Page 41 of Falling in Love with A Tiny Bat

Using his white cane as though it’s a dress cane, Castor trots right after me, swinging it around his finger. “Whywhat?”

“Whyare you here? Likethat?”

He dips his chin toward his black outfit and tugs on the baggy shirt. “I was opting for a classic ninja. I brought shuriken. Would you like to see?”

Absolutely I would.

Setting my cheese castle down—calmly and rationally, so as to not topple the towers—I turn on myguestand cross my arms over my chest. “You’reblond.”

“A little less than my usual platinum, I know.” He brushes his fingers through the strands escaping the bandanna around his head. “Quite strange having it so short, but for a good ninja, it was either short or a ponytail.”

I just—

I can’t with this.

What is going on?

In what universe does theevil prince who stole a babystop by unannounced in cosplay to roleplay in the backyard of the person he thinks he’s allowing to babysit? Where’s the angle? The motive? Thehumanity?

God’s sense of humor is off the charts with this one.

A man who I knowhaslong elven fae ears iswearing silicone ones. And, worse, the left one? It’s crooked.

Sir.

Sir,please.

Your child. She’s weak. She can only take so much of this.

“I’m taking care of Ash,” I state, hard. “Why are you here, like this, if you’re just checking up on him? He and Alexios are in the house.”

Castor samples a part of my castle, chews thoughtfully, and gets a little too close after he’s swallowed. Tone disturbingly low, he murmurs, “Ash. Who gave you the right to name it?”

“Since you’re still callinghimanit, I took a liberty.”

His chuckle whispers in the stillness between us as he lifts a finger. Taking a breath, he closes his hand back into a fist atop his cane. “You’re lucky I’m fond of the nameAsh. After all…such is what remains in the wake of a world on fire…” Providing me an inch to breathe, he sweeps his attention away from the refreshments and out toward the rest of the makeshift town. “It’s…poetic.”

That last word leaves him like a sneer.

“How does an infant play into your plans of setting the world on fire?” I ask.

Castor’s curled lip settles back into a chipper smile. “You’re a Christian, aren’t you, Zahra?”

My brow furrows, and I bolster a bit, ready to throw hands if this egomaniac comes for my religion on my own property with my own cheese castle on the tip of his tongue. “Yes.”

“So you know that the greatest war in the history of time…was won with a baby, don’t you?”

The birth of Christ, sent to die in order that humanity might be redeemed. Yeah, that knowledge is the foundation of many religions. But, growing up in my household, I rarely heard the beginning of the story. God’s great gift of a baby sent to die on across to save us out of overwhelming love was never the point my mother made.

Rather, she preferred to ceaselessly remind me that my every fault was like crucifying God’s Son anew.Iwas driving nails into the hands of the person who loved me most.

She twisted the innocence and purity of sending a child made of love to stop a war built on selfishness and hate into something so breathtakingly…hopeless.

With bitterness in my mouth, I mutter, “I’m familiar.”

“I wonder what manner of war a baby made of poison could start…”

Before I know it, my fist is wrapped in Castor’s shirt, dragging him in. My body vibrates, heart racing, heat swelling. The anger is physical and overwhelming. It demands all of my energy, leaving me without any words to speak.

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