Page 34 of Monster's Secret Baby

Brooke's bottom lip trembles. "Please, Mama? My hands get all hot when the sparks come, and he knows how to make them stop hurting."

Something flickers across Harmony's face—concern, guilt, resignation. She kneels beside Brooke, touches her small hands. "They hurt you? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want you to worry." So much like her mother—protecting others at her own expense.

I reach into my pocket, pull out a small jar. I keep it on hand because my own magic is wild—years of losing my sanity has slackened my control. "This salve will help. It's made from zynthra root and mountain snow. Works wonders on magical burns."

Harmony's eyes dart from the jar to my face. I see the battle within her—the mother who wants to protect her child from pain versus the woman who wants to protect her child from me.

"Five minutes," she finally says. "Show her, and then you leave."

I don't argue. Five minutes today. Ten tomorrow. I'm not leaving Saufort without them, and Harmony knows it. I can see it in the way she backs away, watching us like I might sprout fangs and steal the child at any moment.

Perhaps she's right to worry.

I workwith Brooke every day for a week, teaching her how to control those first wild surges of magic. She's fascinated with my wings, begging to touch them, gasping when I let her run her small fingers along the arch of one.

"They're so soft," she whispers, eyes wide. "Like clouds."

"Like clouds that can knock over furniture if I'm not careful," I tell her, making her giggle. "Just like your magic needs control, little bird."

I feel Harmony watching us from the kitchen doorway. She thinks I don't notice how she hovers, how her fingers worry the edge of her apron, how her eyes never leave her daughter when she's with me. But I notice everything about Harmony. Every breath, every step, every subtle shift of her expression—I've catalogued them all.

This morning, I arrive earlier than usual. The village is still quiet, not yet stirring. I reach into my pocket, feel the rough edges of the pale blue crystal I've carried for five years. I intended it for Harmony's birthday, back when I thought we had all the time in the world. Now it's a talisman, a reminder of everything I lost.

When I push open the restaurant door, Marda looks up from where she's rolling dough, a scowl ready on her face.

"She's in the garden." Her tone makes it clear what she thinks of me. "Girl spends more time there than in my kitchen these days. Running from you, I'd wager."

I nod, unfazed by her hostility. Everyone in this village circles Harmony like protective worgs. Good. She deserves that protection—though it won't work against me.

The garden sits behind the restaurant, a verdant oasis carved into the hillside. I spot her immediately, kneeling between rows of dreelk and zynthra, the early light catching in her dark curls. For a moment, I just watch her, drinking in the sight, filling the parched places in me that five years of searching have left cracked and barren.

"You can stand there glaring holes into my back, or you can help," she says without turning. Her voice is crisp, controlled. "Brooke isn't here. She's with Joss learning pottery."

I have yet to find out who the fuck Joss is, but I'll take the moment alone with Harmony for now.

I move closer, deliberately crowding her space as I crouch beside her. "I'm not here for Brooke."

Her hands falter over the plants. "I have work to do."

"So do I." I reach past her to pluck a weed, my arm brushing hers. She flinches, drawing away, but not before I catch the quick hitch in her breath. "I've always enjoyed watching you garden."

"You didn't come to Saufort to reminisce."

I smile, aware it's the predatory grin Sior always warned me would frighten people. "I came for what's mine."

She jerks to her feet so quickly she nearly topples over. I catch her elbow to steady her, and the moment my skin touches hers, that old familiar heat flares between us. She yanks away, but not before I see color rushing to her cheeks.

"I am not yours." Her voice trembles with fury. "I never was."

"Liar." I stand slowly, letting my wings unfurl to their full span in the morning sun. I know how I look—dangerous, powerful, every inch the creature humans are right to fear. "You were mine the moment I saw you in Arkan's kitchen. And despite what you've convinced yourself, you still are."

"You have no right?—"

"I have every right." I step closer, and she backs against the garden wall. "You think I don't see how you still respond to me? How your breath catches when I enter a room? How your pulse jumps when I'm near you?"

To prove my point, I brush my fingertips along the side of her neck. Her pulse thunders against my skin, wild and erratic. Her eyes darken, pupils dilating despite her scowl.

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