Page 23

RONNIE

I 've never been good at gatherings. Give me solitude and hard work over forced conversation any day.

But watching Harmony bustle around my kitchen like she belongs here—which, in many ways, she does—settles something in my chest. She's arranging wildflowers in a chipped ceramic vase while Adellum hangs back, those massive gray wings carefully folded against his powerful frame as he helps Brooke carry in bread still warm from their oven.

"You didn't have to bring anything," I mutter for the third time, stirring the thick stew that bubbles on my cooking hearth.

Harmony's laugh filters through the room, light and free. "And you didn't have to invite us, but here we are." She tucks a wayward curl behind my ear with familiar ease. "The bread is Adellum's doing. You know how he gets when he's anxious about something."

"I'm not anxious," Adellum protests, setting the loaf down. "I'm appropriately concerned about whether this stew will be enough for seven people, three of whom have wings."

I roll my eyes. "There's enough food to feed half the village."

"Only if half the village doesn't include my mate," Harmony teases. "Or have you forgotten how much he eats?"

The warmth of their banter wraps around me, even as I fight the instinct to withdraw. This easygoing domesticity is still foreign territory—this chosen family that somehow claimed me despite my best efforts to keep everyone at arm's length.

A sharp knock at the door sends a jolt through my body.

"I'll get it!" Millie shrieks, her tiny feet pattering across the wooden floorboards as she races to the entrance. I've barely opened my mouth to caution her about opening doors when I hear the telltale creak of hinges.

"Papa!" Her delighted squeal fills the house.

I take a deep breath, setting down my wooden spoon carefully to avoid betraying the tiny tremor in my hand. When I turn, Araton stands in my doorway, his broad shoulders nearly filling the frame, golden eyes finding mine instantly over Millie's head as she tugs him inside by the hand.

"I invited him," I explain unnecessarily to the room, my voice sounding strange in my own ears. "For dinner."

Something flickers across Araton's face—surprise, maybe pleasure—before he schools his expression. "I brought wine," he says, producing a bottle with his free hand. "From the northern vineyards."

"Uncle Ady!" Millie releases Araton to fling herself at Adellum, who scoops her up with practiced ease. "Papa brought fancy juice!"

Adellum chuckles, the sound rumbling from his chest. "So I see." He nods to Araton, surprisingly cordial. I suppose they've interacted a lot because of Millie, though. "Velrien."

"Vey." Araton returns the greeting with equal civility, his wings adjusting slightly behind him—a subtle tell I've learned means he's more nervous than he lets on.

The realization that I can read him now, that I've catalogued his small habits and expressions without meaning to, sends a wave of heat through my body.

"Is dinner ready?" Brooke pipes up, appearing from where she'd been exploring my small collection of dried herbs. "I'm starving."

"Nearly," I manage. "Why don't you all sit down?"

The next hour passes in a blur of filling bowls, breaking bread, and watching Millie demonstrate to everyone how she can make her small wings flutter fast enough to create a breeze that blows her curls back from her forehead.

"Papa's teaching me!" she announces proudly. "Soon I'll fly higher than the house!"

"Not quite that high yet, sweetheart," Araton corrects gently, but his eyes shine with undisguised pride.

I find myself lingering on that expression, on the way his entire demeanor softens when he looks at our daughter. The jagged, distrustful part of me that expected him to eventually lose interest has grown quiet lately, buried beneath evidence to the contrary.

Across the table, Harmony catches my eye and gives me a knowing smile that makes me flush to my roots.

"Why doesn't your Papa live here?" Brooke's innocent question lands like a stone in still water, creating immediate ripples of tension.

"Brooke," Harmony murmurs, a warning in her tone.

But Millie, curse her inquisitive nature, perks up instantly. "Yeah! Why doesn't Papa live with us, Mama?" Her golden eyes—so like her father's—fix on me with uncomfortable intensity. "Uncle Ady lives with Brooke and Aunt Mony."

The table falls silent. I swallow hard, frantically searching for words that won't come.

How do I explain adult complications to a child?

How do I say that her father and I were never in love, that we barely knew each other beyond heated nights that left marks on my soul I'm still trying to understand?

"Well," I begin, my voice faltering. "Sometimes mamas and papas live in different houses, but they both still love their little ones very much." I feel Araton's gaze on me like a physical touch but can't bring myself to meet it.

"But wouldn't it be better if Papa was here all the time?" Millie insists, her little face screwed up in confusion. "Then he could read me stories every night, not just sometimes."

"I—" I feel heat climbing my neck, words failing me completely.

"What about cookies?" Adellum interjects smoothly, rising to his impressive height. "I think we've still got room for dessert. Why don't you two come help me set them out?"

Brooke jumps up eagerly, but Millie hesitates, clearly not ready to abandon her line of questioning.

"But first, why don't you and Brooke go work on your sparkles," Adellum adds with a meaningful look at Millie. "Then you can come show us."

That does it. Millie's face lights up, the previous conversation forgotten in her excitement to see the iridescent winged creatures. "Hurry, Brooke!" She slides from her seat and grabs her friend's hand, pulling her toward her room.

The silence they leave in their wake is deafening.

Harmony clears her throat. "I'm so sorry about that," she says, her hazel eyes warm with empathy. "Brooke has been asking us about everything lately. The phase is apparently contagious."

"It's fine," I say automatically, though my face still burns.

"Children have no filter," Araton adds calmly, as though we hadn't just narrowly escaped a conversation that would have forced us to define something I'm not ready to name. "It's part of their charm."

Unexpected laughter bubbles up from my chest, loosening the knot of tension there. "Charm is one word for it."

Harmony chuckles, reaching for her wine glass. "Wait until she starts asking where babies come from. Brooke had Adellum stuttering like a schoolboy last week."

"I was not," he grumbles, though he looks away.

The image of the composed, intimidating Adellum floundering under a child's questioning breaks through the last of my discomfort.

I laugh outright, and when I catch Araton's eye, I'm surprised to find him smiling—a genuine smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes something flutter in my stomach that has nothing to do with embarrassment.

I grab a stack of plates, eager for something to do with my hands. I can't handle the onslaught of emotions right now when I'm already feeling flustered.

"I'll take care of these," Araton says, rising from his seat. His wings shift behind him, the motion graceful despite their size. His forearm brushes mine as he reaches for the bowl, and the fleeting contact sends an unwanted jolt through me.

"I can handle washing up after my own dinner," I mutter.

"I'm sure you can handle anything," he counters, that familiar half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "But you don't always have to."

Before I can formulate a properly cutting response, Harmony interjects. "Those sweetberries I planted for you last spring should be perfect by now. Wouldn't they be wonderful with the cookie plate?"

"Fine," I sigh, grateful for the excuse to escape. "I'll go pick some."

The evening air wraps around me like a cool balm as I slip out the back door. Night has just begun to settle over the village, painting everything in soft blues and purples. I take a deep breath, letting the tension drain from my shoulders.

My little garden thrives at the rear of the house—a triumph considering how terrible I was at growing anything when I first arrived. The sweetberry bushes cluster at the far end, laden with dark fruit that glows faintly in the dimming light.

I'm halfway across the yard when I hear it—a tiny, terrified whimper.

My head snaps up. There, at the edge of my garden where it borders the wild grasses, stands Millie. Her small silvery wings are pressed flat against her back in fear, her little body frozen.

Ten paces beyond her, a hulking shape moves through the tall grass with sinuous grace.

For one horrifying moment, I can't breathe.

It's a thassir—massive, muscled body crouched low to the ground, its sleek coat the color of midnight with bioluminescent markings pulsing along its flanks.

I've only seen them in market drawings before; they're supposed to stay in the deep forests, not prowl the edges of villages.

Its six amber eyes blink in sequence, locked on my daughter as it creeps forward on silent paws.

"Millie," I whisper, trying to keep my voice steady despite the terror gripping my throat. "Don't move, baby."

Her tear-streaked face turns slightly toward me. "Mama," she chokes out, barely audible. "I wanted to see the thaliverns..."

The thassir's head swivels, those eerie eyes now fixed on me. Its upper lip curls back to reveal double rows of teeth that gleam wetly in the fading light.

With dread-filled clarity, I realize the creature stands directly between me and my child.

"Hey!" I shout, waving my arms and taking a deliberate step to the side and moving more toward the woods. I need to get it distracted from the house—and my daughter. "Over here, you overgrown kilmar!"

The beast rumbles low in its throat, a sound that vibrates through the ground beneath my feet. It takes a measured step toward me, then hesitates, glancing back at Millie—the easier prey.

The back door creaks open.

"Ronnie, do you need help with—" Araton's words die as he takes in the scene before him.

Our eyes lock across the yard, and in that instant, a silent understanding passes between us. My chest constricts with a terror more profound than anything I've ever known—not fear for myself, but for the tiny life we created.

"Get her," I command, my voice surprisingly steady. "Inside. Now."

Without hesitation, I snatch up a broken branch from the ground and slam it against a nearby tree. "Come on, you bastard! Fresh meat right here!"

The thassir's six eyes blink in rapid succession. It snarls, momentarily confused by the new threat.

"NOW, ARATON!" I scream, moving farther away, drawing the predator's attention.

In my peripheral vision, I see him move—a blur of speed as his powerful wings extend. He lunges for Millie, scooping her against his chest. She cries out, reaching for me over his shoulder.

"Mama!"

"Take her inside!" My voice cracks as the thassir turns toward the movement, muscles bunching under its midnight hide. "GO!"

The moment Araton clutches our daughter safely to his chest, I sprint in the opposite direction, toward the forest edge. The thassir hesitates only a split second before abandoning its previous prey and giving chase to the easier target.

I can hear its massive paws thumping against the earth behind me, feel its hot breath closing the distance. I push harder, veering toward the denser trees where its bulk might be a disadvantage.

There's no time to look back, no time to see if Millie is safely inside. There's just the thundering of my heart, the burn in my lungs, and the singular thought pounding through my mind:

My daughter is safe. My daughter is safe. My daughter is safe.