Page 25

25

ROLFO

I help Aurelie dismount from the zarryn, my hands lingering at her waist longer than necessary. She's weak, trembling slightly despite her attempts to hide it. There's bruising across her cheekbone and a cut at her lip that makes my blood boil all over again. I don't even know what I'll find later, but I'm determined to ease her pain. The beast beneath us snorts and paws at the ground, agitated from the scent of smoke that still clings to our clothes.

"Easy," I murmur, stroking the creature's silver mane before turning back to Aurelie. I need to return the zarryn, but later. I'll take her into the city later.

She sways slightly, and I steady her with a firm hand against the small of her back. Her auburn hair hangs in tangled waves over her shoulders, and dried blood stains on her sleeve. But she's here. Alive. Safe.

My chest tightens with an unfamiliar ache as I look at her—this fierce, broken woman who killed her own tormentor barely hours ago. The realization crashes into me with the force of a tidal wave: I love her. Not just desire. Not just protection. Love.

"We're home," I tell her softly, the words feeling strange and right in equal measure.

Aurelie nods, her hazel eyes lifting to the modest house before us. There's something vulnerable in her expression that makes me want to gather her against my chest and never let go.

"Can you walk?" I ask, already prepared to carry her if needed.

"I've got it." Her voice is hoarse but determined. Always so damn stubborn.

The front door flies open before we reach it. Ada stands frozen in the threshold, her brown eyes wide and disbelieving. Her honey-blonde braid has come partially undone, suggesting hours of anxious pacing.

"Aurelie," she breathes, the single word carrying the weight of a thousand fears.

Ada rushes forward, her usual grace abandoned as she crosses the distance between them. Tears spill freely down her cheeks as she carefully, so carefully, pulls Aurelie into an embrace that avoids the worst of her injuries.

"You're home," Ada whispers, voice thick with emotion.

I step back, giving them space while remaining close enough to catch Aurelie if her strength fails. The exhaustion is evident in the slump of her shoulders, but something else radiates from her—a fierce, unbending pride at what she's accomplished.

Aurelie doesn't answer Ada's whispered relief. Her attention shifts to where her friend is holding Sephy, tiny hands reaching toward her mother.

Aurelie makes a sound—half laugh, half sob—as she pulls away from Ada and reaches for her daughter. Her knees buckle slightly, and I move instinctively forward, but she catches herself, determined to stand on her own feet as she takes Sephy into her arms.

"Sephy," she murmurs, pressing her face against the silvery-blonde curls. "My Sephy."

The baby coos, tiny fingers patting at the bruises on her mother's face with surprising gentleness, as if she understands.

"She wouldn't sleep," Ada says quietly, wiping tears from her cheeks. "It's like she knew something was wrong."

I nod, throat too tight for words. The bond between mother and child had always mystified me, but watching Aurelie rock Sephy, whispering her name over and over like a prayer—it strikes something primal and protective in my chest.

"Serephine," Aurelie breathes against the baby's temple. "My little moon."

Ada's eyes meet mine over Aurelie's shoulder, a silent question passing between us. I give her a small nod—yes, it's done. Kaelith will never hurt them again.

Relief softens Ada's features. She touches Aurelie's arm gently. "You need rest and healing herbs. I've prepared some tinctures."

"Thank you," Aurelie whispers, still focused on Sephy. "For everything."

Ada squeezes her arm once more, then turns to me. "Take care of them," she murmurs, quiet enough that only I can hear.

"Always," I promise, the word carrying more weight than I'd ever thought possible.

With a final glance at mother and child, Ada slips toward the door. "I'll come check on you tomorrow," she calls softly, and then she's gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

I step back, watching them with a gaze that feels like prayer. My body is locked rigid, afraid to shatter the moment with any sudden movement. The evening light filters through the window, casting a soft glow over Aurelie and Sephy, highlighting the curves of their faces. I've never been a religious man, but this—this feels sacred.

Sephy coos, pressing her face into her mother's chest, tiny fingers clutching at Aurelie's collar. Her silvery-blonde curls catch the light, almost luminescent against Aurelie's darker clothes. The contrast between Aurelie's battle-worn appearance and Sephy's innocent perfection makes my chest tighten.

Aurelie glances up, catching my gaze. Tears wet her lashes, turning her hazel eyes into pools of amber and gold. Something passes between us—something beyond words—and she holds out a hand toward me. The gesture is simple, profound.

I come forward without hesitation, my knees hitting the floor beside her chair. Our eyes lock, and I see everything in hers—the pain, the triumph, the uncertainty. She places Sephy between us, adjusting her so the baby lies partly on my knee, partly on hers.

For a single heartbeat, all three of us are touching. My calloused hand brushes Aurelie's smaller one, both of us supporting Sephy's small body. The connection vibrates through me like a struck chord.

"You came for me," Aurelie whispers, voice cracking on the final word.

"I will always come for you." The words leave my mouth with absolute conviction. "Both of you."

She touches my face, her fingertips tracing the scar across my eyebrow. "I need to wash away... everything." Her eyes drop to her bloodstained clothes.

I nod, understanding what she can't fully express. "Go. I've got her."

Aurelie leans forward, presses her lips to Sephy's forehead, then hesitates. For a heartbeat, I think she might kiss me too. Instead, she rests her forehead against mine, breathing the same air.

"Thank you," she whispers, then rises with a wince she tries to hide.

I watch her disappear into the bathroom before looking down at Sephy in my arms. Her violet eyes, flecked with silver, stare up at me with impossible wisdom.

"Your mother is the strongest person I've ever known," I tell her, adjusting her weight in my arms. Her tiny hand wraps around my finger with surprising strength. "But don't tell her I said that. She's stubborn enough already."

Sephy makes a gurgling sound that almost seems like agreement, and I can't help the smile that breaks across my face. The tension in my shoulders eases slightly as I rock her, savoring the fact that I have both my girls back.

My girls. The thought stops me cold. When did they become mine? When did I become theirs?

I remember the look in Aurelie's eyes when she struck the final blow against Kaelith. Cold fury mixed with righteous vengeance, her small frame becoming somehow larger in that moment of justice. She hadn't hesitated—not when it mattered most. The shadow magic had swirled around her, but she'd pushed through it, driven by something deeper than fear.

I remember her silence in the woods afterward, cradled in my arms as we escaped the burning estate. Her body had trembled, but whether from exhaustion or emotion, I couldn't tell. She'd pressed her face against my chest, fingers curling into my shirt, and said nothing for miles.

Now, as I sit here holding her daughter—a daughter I've begun to love as my own—I'm terrified. Terrified that now she's free, she won't stay. That I'm just a chapter in her escape, a temporary shelter before she builds a life elsewhere. Somewhere without demons. Somewhere without the constant reminder of what she's been through.

"What if she leaves, little moon?" I murmur to Sephy, using Aurelie's nickname for her. "What then?"

Sephy blinks up at me, face scrunching momentarily before relaxing again. No answers there.

The sound of water running in the bathroom reminds me that whatever comes next, right now, they're here. Safe. Alive. And for this moment, that has to be enough.