Page 15

ESALYN

I don't sleep. Not really. The night stretches endlessly as I lie beside Erisen, his small body curled against mine, innocent and unaware of how his mother's world has just tilted on its axis.

Every time I close my eyes, I feel the ghost of Domno's hands on my waist, the pressure of his mouth against mine, the rough texture of his jaw beneath my fingertips.

What was I thinking?

The ceiling above me offers no answers, only shadows that shift and dance with each flicker of the dying lamp.

Outside, rain begins to fall, pattering against our thin roof in a rhythm that matches my restless heartbeat.

I trace my lips with trembling fingers, still feeling the imprint of his kiss like a brand.

It's been so long since anyone touched me with desire instead of ownership. So long since I've wanted to be touched. Six years of running, of keeping my gaze lowered, of flinching when men move too quickly near me—all of it dissolved the moment I pressed my mouth to his.

The memory of Vorrak rises unbidden—his cruel hands, his mocking laughter when I cried, the possessive gleam in his eyes that signaled another night of pain.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the memories away, but they cling like smoke.

How many times had he reminded me that I was nothing but a plaything, worthless except for what my body could provide?

Yet when Domno looked at me tonight, I saw none of that. His golden eyes held heat, yes, but also something else—something that made me feel seen. Not as property. Not as prey. But as a woman who might be worth wanting.

It terrifies me more than anything else has in years.

Beside me, Erisen shifts in his sleep, one small hand still clutching the wooden batlaz Domno carved.

The sight twists something painful in my chest. My son, who trusts so rarely, has given his complete faith to a demon we've known for mere days.

A demon whose intentions I still cannot fully discern, despite the way my body betrayed me tonight.

When dawn finally breaks, painting thin strips of light through the cracks in our shutters, I rise with eyes that feel like sand.

I move through our morning routine by rote—heating water for washing, preparing a simple breakfast of porridge flavored with the last of our dried zynthra, braiding Erisen's dark hair to cover the tiny horns at his temples.

His golden eyes, so like Domno's in color yet infinitely more innocent, watch me with unusual concern.

"Are you sick, Mama?" he asks, reaching up to touch my cheek.

I force a smile, smoothing back a stray lock of his hair. "Just tired, love. I didn't sleep well."

"Bad dreams?" His voice drops to a whisper, serious and concerned. He knows about bad dreams. Has his own that wake him crying in the night.

"No, love. Just thinking too much." I kiss his forehead, breathing in his clean, familiar scent. "Ready for the market?"

At the old woman's fruit stall, I arrange wares mechanically, my mind elsewhere as my fingers sort through the produce.

Twice I miscount a customer's change. Three times I jump at shadows, expecting to see Domno's tall figure among the morning crowd.

My lips still tingle with the memory of his mouth on mine, and heat blooms in my cheeks every time I recall how easily he'd lifted me against him, how perfectly our bodies had aligned.

"That man is looking for you," the old woman says suddenly, her gnarled fingers gripping my arm.

My heart stutters painfully until I follow her gaze and see it's only the baker who has some work for me. Not Domno. Not Vorrak. Just the ordinary dangers of an ordinary day.

By midday, I've convinced myself Domno won't return. Why would he? I've seen the restlessness in him, the shadow of old wounds that drive him to keep moving. Whatever drew him to us, it can't possibly outweigh the complications we represent.

"When's Domno coming?" Erisen asks immediately, his eyes scanning the marketplace. The disappointment on his face when he doesn't spot the demon makes my chest ache.

"I don't know if he will today, Eri."

His small face falls, but he quickly brightens.

"I made him something!" He tugs a folded square of paper from his pocket, carefully opening it to reveal a childish drawing—three figures holding hands beneath a red sky.

"It's us! See?" His finger points to each figure in turn.

"That's me, and you, and Domno. Can I give it to him when he comes? "

"Erisen..." I begin, not knowing how to explain that some people don't stay, that attachments are dangerous, that we can't afford to trust so easily.

But the words die in my throat as a familiar shadow falls across us.

I look up to find Domno standing there, his massive frame blocking the sun.

Today, he looks less like the predator I first encountered and more like a man who hasn't slept any better than I have.

There's a tension in his shoulders that wasn't present yesterday, a wariness in his golden eyes as they meet mine.

"Domno!" Erisen launches himself forward, small arms wrapping around the demon's legs without hesitation. "Look what I made you!"

Domno's face softens as he crouches down to examine the drawing, those lethal hands unbelievably gentle as they handle the creased paper. "This is very good," he says, voice rough with what might be emotion. "Is this us?"

Erisen nods enthusiastically. "Can we go looking for more special rocks today? Please?"

Domno's eyes lift to mine, seeking permission. "I thought the boy might like to walk to the eastern shore. The tide brings in unusual stones after a rain."

My heart stutters. He's asking to take Erisen alone. Away from the market. Away from me.

I've never allowed anyone to be alone with my son. Not the man who got us here on his wagon, not anyone in the market who employs me, not even the neighbors who've shown us nothing but generosity. Six years of vigilance screams against the very idea.

Yet something in Domno's steady gaze makes me hesitate.

I remember how he carried Erisen to bed last night, his movements careful despite hands that could crush bone without effort.

I recall the protective stance he took in the marketplace days ago, placing himself between my son and danger without thought for himself.

Still, trust comes slowly when you've lived as I have.

"I—" My voice catches. I clear my throat, aware of Erisen's hopeful expression and Domno's patient wait. "I don't think?—"

"Nothing will happen to him, Esalyn." Domno's voice is strong and steady and sure. His eyes hold mine. "You know I won't let any harm come near him."

"I'll come with you both," I say, watching Erisen's face fall slightly.

And I try not to let it bother me. I want him to trust others, and it's good if he doesn't always need me.

"But I can stay back a little. Give you two some space.

" The compromise feels monumental, like stepping onto a frozen lake not knowing if the ice will hold.

Domno's expression shifts subtly. Something like respect softens his sharp features. "The shoreline just past the eastern market stalls. We won't go beyond the black rocks."

I nod, throat tight. "I need to finish here first." I gesture to the remaining fruit that needs sorting.

"We'll wait." The simplicity of his statement soothes something in me—no argument, no attempt to rush or persuade.

Erisen bounces on his toes, impatient but trying so hard to be good, clutching his drawing like a talisman.

His dark hair falls over his forehead, nearly hiding those eyes that mark him as something other than human.

In moments like these, with excitement flushing his cheeks, he looks so young, so unburdened by our circumstances.

I want to preserve that lightness for him, even as every protective instinct screams at me to never let him out of arm's reach.

I finish my work in record time, nodding goodbye to the old woman whose knowing eyes follow me with too much understanding. She's seen too much of life not to recognize what's happening, even if I refuse to name it myself.

We walk to the shore together, Erisen between us, his small hand slipping naturally into Domno's massive one.

The demon's fingers close around my son's with a gentleness that seems impossible for someone his size.

Every so often, Domno glances down at Erisen with an expression I can't fully decipher—something between wonder and uncertainty, as though he can't quite believe this child trusts him so completely.

At the shoreline, I hang back as promised, finding a sun-warmed rock to sit on while they move ahead.

The tide has indeed left treasures scattered across the volcanic black sand—gleaming shells, tumbled stones, fragments of sea glass worn smooth by time and water.

Erisen crouches to examine each potential treasure, his small body vibrating with excitement.

But it's Domno who captures and holds my attention.

The fearsome demon hunter moves with surprising patience, crouching beside my son without complaint, listening intently to Erisen's chatter as though every word matters.

His massive frame dwarfs Erisen's, yet there's nothing threatening in his posture.

He points to something in the sand, and Erisen's delighted laugh carries back to me on the salt-laden breeze.

I press my palm against my chest, trying to identify the strange ache building there.

It's jealousy, yes, but not the bitter, angry kind.

It's a wistful longing for something I'd convinced myself I'd never have—someone who looks at my child and sees not a burden or a weapon or a half-breed, but simply a boy worthy of kindness and attention.

And perhaps, buried deeper, a longing for someone who might look at me and see more than just Erisen's mother, more than just a woman on the run. Someone who might see the parts of me I'd locked away years ago when Vorrak's cruelty taught me that desire was dangerous, that wanting invited pain.

Last night's kiss rises in my memory again, making my skin flush hot despite the cool ocean breeze.

The way Domno had held me—firm but never restraining, passionate but never demanding—had awakened something I thought long dead.

Even now, watching his broad back as he bends to help Erisen dig something from the sand, I can feel the ghost of his hands on my waist, the heat of his mouth on mine.

Erisen's excited cry pulls me from these dangerous thoughts. He's racing toward me, something clutched in his small fist, Domno following at a more measured pace.

"Mama! Look what we found!" He skids to a stop before me, opening his palm to reveal a perfectly formed spiral shell, iridescent in the sunlight. "Domno says it's very rare. Can I keep it?"

"Of course," I smile, touching the smooth surface. "It's beautiful."

Domno stands nearby, hands loose at his sides, watchful but giving us space. When our eyes meet over Erisen's head, something electric passes between us—the shared memory of last night, the uncertain promise of what might come next.

How strange that watching him with my son has undone me more thoroughly than his kiss—though that wrecked me, too. That seeing this lethal demon treat Erisen with such gentle care makes me want things I've denied myself for years.