Page 51

Jackie sits nearby, her platinum braid falling over one shoulder as she folds tiny clothes. She catches my eye and smiles but says nothing to alert Vael to my presence.
"Your father embellishes," I say, stepping into the room. "I've heard the actual story from Domno, and there was significantly more stumbling involved."
Vael looks up, and something in his expression makes my chest tighten. He told me he was never letting me meet another one of his so-called friends after I met Domno a few monthsback. "Domno would say that. He was the one who fell into the acid pools."
I settle on the edge of a chair, watching as Liora waves her tiny fist as if trying to grab her father's words from the air. "Funny how that detail never makes it into your telling."
"Details are subjective." His mouth quirks up at one corner as he adjusts Kaelin in his arms. "Some just matter more than others."
"Like the part where you were the one who pushed him?"
Jackie snorts, smoothing a tiny dress with her palm. "No wonder he talks shit about you."
"Language," Vael and I say in unison, then look at each other in surprise.
"Oh please," Jackie rolls her ice-blue eyes. "Like these two aren't going to grow up hearing worse from both of you. Especially you." She points at Vael with a folded sock.
Before he can defend himself, Kaelin lets out a distressed wail followed by a distinct and unmistakable smell.
"Speaking of shit," Jackie mutters, rising quickly. "That's my cue to start dinner."
Vael doesn't hesitate. He stands smoothly, Liora secure in one arm while he carries the fussing Kaelin toward the changing table in the corner—another addition to the main living space that has transformed this once-austere hunter's lodge into something else entirely.
"You can hand her to me," I offer, moving to take Kaelin.
"I've got it." He's already laying her down, his large hands impossibly gentle as he unfastens the soiled diaper. "You just had your bath. No sense in both of us smelling like a tuskram pen."
I hover nearby, watching as this deadly bounty hunter—this demon who terrifies half of Aerasak—coos nonsense at our daughter while efficiently cleaning her.
"You're getting good at that," I say, taking Liora from his other arm to make the task easier.
"Necessity breeds skill." He secures a fresh diaper with practiced movements. "Though I still maintain babies should come with more instruction."
I laugh, bouncing Liora gently as she starts to fuss in solidarity with her sister. "What would the great Vaelrix do with an instruction manual? You've never followed directions in your life."
"I followed yours." His eyes meet mine over Kaelin's squirming form, intense and unguarded. "That night in Asmodeus's hall, when you told me exactly what you thought of demons. I remember every word."
The memory of our first meeting washes over me—how small I'd felt in that opulent room full of demons, how defiant I'd been despite my fear. How he'd looked at me like I was the only person there worth seeing.
"You didn't follow them very well," I murmur. "I recall making it clear you should leave me alone."
"And yet." He lifts Kaelin up, pressing his face briefly to her tiny belly, making her squeal with what might be laughter. "Here we are."
Here we are indeed. In this house that no longer feels cold. With these children who bear both our features. With this strange, dangerous man who looks at our daughters like they hold the universe in their tiny hands.
Liora reaches up, her small fingers brushing my chin, drawing my attention back to her. Her eyes—not quite his, not quite mine—look up at me with a focus that seems impossible for one so young.
"Here we are," I echo, feeling something shift inside me like sand settling after a storm.
21
VAEL
Icrouch in the shadows of the ruined temple, muscles coiled tight as I scan the crumbling plaza below. The sky above Galmoleth has darkened to that peculiar crimson-black that makes tracking easier—for me, at least. The captain won't have my advantages in the dark.
If the bastard even shows up this time.
A cool wind sweeps through the broken columns, carrying the scent of decay and something else—something familiar that makes my nostrils flare. Someone's been here recently. Someone demonic.