Page 47
Harmony chuckles, reaching for her wine glass. "Wait until she starts asking where babies come from. Brooke had Adellum stuttering like a schoolboy last week."
"I was not," he grumbles, though he looks away.
The image of the composed, intimidating Adellum floundering under a child's questioning breaks through the last of my discomfort. I laugh outright, and when I catch Araton's eye, I'm surprised to find him smiling—a genuine smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes something flutter in my stomach that has nothing to do with embarrassment.
I grab a stack of plates, eager for something to do with my hands. I can't handle the onslaught of emotions right now when I'm already feeling flustered.
"I'll take care of these," Araton says, rising from his seat. His wings shift behind him, the motion graceful despite their size. His forearm brushes mine as he reaches for the bowl, and the fleeting contact sends an unwanted jolt through me.
"I can handle washing up after my own dinner," I mutter.
"I'm sure you can handle anything," he counters, that familiar half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "But you don't always have to."
Before I can formulate a properly cutting response, Harmony interjects. "Those sweetberries I planted for you last spring should be perfect by now. Wouldn't they be wonderful with the cookie plate?"
"Fine," I sigh, grateful for the excuse to escape. "I'll go pick some."
The evening air wraps around me like a cool balm as I slip out the back door. Night has just begun to settle over the village, painting everything in soft blues and purples. I take a deep breath, letting the tension drain from my shoulders.
My little garden thrives at the rear of the house—a triumph considering how terrible I was at growing anything when I first arrived. The sweetberry bushes cluster at the far end, laden with dark fruit that glows faintly in the dimming light.
I'm halfway across the yard when I hear it—a tiny, terrified whimper.
My head snaps up. There, at the edge of my garden where it borders the wild grasses, stands Millie. Her small silvery wings are pressed flat against her back in fear, her little body frozen.
Ten paces beyond her, a hulking shape moves through the tall grass with sinuous grace.
For one horrifying moment, I can't breathe.
It's a thassir—massive, muscled body crouched low to the ground, its sleek coat the color of midnight with bioluminescent markings pulsing along its flanks. I've only seen them in market drawings before; they're supposed to stay in the deep forests, not prowl the edges of villages. Its six amber eyes blink in sequence, locked on my daughter as it creeps forward on silent paws.
"Millie," I whisper, trying to keep my voice steady despite the terror gripping my throat. "Don't move, baby."
Her tear-streaked face turns slightly toward me. "Mama," she chokes out, barely audible. "I wanted to see the thaliverns..."
The thassir's head swivels, those eerie eyes now fixed on me. Its upper lip curls back to reveal double rows of teeth that gleam wetly in the fading light.
With dread-filled clarity, I realize the creature stands directly between me and my child.
"Hey!" I shout, waving my arms and taking a deliberate step to the side and moving more toward the woods. I need to get it distracted from the house—and my daughter. "Over here, you overgrown kilmar!"
The beast rumbles low in its throat, a sound that vibrates through the ground beneath my feet. It takes a measured steptoward me, then hesitates, glancing back at Millie—the easier prey.
The back door creaks open.
"Ronnie, do you need help with—" Araton's words die as he takes in the scene before him.
Our eyes lock across the yard, and in that instant, a silent understanding passes between us. My chest constricts with a terror more profound than anything I've ever known—not fear for myself, but for the tiny life we created.
"Get her," I command, my voice surprisingly steady. "Inside. Now."
Without hesitation, I snatch up a broken branch from the ground and slam it against a nearby tree. "Come on, you bastard! Fresh meat right here!"
The thassir's six eyes blink in rapid succession. It snarls, momentarily confused by the new threat.
"NOW, ARATON!" I scream, moving farther away, drawing the predator's attention.
In my peripheral vision, I see him move—a blur of speed as his powerful wings extend. He lunges for Millie, scooping her against his chest. She cries out, reaching for me over his shoulder.
"I was not," he grumbles, though he looks away.
The image of the composed, intimidating Adellum floundering under a child's questioning breaks through the last of my discomfort. I laugh outright, and when I catch Araton's eye, I'm surprised to find him smiling—a genuine smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes something flutter in my stomach that has nothing to do with embarrassment.
I grab a stack of plates, eager for something to do with my hands. I can't handle the onslaught of emotions right now when I'm already feeling flustered.
"I'll take care of these," Araton says, rising from his seat. His wings shift behind him, the motion graceful despite their size. His forearm brushes mine as he reaches for the bowl, and the fleeting contact sends an unwanted jolt through me.
"I can handle washing up after my own dinner," I mutter.
"I'm sure you can handle anything," he counters, that familiar half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "But you don't always have to."
Before I can formulate a properly cutting response, Harmony interjects. "Those sweetberries I planted for you last spring should be perfect by now. Wouldn't they be wonderful with the cookie plate?"
"Fine," I sigh, grateful for the excuse to escape. "I'll go pick some."
The evening air wraps around me like a cool balm as I slip out the back door. Night has just begun to settle over the village, painting everything in soft blues and purples. I take a deep breath, letting the tension drain from my shoulders.
My little garden thrives at the rear of the house—a triumph considering how terrible I was at growing anything when I first arrived. The sweetberry bushes cluster at the far end, laden with dark fruit that glows faintly in the dimming light.
I'm halfway across the yard when I hear it—a tiny, terrified whimper.
My head snaps up. There, at the edge of my garden where it borders the wild grasses, stands Millie. Her small silvery wings are pressed flat against her back in fear, her little body frozen.
Ten paces beyond her, a hulking shape moves through the tall grass with sinuous grace.
For one horrifying moment, I can't breathe.
It's a thassir—massive, muscled body crouched low to the ground, its sleek coat the color of midnight with bioluminescent markings pulsing along its flanks. I've only seen them in market drawings before; they're supposed to stay in the deep forests, not prowl the edges of villages. Its six amber eyes blink in sequence, locked on my daughter as it creeps forward on silent paws.
"Millie," I whisper, trying to keep my voice steady despite the terror gripping my throat. "Don't move, baby."
Her tear-streaked face turns slightly toward me. "Mama," she chokes out, barely audible. "I wanted to see the thaliverns..."
The thassir's head swivels, those eerie eyes now fixed on me. Its upper lip curls back to reveal double rows of teeth that gleam wetly in the fading light.
With dread-filled clarity, I realize the creature stands directly between me and my child.
"Hey!" I shout, waving my arms and taking a deliberate step to the side and moving more toward the woods. I need to get it distracted from the house—and my daughter. "Over here, you overgrown kilmar!"
The beast rumbles low in its throat, a sound that vibrates through the ground beneath my feet. It takes a measured steptoward me, then hesitates, glancing back at Millie—the easier prey.
The back door creaks open.
"Ronnie, do you need help with—" Araton's words die as he takes in the scene before him.
Our eyes lock across the yard, and in that instant, a silent understanding passes between us. My chest constricts with a terror more profound than anything I've ever known—not fear for myself, but for the tiny life we created.
"Get her," I command, my voice surprisingly steady. "Inside. Now."
Without hesitation, I snatch up a broken branch from the ground and slam it against a nearby tree. "Come on, you bastard! Fresh meat right here!"
The thassir's six eyes blink in rapid succession. It snarls, momentarily confused by the new threat.
"NOW, ARATON!" I scream, moving farther away, drawing the predator's attention.
In my peripheral vision, I see him move—a blur of speed as his powerful wings extend. He lunges for Millie, scooping her against his chest. She cries out, reaching for me over his shoulder.
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