Page 47 of Monster's Secret Baby

"Mama, can Dell stay for dinner?" Brooke calls, now sitting atop his shoulders while he holds her legs steady.

I hesitate, searching his face. The intensity is still there, banked but smoldering, yet there's something else too—a careful hope that makes my resolve waver.

"If he'd like to," I finally answer.

"I'd be honored," Adellum says, his voice carrying that formal edge it gets when he's trying to hide deeper emotions.

I turn away, busying myself with gathering herbs, unsure what else to do. I'm letting him into our lives day by day, inch by inch, like opening a door I swore would stay locked forever. But watching him with Brooke—the way his fierceness softens to tenderness—makes me wonder if I might still love him. The thought terrifies and thrills me in equal measure.

I waketo Brooke's soft snores coming from the alcove behind the curtains. Moonlight streams through our small window, silvering the floor in pale streaks. The space beside me in bed is empty—has been empty for years, though lately I've found myself imagining what it might feel like filled with his presence again.

Rising quietly, I wrap a shawl around my nightdress and pad to the window. As expected, Adellum sits on the wooden bench beneath the old tree in Marda's garden. Even in darkness, his massive wings catch what little light there is, the feathers shifting like smoke against the night.

I shouldn't go to him. I've already given him too much ground these past weeks—letting him teach Brooke, inviting him to meals, allowing him glimpses of the life we built without him. But my feet are already carrying me down the stairs, through the kitchen, out the back door.

The night air kisses my skin, cool and sweet with the scent of meadowmint and nightblooms. Dew soaks the hem of my nightdress as I cross the grass toward him.

He doesn't turn, though I know he senses me approaching. "She sleeps through the night now," he says, his voice a low rumble in the darkness. "When she was smaller, did she wake often?"

I settle beside him on the bench, leaving a careful space between us. "Every two hours like clockwork for the first year." I tuck my feet beneath me. "I thought I might never sleep again."

His voice is far too soft, reminding me of the version of him I thought I left behind. "And now?"

My gut churns. We've been getting far too close again. "Now, other things keep me up."

He finally turns to look at me, and I'm struck again by how his eyes seem to glow in darkness—not quite human, not entirely other. The silver in them catches the moonlight like polished metal.

"After I met you, you were truly my only muse," he says softly, "I'd go to my workshop and sketch your hands for hours. The way they move when you talk, when you garden. When you touch me."

I feel my cheeks warm. "Adell?—"

"I'd tear the pages up afterward. Too revealing. Sior always said I gave too much away in my work."

I study his profile, the sharp cut of his jaw, the stubborn set of his mouth. "Sior sounds like he was a terrible influence."

A humorless laugh escapes him. "He was. Is. But I followed willingly."

We sit in silence for a moment, listening to the night sounds—crickets and the distant call of some nocturnal bird. His wing shifts slightly, the edge of it brushing against my shoulder like a question.

"After you left," he says, "I thought I might go mad. I couldn't create anything. All the colors were wrong."

I twist my fingers in my lap. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"A life without you was always meant to kill me." He reaches into his pocket, pulls out something small that catches the moonlight—a pale blue crystal with rough edges. "I've carried this for years. Meant to set it in silver for your birthday, before..."

My throat tightens. "It's beautiful."

"I've held it so often I've worn down some of the edges." He turns it over in his palm. "Thinking of you. Using it to ground myself when the darkness got too thick."

I see it then, what he's trying to tell me. The darkness is part of him now, as much as the light. Born of pain and loss and years of searching, it lives behind his eyes alongside the tenderness he shows our daughter. This man is both the artist who courted me with painted sunsets and the predator who killed without hesitation to protect us.

I find myself reaching for his hand, the one holding the crystal. His skin is warm against my cooler fingers. "We lost so much time, Adell."

His hand turns, capturing mine, thumb stroking over my knuckles. "We have now. If you want it."

The realization hits me with a pang—loving Adellum would never be simple again. It would be a beautiful, perilous thing—a choice I would have to make again, fully aware. The man before me carries shadows he didn't have before, an intensity that sometimes frightens me even as it draws me in.

"I don't know yet," I admit. "But I'm here. Tonight."

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