Page 54 of Vengeful Mates

I went up to her, putting my hand on her shoulder, letting her know I was there. “What’s wrong, Little Bird?”

Mia jumped and glanced up at me. “Can’t sleep.” Tired little thing rubbed at her eyes and her cheek. Nightmares. Third night this week.

Excusing myself from my post in her bedroom doorway for five minutes, I went to the bathroom, got a drink, and checked the perimeter. In that time, she woke to find me gone and panicked.

Things were edgy in our household the last week leading up to several important events, and my poor little bird picked up on the tension. Stress from packing our belongings for the move to our new place and the disturbance to Mia’s schedule. Routine gave her stability and assurance that she was safe, supported, and loved, and I was eager for the run to be done with to get back to my little birds.

Biker daddies were working late nights or staying down with the Lithgow chapter in preparation for the drug run, getting Dash and his men up to speed on delivery, the route, and back-up plans. As a result, Mia missed her fun times with Slade before dinner, and felt unsafe without me around to protect her.

Concerns over the mole in our club ratting to the cops and our plans for how to deal with them took up a lot of Castor and Zethan’s time. Homework and bedtime with Castor went out the window. A lack of Zethan’s stabilizing influence created chaos.

Adding to that mess, there was the fallout between Slade, Zethan, and Castor over the whole Colton ambush in Ancient Egypt bullshit. Slade wanted answers why we failed to locate the asshole and to bring forward our plans to annihilate him. Zethan was pissed at Castor for putting Aaliyah in a risky situation. Home was becoming a melting pot of tension.

Too many conflicts and demands for our time, and our family suffered for it, Mia the most. I was back for one night, wanting to spend it with my little birds and brothers, especially if this might be my last night with them. Tomorrow night’s run came with a lot of risks if the mole ratted us out to the cops.

I gently pried Mia’s hand off the doorknob of Slade’s room. “Monsters and nightmares?”

My heart cracked when she bit her lip, nodded, and scoured her cheek with her palm. This wasn’t just a bad dream, this was something more. Trauma. I recognized it a mile away. Fear of abandonment caged my little bird’s heart, and she never let Aaliyah out of her sight, and after a nightmare, went looking for me or her mother for reassurance that she didn’t leave her. Mia knew the truth but was too young to understand what happened despite Aaliyah removing her memories of her parents’ murder.

Somatic memory, my psych called it. Areas of pain where the body experienced a trauma, or a pattern of repetitive behavior expressed when a person became stressed. Mia kept touching the sides of her face. Blood splatters from her parents’ gunshot wounds hitting her. Shock to her system, the muscle’s instinctive response, going to that spot over and over, replaying the trauma.

Protecting her and keeping her fears at bay was my job, and I failed her. Duty to the club demanded most of my time recently and I warred with my goal to get back to full-time duty versus being there for my kid. From now on, I’d do my best not to leave my little bird alone to fight the demons haunting her dreams. She could always rely on me. Talk to me about her nightmares. Cry into my shoulder as she let out her pain. Hold me as she went to sleep. Anything to give her the reassurance she needed to sleep through the night and not be frightened during the day.

I held out my hand. “Come on. I’ll take you back to bed and watch over you to keep them away.”

“Promise you won’t leave?” Fuck, that was a big promise that I wasn’t sure I could keep every time.

Her tiny hand came to mine, fitting perfectly into it, and I tugged her down the hall to her room.

I lifted her off the ground, setting her in her bed, and wrapping her in her quilt. “Want me to read to you?”

“Tell me a story,” she murmured, still buffing at her cheek.

I dropped into the chair by her bed that Castor used to read to her. “Did I ever tell you about my favorite constellation?”

“No, you told me about the stars,” she whispered, quieter and more reserved than usual.

Stars. She knew all about the heavens. Gases, particles, clouds, and light forming galaxies. Burning suns and stars. Horus’ domain.

I took her hand, running my thumb over it, keeping her from running through her somatic memory. “Thousands of years ago, there was a beautiful princess.” I poked her nose. “Just like you.”

She smiled and squirmed, her free hand clutching her quilt. “Did she meet a prince?”

“Yes, she did.” I smiled, squeezing her hand. “A very brave one who fought and killed monsters.”

She patted her spare hand on the quilt in a clapping motion. “Yes!”

Like most young girls, she loved stories about princes and princesses. Although Castor deviated from monster stories to avoid frightening her, in this case, we would face the monsters head-on together. PG, of course. Inspire her that they could be beaten.

“What happened?” Mia prodded me to go on.

I recalled the star shaped like a chained woman. “Well, Andromeda’s mother claimed her daughter was the most beautiful princess. More beautiful than the nereids—nymphs of the sea—who aided sailors in their voyages in boats.”

“Was she more beautiful?” This time she squeezed my hand.

“Yes, she was.” I made little hand movements for emphasis. “And this upset the Greek Sea god, Poseidon, who created the nereids to represent the beauty and kindness of the sea.”

Mia gasped and her eyes widened. “What happened?” She knew from all the stories Castor read to her that bad things happened when humans offended the gods.

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