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Setting down the mug, I press my palms against my eyes, trying to block out the images. But they come anyway—flashes of the dungeon, the iron bars, the hungry eyes of demons as they selected women like cuts of meat at market. The captain's hand around my throat, squeezing just enough to remind me who controlled my breath, my life.
"It wasn't just a dream," I whisper to the empty kitchen. Something feels wrong—a prickling awareness at the base of my neck, an instinct honed through years of surviving as prey among predators. The nightmares aren't random. They're a warning.
But a warning of what?
I finish my tea, staring at the leaves gathered at the bottom of the mug. I wish they would form some pattern, give me some clue. But they're just leaves, soggy and formless.
I should tell Vael. The thought forms before I can stop it, and I immediately push it away. Tell him what? That I'm having bad dreams? That I have some formless dread with no evidence to back it up?
And what if voicing my fears somehow makes them real? What if I shatter this fragile peace we've built—this strange, unexpected sanctuary where I've found myself caring for a demon and his children?
No. Better to keep it to myself. Better to be strong, as I've always been.
I rinse my mug and return it to its shelf, moving quietly through the kitchen. At the doorway, I pause, glancing back at the crimson light spilling through the window.
"It's just dreams," I tell myself firmly. "Nothing more."
But as I make my way back to my bedroom, the prickling sensation returns—the feeling of being watched, hunted. I quicken my pace, suddenly desperate for the protection of at least being near him, even as I tell myself I need no protection.
I slide under the covers, my heart still racing. I do everything I can to try and calm my heart.
But I don't sleep again tonight.
And the dread never leaves me.
23
VAEL
Ilean against the doorframe, frozen in place by the sight before me. Trinity sits in the rocking chair by the window, cradling both twins against her chest. Moonlight catches in her hair, turning the brown waves into streams of liquid silver. Her voice—so often sharp with wit or defensive walls—now spills into the room like honey, sweet and flowing.
She doesn't know I'm here. Doesn't see me watching as she sings some human lullaby to my daughters, her lips curved in that rare, unguarded smile I've come to crave like a drug.
Liora's tiny fist clutches at Trinity's nightdress while Kaelin's eyes are already drooping, lulled by the gentle cadence of her mother's voice. Mother. The word still catches in my throat. Trinity never wanted to be one—made that abundantly clear from the start—yet here she is, singing our daughters to sleep with such tenderness it makes my chest ache.
I should announce myself. Should clear my throat or step back or give her this private moment. Instead, I remain rooted to the spot, greedy for every second of this version of Trinity—the one without armor, without calculated moves.
Her song dips lower, the words becoming indistinct as she presses a kiss to each tiny forehead. Liora gives a contented sigh that seems impossibly adult for her small body.
"That's it," Trinity whispers, her voice barely carrying to where I stand. "Dream of beautiful things, my little loves."
The possessive makes something primitive stir in my chest. My little loves. Like they're hers. Like she might stay.
I must make some small sound—a shifting of weight, an intake of breath—because suddenly Trinity's head snaps up, those guarded green eyes finding mine in the darkness.
"How long have you been standing there?" Her walls slam back into place, her body tensing even as she cradles the twins protectively.
"Not long." The lie comes easily, though we both know better.
She rises with a dancer's grace, laying first Kaelin then Liora in their shared crib. Her hands linger on their bellies, ensuring they're settled before she turns to face me.
"Did you need something?" Professional. Distant. Nothing like the woman who had been singing moments before.
I step into the room, keeping my movements slow, non-threatening. "I heard singing."
Her cheeks flush, visible even in the dim light. "Just an old lullaby from my village."
"It's beautiful." I move closer, stopping when I see her shoulders tighten. "You're good with them."