Page 29

RONNIE

I wake slowly, surrounded by unfamiliar warmth. The weight of an arm curves over my waist, solid and secure. A large wing drapes across my body like a silk blanket, the silvery-blue feathers catching the morning light filtering through the curtains.

For a heartbeat, panic rises—I never allow this. Never let anyone stay. Never let myself be held like something precious.

But this isn't just anyone. It's Araton.

His chest rises and falls against my back, each breath stirring my hair.

The skin-to-skin contact sends pleasant shivers across my body as memories of the night before flood back—not just the physical union, but the words we finally spoke aloud.

The walls I've spent years fortifying, crumbled by three simple words from his lips.

I should feel exposed. Vulnerable. Terrified.

Instead, I feel... safe.

I shift slightly, and his arm tightens around me. Not restraining, but reassuring—like he's afraid I might vanish if he loosens his hold. The thought brings an unexpected ache to my chest.

"You're awake," he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep. His lips brush the nape of my neck, sending a cascade of goosebumps down my spine. "But you haven't bolted yet. I'm impressed."

I roll over to face him, our noses almost touching. This close, I can see flecks of darker gold around his pupils, like sunlight through honey. I've never allowed myself to look this closely before.

"Maybe I'm tired of running," I whisper, surprising myself with the honesty.

His face softens, that dimple appearing in his right cheek—the genuine smile, not the calculated one he uses to charm. I reach up to touch it, marveling that I'm allowed this intimacy now.

"I've been a fool, haven't I?" The admission scrapes my throat raw, but he deserves to hear it.

"We both have." His hand slides up my bare back, tracing the ridge of my spine with a gentleness that makes my heart stutter. "But you've had good reason to be cautious."

His eyes darken briefly, and I know he's remembering what I told him about my parents a few weeks ago, about the fear that's driven so many of my choices. His wing adjusts to cocoon us more completely, as if he could shield me from the past with mere feathers.

Morning light dances across his bronze skin, highlighting the contours of his shoulders, the lean strength of his arms. I've always appreciated his physical beauty, but now I find myself wondering how I never recognized the deeper beauty—the heart he keeps hidden beneath wit and charm, the loyalty he offers without condition.

The question rises to my lips before I can think better of it. "Why don't Millie's parents live together?"

His chest rumbles with a low chuckle, vibrating against my palms where they rest against him. "Because they're both too stubborn to admit when they've fallen in love."

The words hang between us, fragile and perfect. I swallow hard, forcing myself past decades of self-protection. "And now that they have?"

His eyes lock with mine, all traces of teasing gone. Something fierce and tender blazes in their golden depths as his hand comes up to cup my cheek.

"Now," he says, his thumb tracing the curve of my bottom lip, "I'll gladly live with the girls I love most."

My throat tightens, the emotion too big to contain. For so long, I've handled everything alone—set up my shop, raised Millie, built walls around my heart. The prospect of sharing that burden, of trusting someone else with the most vulnerable parts of me, should be terrifying.

Instead, as I look into Araton's eyes, I feel like I've finally found my way home after years of wandering lost.

"I'd like that," I whisper against his palm. "For Millie to have both her parents under one roof."

"Just for Millie?" His eyebrow arches, that familiar teasing glint returning.

I pinch his side, delighting in his startled laugh. "You know it's not just for her."

He rolls suddenly, pinning me beneath him, his wings spreading wide above us like a canopy. The weight of him is comforting rather than confining, and I wind my arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

"Say it again," he demands softly, his forehead resting against mine. "I need to hear it in the daylight, to know it wasn't just words spoken in the dark."

A lifetime of guardedness makes my tongue hesitate, but the love shining in his eyes gives me courage. "I love you, Araton. Gods help me, I tried not to, but I do."

His smile could outshine the sun.

I let him kiss me, deep and slow. He rolls us so that we're curled around each other, locked together. Eventually, I have to pull away.

"We should probably get up," I murmur against his lips as he chases after me, though I make no move to actually do so.

"Mmm. Probably." His voice rumbles beneath my ear, but his wing only tightens around me. "Though I'm quite comfortable right here."

I prop myself up on one elbow, taking in the sight of him—tousled black hair even more disheveled than usual, golden eyes warm with affection, that devastating dimple appearing as he smiles up at me.

The bronze expanse of his chest rises and falls with each breath, and I can't resist running my fingers across it, marveling that I'm allowed this intimacy now.

"Millie will be up soon," I say, though my traitorous body leans into his touch as his hand slides up my back. "And if she comes looking for me..."

He sighs dramatically, his wing unfurling. "Ever the practical one, fierce one."

The endearment once irritated me. Now it warms me from the inside out.

We dress in comfortable silence, exchanging glances that promise more time together later. I find myself smiling at nothing, at everything—at the way he fumbles with the ties of his shirt because he's too busy watching me, at how his wings flutter slightly when our fingers brush.

"I'll go wake Millie," I tell him, pausing at the bedroom door. "You could... start breakfast? If you want?"

The question feels monumental somehow—the first step toward a new life, toward making room for him in our daily routine. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he nods.

"I make excellent oat cakes," he says, brushing a kiss against my temple as he passes. "Though I've been told my brewing skills leave something to be desired."

I head down the hall to Millie's room, each creak of the wooden boards familiar and comforting. Her door stands slightly ajar, spilling morning light across the threshold. Inside, my daughter sleeps in a tangle of blankets and dark curls, one tiny silver-feathered wing draped over her face.

My heart swells as I perch on the edge of her bed. Three years of loving this perfect, impossible creature, of building a life for her, of waking to her smile every morning. And now, I'm offering her the father she deserves, the one who loves her as fiercely as I do.

"Millie," I whisper, smoothing a wayward curl from her forehead. "Time to get up, pretty girl."

Her wing twitches, then flicks back to reveal sleepy golden eyes—so like her father's that it makes my breath catch. She blinks, focusing on me with that sweet, drowsy smile that turns my insides to pudding.

"Morning, Mama," she mumbles, reaching up with both arms for our customary hug. I gather her close, breathing in the scent of her—sunshine and meadowmint soap and something uniquely Millie.

"Someone special is downstairs," I tell her, helping her sit up. "I think he's making breakfast."

Her eyes widen, suddenly fully awake. "Papa?"

I nod, and her entire face lights up with joy so pure it makes my chest ache. She scrambles out of bed, nearly tripping over her blankets in her haste.

"Can I wear my blue dress?" she asks, already yanking open drawers. "The one with the birds? Papa says it makes my wings look pretty."

Watching her excitement, I wonder how I ever thought keeping them apart was the right choice. I help her dress, then comb through her unruly curls as she chatters about showing Araton her new drawings and the thalivern she spotted in the garden yesterday.

By the time we make it downstairs, the smell of cinnamon and baking oats fills the air.

Araton stands at the hearth, his wings tucked neatly against his back as he flips a perfectly golden oat cake in the pan.

He's rolled his sleeves past his elbows, exposing the lean muscles of his forearms, dusted with a fine layer of flour.

"PAPA!" Millie shouts, breaking away from me to launch herself across the kitchen.

Araton turns just in time, his face splitting into a grin that makes my heart flip over in my chest. He crouches down, arms spread wide to catch our daughter as she barrels into him.

"There's my expert little flyer," he laughs, scooping her up and spinning her around. His wings spread slightly for balance, enveloping her in a silken cocoon of silver-blue feathers. "Did you sleep well?"

Millie's small arms wrap around his neck, her own tiny wings fluttering with excitement. "What are you doing here, Papa? Did you bring me something? Are you staying for breakfast? Can we go to the meadow today?"

Araton chuckles, the sound rich and warm as he balances her on his hip. "Actually," he says, his eyes finding mine over Millie's head, filled with a tender question, "I was wondering if it would be alright if I lived here with you and your mama."

Millie gasps, her golden eyes going impossibly wide. "Forever and ever?"

"Forever and ever," he confirms, holding out his free arm toward me in silent invitation. I walk into his embrace and he kisses the top of my head, and everything feels so perfect.

Because it finally is.