Page 184 of May: Bloom & Bane

Therael drops to his knees before the stone bench. His long, pale fingers gently lift Sage’s limp wrist.

“Sage,” Therael murmurs as he taps the side of Sage’s cheek. “Look at me.”

Sage tries to lift his chin, but his eyelids are so heavy they barely crack open. “I am… fine, Therael. Just a fever.”

“This is not a fever,” Therael counters, setting Sage’s wrist down with devout tenderness. He turns his head to me.

“Eden, I apologize in advance for my next string of questions, but Sage’s health depends on them.”

“Ask me whatever you need to.”

“Has your body begun to change for the babe? Have you started producing milk yet?”

Heat floods my face so fast I go dizzy. Damien clears his throat and walks toward the marsh.

“I—” My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. “Well, sort of. But it’s not milk.”

Therael’s head tilts in interest.

“It’s nectar. It started during Sage’s rut. And I produce more when we’re… close.”

Therael glances at Sage.

“He was drinking it, wasn’t he? Shortly after he started nesting?”

My face is burning with embarrassment, but Sage’s chest is barely moving, and I am not going to be the reason he gets worse.

“Yes,” I say, lifting my chin. “Both he and Ashán are very drawn to it.”

“All hybrids are drawn to the liquid their mates produce during pregnancy. Especially fertility creatures,” he reassures me. “This is completely normal, Eden. And nothing you have to be embarrassed about.”

I nod.

“When is the last time he consumed some?”

“A few days ago—we started, but things got interrupted, and we’ve barely touched since.”

Therael pinches the bridge of his nose.

“He did not close the loop,” he whispers under his breath. “Oh, you beautiful, foolish boy.”

“Close what loop?”

“The sael’níva,” Therael murmurs as he reaches out to touch the edge of Sage’s flaking shoulder. (Nectar-binding) “Sage is a creature of growth. His biology is built on cycles. When your body began producing the nectar, Sage’s roots naturally reached for it.”

He pauses, looking up to make sure I’m following.

“But a tree cannot hold a torrential downpour in its branches, Eden. The water has to move. That sweetness was never meant to just sit inside him. It was meant to pass through him and be returned right back into you, skin to skin, grounding you both. When that circle stays unbroken, it is a beautiful thing. It feeds not only your mate but the baby. It regulates his magic, and everyone flourishes.”

“Are you saying that when I pulled away, I made him sick?”

“You did not know,” he says immediately, his eyes swimming with an empathy of his own. “But when you pulled away, that magic had nowhere to go, so it began feeding on Sage’s reserves just to keep his core alive. His fever is spiking because his magic is wilting. It is the same way a plant strips its own leaves to keep the root alive in a sudden frost.”

I stare at Sage’s slumped frame, my hand trembling on his arm. “He didn’t tell me. He could have just told me what he needed.”

“He didn’t know, Eden,” Therael corrects, rising to his feet and smoothing down his robes. “He has only been awake a little over a year. He has no map for a hybrid pregnancy or what his body is supposed to feel like. He likely thinks he is just exhausted from the Horsemen and the strain of Ashán withdrawing. And knowing him, he decided that falling apart quietly was better than frightening you.”

A sob escapes me. “How do I fix it?”