Page 18

18

AURELIE

I wake before the dawn, my body programmed by years of servitude to rise with the first hint of light. But today, there's no fear propelling me from sleep—just the pleasant weight of Rolfo's arm draped across my waist, his breath warm against my neck.

For several heartbeats, I allow myself to simply exist in this cocoon of warmth. His hand splays protectively over my abdomen, large enough to span from hip to rib. I trace the scars on his forearm with feather-light touches, memorizing each ridge and valley.

He stirs behind me, pulling me closer until my back presses fully against his chest. "Morning," he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

"Good morning," I whisper, surprised by how natural this feels—waking in his arms, sharing the first moments of day.

From the nursery, Sephy's soft cooing reaches us. Not crying yet, just announcing her presence to the world. Rolfo presses a kiss to my shoulder before pulling away.

"I'll get her," he offers.

I roll over, catching his wrist before he can leave. "Thank you." The words feel inadequate for everything I want to express—not just for retrieving my daughter, but for all he's given us. Safety. Home. A chance at something I never thought possible.

His silver eyes soften as he leans down, pressing his lips to mine in a tender kiss that makes my toes curl beneath the blankets.

"For what?" he asks against my mouth.

"Everything."

Later, with morning chores complete and Sephy fed, Rolfo suggests a walk to a nearby glade. "The wildflowers are in bloom," he explains while securing a soft sling across his broad chest. "She should see them while they last."

I watch him carefully tuck Sephy into the sling, her tiny form nestled against his massive frame. Those hands that can crush bone and wield weapons with deadly precision adjust the fabric with such tenderness it makes my heart swell. She looks up at him with complete trust, her violet eyes blinking slowly.

"There we go, little one," he murmurs to her. "All set for an adventure."

The domesticity of it strikes me with unexpected force. This warrior demon, cooing softly to my infant daughter, preparing her for a morning walk as naturally as if he'd been doing it his entire life.

"What?" Rolfo catches me staring.

"Nothing," I say, shaking my head. "Just... you're good with her."

He shrugs, but I catch the pleased glint in his eyes. "She makes it easy."

The path to the glade meanders through a sparse copse of trees behind Rolfo's home. The morning air carries a sweet fragrance—blooming flowers mixed with the earthy scent of soil warmed by sunlight. I slip off my sandals halfway there, wanting to feel the soft grass beneath my feet.

"You'll hurt yourself," Rolfo cautions, eyeing a patch of rocks ahead.

I wiggle my toes in the dewy grass. "My feet are tougher than they look."

"Like the rest of you," he replies with a smile that transforms his entire face, softening the hard angles and battle-honed vigilance.

The hollow we reach opens before us like a secret—a natural depression in the land filled with wildflowers of every shade. Waves of color ripple in the gentle breeze—purples, yellows, whites, and blues. My breath catches at the unexpected beauty.

"It's protected on all sides," Rolfo explains, his free hand resting protectively on Sephy's back. "Safe. The flowers only last a few weeks each season."

I walk ahead, trailing my fingers through tall stems, feeling the different textures against my palm. Soft petals, sturdy stalks, feathery wisps—all dancing in the morning light. The freedom of it—of simply walking without fear, of exploring something beautiful—fills me with quiet joy.

A small stream cuts through one corner of the glade, water bubbling over smooth stones. I kneel beside it, cupping the cool water in my hands. The simple pleasure of it makes me smile.

"What are you thinking?" Rolfo calls from where he stands, giving me space while keeping watch.

I glance back over my shoulder. The sunlight catches his black hair, highlighting strands of silver I hadn't noticed before. Sephy's tiny fingers clench the fabric of his shirt, her head turned to track the movement of a thalivern. They make a picture I want to keep forever—strength and innocence, protection and vulnerability.

"I'm thinking that I never imagined this," I admit, letting the water trickle through my fingers. "Any of it."

I stand, brushing droplets from my hands. The sunlight warms my face and catches in my hair. For a moment, I close my eyes and simply breathe—taking in the scents of wildflowers, clean water, and fertile earth.

When I open them again, Rolfo is watching me with an intensity that sends warmth cascading through my body. His silver eyes track me with undisguised hunger, though he remains rooted in place, giving me the freedom to explore on my own terms.

"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze.

"You look..." He pauses, searching for words. "Alive. Free."

The simple observation brings unexpected tears to my eyes. That's exactly how I feel—truly alive for perhaps the first time. Not merely surviving, but experiencing life with all its sensations and possibilities.

I walk back to him, my bare feet making no sound on the soft grass. He stands motionless, a guardian sentinel with our child against his heart. Something in my chest tugs painfully at the sight—a longing so profound it steals my breath.

This is the life I never thought I'd have. Not just safety or shelter, but this—a man who looks at me like I'm something precious, who holds my daughter with such care, who wants me for myself and not what I can give him.

I stop before him, close enough to feel his warmth but not quite touching. "I never thought I could want again," I confess, my voice barely above a whisper. "After him, I thought that part of me was dead."

Rolfo's free hand lifts, hovering near my cheek without touching, giving me the choice. "And now?"

I lean into his palm, closing the distance between us. "Now I want everything."

I step closer to Rolfo, drawn by something deeper than desire. In the dappled light of the glade, with Sephy nestled against his chest, he looks like something from a dream I never dared to have.

"Everything?" he asks, his voice rough with emotion. His hand cups my cheek with a gentleness that belies his strength.

"Everything," I confirm, standing on tiptoe to press my lips to his.

The kiss is different from our earlier ones—not desperate or hungry, but tender. Affirming. His arm wraps around me, drawing me close until I'm pressed against both him and Sephy, our daughter sandwiched safely between us.

Sephy makes a soft gurgling sound, her tiny hand reaching up to pat my chin. I laugh against Rolfo's mouth, pulling back to look down at her. Her violet eyes are wide and curious, taking in our faces with that solemn expression that makes her seem older than her few weeks.

"I think she approves," Rolfo murmurs, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

I stroke her wispy silver-blonde curls. "She's known what she wanted from the beginning. Wiser than her mother."

"Or maybe she just knows what she deserves." His words hang between us, loaded with meaning. "A family who chooses her. Who chooses each other."

Family. The word lodges in my throat, sweet and terrifying all at once. For so long, I've been alone—first in servitude, then in escape. Even carrying Sephy, I was isolated, fighting for us both against the world. The idea of belonging somewhere, to someone, by choice rather than force—it overwhelms me.

"Hey," Rolfo says softly, noticing my expression. "One day at a time, alright?"

I nod, grateful for his understanding. That's the miracle of him—he sees me, truly sees me, without demands or expectations.

"The sun's getting higher," I observe, looking at the shadows shortening around us. "We should head back before it gets too warm for her."

Rolfo nods, adjusting the sling to ensure Sephy is comfortable. We move slowly back through the glade, taking our time, savoring the morning and this newfound peace between us.

"I've been thinking," I venture as we navigate the narrow path back toward home.

"That sounds dangerous," he teases, ducking beneath a low-hanging branch.

I roll my eyes but can't suppress my smile. "I want to contribute more. Around the house, I mean. I can cook, and Ada's been teaching me about local plants for medicine."

"You don't have to earn your place, Aurelie," he says, suddenly serious. "You and Sephy, you're not—" He stops, searching for words.

"Not your burden?" I finish for him.

"Not my servant," he corrects. "I want you to heal."

My heart twists at the way he always puts me first.

"Still," I persist, needing him to understand. "I want to. Not because I feel obligated, but because I want to for you. With you."

His silver eyes darken with emotion. "You can do whatever you want, Aurelie. I'll always make sure you have that option."

We walk in companionable silence after that, the path narrowing until we have to move single file. As it widens again, our hands brush accidentally—his knuckles against my palm, a whisper of contact that sends electricity up my arm.

Our hands brush again, and this time I know it's deliberate on his part. He doesn't grab, doesn't assume, just offers the possibility. The choice remains mine. It's always like that with him, and I love that.

I think it's why I've started to fall for him. Because that's exactly what is happening. Even if I shouldn't—though I can't think of a reason why not anymore.

I look at his profile as we walk—the strong line of his jaw, the scar across his eyebrow, the unexpected gentleness in his mercury eyes as he checks on Sephy. This demon who found me dying in an alley. Who cut my daughter's cord. Who built her a nursery and rocked her through colicky nights.

This demon who looks at me like I'm something precious instead of something to be used.

Our fingers brush a third time, and I make my decision. I thread my fingers through his, feeling the calluses on his palms, the strength in his grip as he enfolds my hand in his.

We walk like that, hand in hand, hearts speaking what words cannot. No grand declarations needed. No promises made. Just the quiet acknowledgment that this—whatever it is growing between us—matters.