Page 175 of Cathmoir's Sons

I’m sure we will have children who take more after my Cait, but magickally, Bran is all mine. He already levitates when he dreams, so much so Luca and I had to create an Air cocoon forhis cradle so he doesn’t levitate his baby butt right out of it and onto the floor.

Someday, my children will fly with me.

But today, my baby is fussy and hungry and waking up everyone else’s babies.

I take Bran over to the rocking couch that’s another of Charlie’s creations, making sure to wiggle my ass at Law as I walk away. Sinking into the soft cushions, I settle Bran on my left side where he likes to start and get him latched on. Rachel plops down with Hollie or Hayden—I can’t tell the twins apart yet since they’re both hairless and have brown eyes; Charlie’s penchant for dressing them in identical, miniature Bevington Swingers onesies doesn’t help—on the other end of the couch and sets it rocking. I tuck my stockinged feet up under me and smile at her.

“Your husband’s still not talking to me,” I say.

“No one holds a grudge like a Capricorn,” Rachel responds breezily.

“It was ajoke,” I emphasize. “Afortiethbirthdayjoke.”

She shrugs. “He doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, so the cake with forty candles was already a bit much. When it began singing to him as he tried to blow out the candles, and then chased him around, burning and singing, when he tried to put the candles out with his Element, well ...”

“How was I supposed to know that your husband has a cake phobia?”

Law leans against the stationary arm of the couch and sniggers. “If he didn’t have a cake phobia before, he’s got one now.”

“You and Luca helped me enchant the cake and Evan’s not holding a grudge against either of you,” I point out.

“Cait,” Law says smugly.

I huff at him.

He strokes a finger over our baby’s soft head. My irritation melts into something soft, gooey, and, yes, horny. I thought my mates were irresistible before they became fathers. Watching them fall for our son has doubled my affection for them. And my attraction to them.

“He wouldn’t take a bottle, huh?” I ask Law once our son’s nursing happily and the twins have quieted down. Charlie’s angels—a name which stuck after Hollie and Hayden were born and, for all the trouble they gave Teddy while she was carrying them, are the easiest babies known to man or fae—will probably go back to sleep now that Bran’s not screaming the house down. I swear they’re more like cats than my Cait. They sleep twenty hours a day and when they’re awake, they just want to cuddle. Unlike my little crow who wants to explore everything and thinks sleep is something he can do when he’s dead.

My little crowson already has an agenda. Didrane says he’s gunning for her throne.

She’s also said she’s happy to give it to him.

Law shakes his head; a fringe of blue hair falls across his eyes. My mates have all let their hair and beards grow since November for some kind of men’s health fundraising and awareness effort. Rhodes’ thick mahogany beard filled in handsomely on his strong jaw. I’ve tried to convince him to keep it. I’ve not made the same effort for the pathetic blond sprouts Law and Luca have grown.

Unfortunately for my hopes of a bearded mate, the three of them are meeting up with the Holly and Oak Kings at Cait House to shear themselves for Oath Night. Teddy’s husbands and a number of Cait from as far away as the Scilla den are joining them. They’ve coopted some of my bwg, who are bartending and DJing. I’m not sure why it’s become such a production, but they’ve put more effort and attention into “The Shearing” than the Mother’s Night party we hosted.

At least it’s not my piskie sheep they’re shearing.

I push the blue strands back into place with my fingertip. “It’s not a reflection on you, my love,” I tell him.

Law worries his lower lip with a long incisor. He needs to get those filed. “I was hoping to get him taking a bottle regularly before classes begin.”

“We still have two weeks.”

My Bevvy Winter Study practicum on tracing magickal forgeries starts the Tuesday after Oath Night and then I have two days of down time before my first class at Sapienza University: a joint seminar with Professor Dybo on the evolution of the Mother’s symbology and ritual since the tenth century.

Law smiles down at our son. “That is a long time in baby terms, isn’t it?”

I nod. Bran grows and changes so much every day that by the time my classes begin,hemight be teaching them. If he doesn’t, and I have to miss a few minutes of class to nurse him, Luca can spell me. I don’t think my students will mind being taught by the co-author ofA Cup of Bile, our history of the Cythonic poisonings, which just earned Luca a Master’s degree.

Darwin, who has managed to get his twin back to bed without bottle or breast, strolls over and offers to take Hayden off Rachel’s hands. She shifts the baby in her arms to show that he’s already asleep, his lips puffing in and out as he breathes.

Law and I trade eyerolls.

Darwin grins. “Experienced parenting,” he whispers.

“You are full of shit, Your Majesty,” I whisper back.

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