Page 156 of Born for Lace

I nod into the pillow. “Please.”

I want more, too. So many more. Our daughter was born at the Common Community at thirty-two weeks of pregnancy. I was induced, and it was a perfect labour, not too long, only a little painful, and Lagos was a guard dog in the room, never leaving my side.

And I have never seen him smile the way he did when he first held his little Wren in his arms.

I was told that thirty-two weeks is early for a Common human, but not a Xin De. They develop faster and easier.

Despite this, she is petite, with big green eyes that match my own. Nothing like her big boofhead of a brother, Spero, and yet, her iron levels are unusually high. A Shadow baby. I don’t know what that means for her. Lagos says there are noknownShadow females.

My head lolls on the pillow as Lagos stands, briefly disappearing from the room before returning.

He gathers me from the mattress, and I immediately melt into his hard, warm torso. Nuzzling the dirty-blonde hair at his chest and inhaling him, I sigh.

Safety.

Male.

Mine.

As he carries me into the bathroom, perfumed steam dances from the ceramic tub and whirls up my nostrils.

“Mm.”I make a low sound of pleasure. “For me? I’m spoilt.”

“I was rough,” he says, his tone gruff but not cruel, tight with silent concern and loud regret.

Oh, brute.

“You aren’t too much for me, Lagos. I’m worried that I’m not enough for you.”

He gently lays me into the pool of warm water, and I stifle a sigh of utter ecstasy as the soothing liquid embraces my weak body. This is…

This is perfect.

“Not enough?” He grips my chin, tilting my face up to meet his stern gaze. “Keep your legs together for a while,” he orders, “or I’ll have to fill you again.”

“Yes, brute.” I giggle. “If we have another girl, can I name her Maple?”

“Yes,” he says.

As I relax into the warm water, I catch sight of his reflection in the mirror, of his tight brows that create a crease in the middle of his steely eyes. He is virile—strong, rugged, and fierce. I only hope that I can hold his interest. Hope the world outside these stone walls won’t beckon him one day.

* * *

I am outside in the enclosed greenhouse Lagos made for me. It is latched onto the roof of the farmhouse and is strong enough to withstand the Redwind and large enough for me and the children to play on the grass and plant seeds. It hasn’t been tested in a Redwind Whip storm but if it falls, we will rebuild.

I learnt a thing or two about greenhouses at the Common Community. How to set them up. Where to store seeds.

I may not have been at my best there, but that little place did add abitto Dahlia—like Tide said. And because of my time at the Common Community, we have a healthy baby girl, and I have extra gardening skills.

“I know why the farmhouse is empty.” I look up to find Lagos striding toward me, a bulking half-human monster, tearing a path through the Redwind, wearing the crimson mist like a cloak. He is dressed in dark jeans and his black jacket. Tattoos visible, rushing down each finger, and licking up his throat, noosing his neck.

But then I notice the blood splatters on his cheeks. A scarlet gash on his upper lip. And on his left shoulder, he wears the dead carcases of two large animals like they are weightless drapes.

“Oh, my,” I gasp. “What happened?”

“Aquilla cats. Close your eyes, little flower. I don’t want you to see.”

I cover my eyes but peek through my fingers, not as fragile as he believes. Then I see the river of blood pouring from jowls full of busted teeth and turn my back to him, speaking over my shoulder.

---