Page 48 of Monster Daddies

And just like that, we’re no longer bound to twilight.

A quiet moment stretches between us—sunlight warm across our bodies, laughter fading into breathless wonder.

Then something shifts. Barely there.

A low, familiar vibration hums up from the floorboards. Faint but steady. The walls seem to exhale around us, as if the manor itself is settling deeper into its bones.

Jodrick stills, his hand pausing on my hip. “Do you feel that?” he murmurs.

Viraat nods, lifting his head. “The house…”

“It's still here,” I whisper, placing my palm against the headboard. The hum is subtle but persistent, like a lullaby in a forgotten tongue. “Still awake.”

The manor hasn’t gone quiet. The spell didn’t sever the magic it holds. If anything, it hums with satisfaction—watching, witnessing,pleased.

Epilogue

Five years later

Avalon

The manor hums.

Not loudly. Not the way it used to before we broke the curse—sharp and desperate, buzzing with secrets and want. Now it’s a gentle sound, like the purr of a well-loved cat or the rustle of leaves stirred by a contented breeze. Alive. Yet at peace.

I walk the garden paths barefoot, morning dew slicking my toes, one hand cradling the tiny swell of my belly. It’s not much yet—just a gentle curve, barely noticeable unless you’re looking. Butthey’realways looking.

“You’re up early,” Jodrick calls from the porch, his voice low and warm like melted honey. He holds a cup of tea in one hand and a slice of toast in the other, wearing nothing but flannel pajama pants and a sleepy smile. The streaks of silver at his temples catch the sun, and my heart trips over itself.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I say. “Too many butterflies.”

“Those better be metaphorical,” Viraat grumbles from the doorway. He’s stretching, hair tousled and peppered with gray, scowl in place like always—but it’s gentler now. Mostly performative.

He crosses the porch in three long strides and drapes a blanket over my shoulders. “You shouldn’t be barefoot. And you shouldn’t be carrying anything.” He scowls at the small potted plant I grabbed to bring to our porch.

“It barely weighs more than a bag of flour,” I remind him sweetly, poking his chest.

His hand drops to my belly instinctively. Protective. Reverent. A little awestruck, still. “I don't let you carry that either. All you're supposed to be carrying is that little creature in your belly.”

The way he says it makes my breath catch. I press into him, and Jodrick comes up behind me, sandwiching me between them. Their warmth, their weight, their everything.

For a while, we just stand like that—wrapped in each other and morning light, with the manor humming around us like it’s proud. Like it knows.

“You’ve got some new laugh lines, old man,” I murmur, brushing my fingers over Viraat’s cheek.

He snorts. “You try living withyouand staying wrinkle-free.”

“And you’ve got more gray in your beard,” I say, tipping my head back to look at Jodrick.

“Distinguished,” he says solemnly. “Dignified.”

“Old,” Viraat grumbles.

“Aging,” I correct softly. “With me.”

They quiet at that. Not because it’s sad—though sometimes it is—but because it’strue. The spell worked, and with it came change. Not just sunlight and softness, but time. Time that wears and erodes and blesses.

They chose this.Me. And in doing so, they chose mortality.