Page 151 of Destined Dawn

He groans. His dislike for wandering into adolescent minds and the gruesome things he finds there has only increased the older he’s become.

We reach the gymnasium, and I rest on a tree stump. I’m pretty sure it’s the tree stump that I tied Summer Clutton-Brock up against. Which makes it one of my favorites. I haven’t seen her in years but eventually our paths will cross. I hear she married some older dude and had a bunch of kids. At some point, they’ll make it to the academy but I have a few more years of peace before that happens at least.

Stone tells me about his day and after a few minutes, Spencer emerges from the gymnasium, dressed in his usual tracksuit, his whistle hanging around his neck. Hank gave itto him when he retired and Spencer took the job. It’s rarely left his neck since.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says, leaning down to kiss me, and then the bump. The bump responds with another strong kick. Spencer chuckles. “This baby has to be Renzo’s. It’s so damn violent.”

“Not violent,” I say, rubbing my belly. “Active. Which means it could just as well be yours.”

“Doesn’t matter whose it is,” Stone says. “Baby Blackwaters belongs to us all.”

Spencer nods in agreement and then together my two mates haul me back up onto my feet.

“I’m so tired,” I moan when I’m vertical again.

“Because you should be home resting, not teaching,” Spencer says.

“But I love teaching.”

Stone smiles at me, kissing the crown of my head. “I know you do, sweetheart.”

We continue our walk – although I’m definitely waddling, not walking – towards the meadow, the number of students thinning now until there are none at all. On the edge of the meadow we stop and I catch my breath. Not because I’m that incapable of movement or because the baby is definitely restricting the capacity of my lungs, but because the sight of our home still manages to whip my breath right away.

Is it some magnificent palace like the Black Prince’s? No. Is it some grand mansion like Christopher Kennedy’s? No. Is it some snazzy pad the like of which Summer Clutton-Brock is probably living in? No.

But it’s ours. All ours.

Winnie – the youngest principal to be given the position once Mrs. Hollyhill passed – gave us permission to knockdown Stone’s old cabin and build something big enough for all of us and our growing family.

And it’s perfect. Just perfect.

Feeling my presence through the bond, Renzo steps out onto the porch, lifting his hand to shield his eyes from the setting sun and gazing out at us. He’s followed quickly by our daughter Mabel who comes toddling out in the company of Coco the cat, Ryan the rooster and Penny the pig.

We may live on academy grounds and not a farm, but Renzo’s been slowly cultivating the meadow, nonetheless, even teaching the odd student or two about growing vegetables and rearing chickens and pigs.

“Mama!” Mabel cries out, lifting her hands in my direction, brightly colored magic zig zagging over the grass.

I pick up my pace and meet her attempting to descend the porch steps which is tough when your legs are so short.

I pick her up into my arms and plant a sloppy kiss on each of her cheeks and then, stroking her dark curly hair from her forehead, plant a kiss there too.

“Yuck, Mama,” she complains, furrowing her brow over her dark eyes in an expression stolen entirely from her dad.

“Did you miss me?” I ask.

“No,” she says as I place her back on the porch. “Papa and me been playing chase the chick chicks.”

I stare at Renzo. He shrugs. “She wanted to.”

“And you couldn’t say no? Those poor chickens.”

The side of his mouth lifts in a half smile. “You know I can’t say no to my girls.”

He helps me climb the steps, kissing me slow and deep as the others smother Mabel in kisses of their own and then we go inside, shutting out all the animal invaders and the noise from the campus.

“Are Tristan and Azlan back from the council yet?” I ask, as I sink into a couch and kick off my shoes.

“Nope,” Renzo calls back.