Page 52 of Baby and the Beast

Which meant Nash couldn’t hear her.

Hell, he couldn’t just leave her.

He stomped over to the bedroom and opened the door.

Copper's tiny face was scrunched and red, her mouth wide open as she wailed. Casimir's heart clenched at the sound.

"Alright, little one," he murmured, carefully lifting her from the makeshift crib. "Let's see what's got you so upset."

The source of her distress became immediately apparent. Casimir wrinkled his nose.

"No wonder you're complaining," he said, laying her on the bed. He grabbed one of the cloth diapers he'd fashioned and set to work with surprising efficiency.

It wasn't the first time he'd changed her. Nash had been exhausted that first night, barely able to keep his eyes open after feeding her. Casimir had stepped in without being asked, remembering distantly how he'd helped with his cousins when they were babies. Not that he eve knew where they were now. His mom's sister had moved after her death and because his father was a bastard they hadn't kept in touch.

Copper quieted as soon as he began cleaning her, her cries settling into hiccupping little sobs. Her eyes, still that newborn blue-brown that hadn't decided what color they'd be, fixed on his face.

"There we go," he said, securing the fresh diaper. "Much better, isn't it?"

He picked her up, cradling her against his chest with one large hand supporting her tiny head. She was so small in his arms—impossibly fragile. Yet somehow, when he held her, he felt less broken himself.

He carried her into the main room, bouncing her gently as he moved. She'd stopped crying but still had that post-upset tension in her tiny body. He needed to distract her until Nash finished in the shower.

"Let's find something to look at, shall we?" he murmured, scanning his bookshelves.

Most of his collection wasn't exactly suitable for infants—survival guides, hunting manuals, worn paperbacks with complex plots, but then he grinned at his nonsense. He could read her a dictionary and she wouldn’t know what it was. His eyes landed on a slim volume near the bottom shelf. He hadn't opened it in years.

Balancing Copper carefully in one arm, he crouched and pulled out the book—a collection of folktales his grandmother had given him for his eighth birthday. Not his original copy obviously, but he'd found it in a second hand bookstore when he'd had to go for supplies. The illustrations inside were simple but beautiful, rendered in watercolors that somehow captured the magic of the stories.

"This might be more your speed," he told her, settling into his armchair.

Copper gazed up at him, her tiny fists waving. He positioned her in the crook of his arm so she could see the pages and opened to a story about a fox who outsmarted a wolf.

"Seems appropriate," he said softly. "Given your heritage."

He began reading in a low, gentle voice, surprised at how naturally the words came. His grandmother had read these stories to him countless times. The familiar cadence soothed something in him, even as it seemed to calm Copper. Her eyes fixed on the colorful pages, entranced by the motion and colors.

"'The clever fox knew that strength wasn't everything,'" Casimir read. "'Sometimes, being small and quick was better than being big and powerful.'"

As he turned the page, he felt Copper relax completely against him. Her tiny hand had somehow found his finger and gripped it with surprising strength.

"Your dad is a lot like this fox, you know," he told her, lowering his voice. "Brave. Smart. Determined to protect what matters."

He continued reading, page after page, story after story. The fox who tricked the bear. The rabbit who raced the turtle. The wolf who learned kindness from a child.

He was so absorbed in the reading that he didn't notice Nash standing in the doorway, hair still damp from the shower, watching them with an unreadable expression.

"That was beautiful," Nash said softly.

Casimir's head jerked up, the book nearly slipping from his grasp. He hadn't heard Nash approach, which was unusual—he was typically hyperaware of his surroundings. Something about holding Copper had made him let his guard down.

"She was crying," he explained gruffly. "Needed to be changed."

Nash crossed the room and perched on the arm of the other chair, still watching them. "You're good with her."

Casimir shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise. "Basic skills."

"No," Nash said. "It's more than that." He reached out, brushing a finger over Copper's cheek. "She trusts you."

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