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The words hit me like a physical blow. "You won't have to walk away. Yougetto walk away. That was the deal." My voice comes out harsher than intended.
Trinity's eyes snap to mine, narrowing. "Are you changing the terms, bounty hunter?"
"No. I just—" I run a hand through my hair, frustrated by my inability to express what's churning inside me. "I'm simply saying that the option remains open. Stay or go. Your choice."
She stares at me, confusion clear in her expression. "Why would I stay?"
Why indeed? I have no answer that makes sense, even to myself. No answer I'm willing to voice.
"The children will need feeding," I say instead. "You could... remain until they're weaned."
Trinity's laugh is sharp. "Right. Because I'm just a handy milk source."
"That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean, Vael?" Her voice softens unexpectedly. "What are you really asking?"
I drain the rest of my drink, welcoming the burn down my throat. "Nothing. It was merely a practical suggestion."
But practicality has nothing to do with the knot in my chest, the way my mind keeps conjuring images of Trinity singing to our children, of her smile first thing in the morning, of her presence becoming a permanent fixture in these rooms that have always felt too empty.
"I need to check on something," I mutter, standing abruptly. "You should eat something. For the... for them."
I retreat to my study before she can respond, shutting the door behind me. Leaning against it, I close my eyes and exhale slowly. What is wrong with me? This arrangement is perfect—exactly what I wanted. An heir—now two—without the complication of a permanent mate. No emotional entanglements. No vulnerability.
Yet here I am, shaken to my core by the healer's revelation. Not because it complicates our deal, but because it makes Trinity's eventual departure seem even more... wrong.
I don't want her to leave. The realization hits with the force of a physical blow.
When did this human woman—with her sharp tongue and stubborn spirit—become someone I can't imagine my life without?
16
TRINITY
Two months in, and my body has transformed into unfamiliar territory. The constant nausea has finally begun to retreat like an unwelcome houseguest who's overstayed their welcome, though occasional waves still hit without warning. My breasts have grown tender, full—changes that remind me with every movement that I'm no longer just myself.
Yet despite these physical transformations, something else has shifted in Vael's home—something I didn't anticipate.
Vael hasn't touched me in weeks.
The realization has been bothering me more and more. Like right now, as I stand at the bedroom window, watching the strange metallic flowers in the garden catch Aerasak's crimson light. The garden has become my morning ritual, a quiet moment before Jackie arrives with breakfast and cheerful chatter. I trace a finger across the glass, following the silhouette of a particularly striking bloom.
When we'd made our bargain, I'd assumed the physical aspect would continue throughout the pregnancy. After all, isn't that what men want? Especially demon men with their legendary appetites? Yet since that day at Mireva's, sincelearning about the twins, Vael has maintained a careful, frustrating distance.
He's attentive in every other way—ensuring I eat properly, checking that I'm comfortable, bringing books he thinks might interest me. But the heated glances, the casual touches that sent electricity through my skin—those have vanished.
"This isn't supposed to bother me," I mutter to my reflection in the window glass. My words fog the pane momentarily, obscuring my image.
I turn away, pacing the length of my bedroom. The plush carpet absorbs my footsteps, another luxury I never expected to enjoy. Every comfort provided, every need anticipated—except the one I hadn't realized I'd developed.
My body craves him.
The admission, even just to myself, makes me halt mid-step. This was never part of our arrangement. I was supposed to be practical, detached. Sex was transactional—necessary for conception, pleasurable enough to make the process bearable. I never expected to miss his touch, to lie awake remembering the weight of his body against mine.
"It's just hormones," I tell the empty room, resuming my pacing. "Pregnancy does things to a woman's body. That's all this is."
But the explanation feels hollow, insufficient to explain the way my heart races when he enters a room, or how I find excuses to brush against him when we pass in the hallway.