Page 309 of Vasmora

“Awww, Mama. Can’t I stay up and play a bit?”

“Not tonight. But if you hurry, you’ll get to see Daddy.”

“Daddy!” Branimir’s little legs carried him quickly across the yard and up the stone steps to Eidolon. When he reached the entrance, Vendryck appeared, opening the door for Branimir to dart through, and he sent a quick wave to the old butler.

“Thank you, Vendryck,” I said as I passed him for the foyer, and he offered a slow nod.

Zevander stood at the top of the staircase, donned in leather trousers and a loose tunic that offered a peek of his chest. Good grief, had his shoulders gotten broader? His muscles thicker? Even from where I stood staring up at the bottom of the staircase, I could feel something raw and virile radiating off him.

He swiped Branimir into his arms, and gods be damned, I had to look away for fear he’d see the baby fever burning in my eyes. The bond pulled at my muscles, his blood slinking through me in hot pulses, drawing me toward him like the merging of moons. When I finally reached the top of the stairs, he shifted Branimir to his hip and leaned in to kiss me. Clearly, he’d already bathed, the delicious scent of amberwood and warm tobacco leaf puckering my tastebuds.

“How were your travels?” I asked.

“Too long.” He kissed me again. “I’ll put him to bed tonight. The water for your bath is heated. Take as long as you want.”

“Thank you.” I hurried to the bathing chamber, and as much as I wanted to indulge in the heat of the bath, I had tasks to complete. Like scrubbing away the stench of death that clung to me, washing my hair that hadn’t touched water in two days, and ensuring my legs were silky smooth to the touch. By the time I finished, my eyelids felt weighed by anchors, exhaustion heavier than when I’d first stepped into the bath. I brushed my teeth so not a speck of dinner’s spinach remained lodged between them and turned toward the pile of clothes he’d set out for me.

Nothing more than one of his freshly laundered tunics lay folded beside the bath. Smiling, I slipped it over my head.

For weeks, I’d gone to bed wearing the same one that harbored his scent from the last time he’d worn it. So many nights, I’d smashed the fabric to my face, bringing myself to climax.

I exited the bathing room, squeezing the excess water from my hair, to find Zevander hadn’t yet returned.

Venturing down the hallway brought me to Branimir’s chambers, and I pushed open the door to a darkening room that held a small bed amid toys and stacked books.

Zevander stood out on the balcony, Branimir wrapped in a blanket, so small against his father’s brawny shoulder as he slept. A deep, soothing voice carried across the room while Zevander read aloud to him, the book clutched in his free hand.

My womb clenched at the sight of him holding our son, my wretched mind conjuring images of a little girl tucked in his other arm. A look of wonder and admiration in her eyes, staring at the first man she’d ever love.

Stop it. One is enough.

I shook my head of those ridiculous thoughts, making my way back to our bed chamber, flexing my hands to calm the urges burning inside of me. I’d sworn, after Branimir’s eighteen-hour labor, there would be no more. Yet, one look at the man, and I seemed to have conveniently forgotten the pain. The suffering. The urge to strangle Zevander when contractions had reached their peak.

Once back in the room, I climbed into bed, staring into the darkness. Even then, years later, there were times my eyes avoided the shadowy corners of the room. Times when I’d see the glow of eyes, or hear that vile woman’s voice calling out to me. When I’d have to remind myself that we lived and all the monsters had perished.

Be grateful for what you have.

It was the one thing the plague had taught me, after having watched so many families suffer the aftermath of loss. Forced to relive the horror of having watched terrifying creatures tear apart their loved ones in front of their eyes.

Like Zevander’s brother.

A reminder of how fragile life could be. How quickly those we loved could be torn from our lives like a rogue wave sweeping them out to sea. We were fortunate to have survived. To have watched life bloom through the cracks of destruction while piecing the shattered parts of our world into something that might hold.

The iron latch clicked, and I shifted my attention to Zevander moving through the room like a shadow. He strode toward the table, where he stood with his back to me, unsheathing the few weapons he kept on him at all times.

He doffed his tunic, the moon illuminating every deep groove of the glorious muscles in his back, the scorpion rippling with his movement. To my utter satisfaction, he slid off the leathers, pushing them over his tight backside. The sight of his naked ass and those powerful thighs that so often held me pinned beneath him sent a rush of warmth between my own.

“Enjoying the view?” He sailed a smirk over his shoulder.

“It’s nice.”

“Nice?” He snorted. “Flowers are nice.”

“Sculpted? Firm? Distracting?”

“Better.”

I forced myself to look away from what I longed to touch. “He didn’t fall asleep easily, then?”