar nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He turned to Jessica, his eyes filled with a vulnerable plea. She stepped forward, away from her parents, and walked into his open arms. He held her tightly, burying his face in her hair, the horrors of the day momentarily banished by the solid, living reality of her and the life they’d created. Home wasn't just a place; it was this woman, this child, this fragile, hard-won peace reclaimed from the jaws of treachery. The storm wasn't entirely over, but for now, the Lion was home, guarding his den, his mate, and his future cub.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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