Page 92 of Malice
“What’s worrying you now?” I asked, not with judgment but genuine concern.
She peered up at me with worried eyes. “What if I can’t get pregnant, Sin? Not in the dream realm or in the real world?”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because Grim said it hasn’t happened yet.”
I ran my fingers across her shoulder and down her arm to soothe her. “We haven’t been trying that long. Some couples try for years before it happens.”
“And sometimes it doesn’t happen for them.”
“We have time.”
“Not a lot. And now that we know that Lucifer can find me in my dreams, we know he won’t stop hunting me until he gets what he wants. At least until he realizes I’m no longer any use to him. And that won’t happen until I get pregnant?—”
Fuck. We were a bunch of insensitive assholes. Merri was so spun up, so concerned with getting pregnant, that she was a ball of stress. She was carrying the weight of ending the literal apocalypse on her shoulders as if she alone was responsible for the outcome.
“C’mere, baby. It’s okay. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. If I have to come into your dreams every time you fall asleep, I will. Lucifer isn’t going to touch you.”
She held my gaze for several heartbeats, her fingers drawing invisible patterns on my skin. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being you.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“Not true.”
I raised a brow. “If you say so, kitten.”
“You’re my hero, and I can say so if I want to.”
Who was I to argue with logic like that? Instead, I wrapped her in my arms and snuggled her as close as possible. “I love you, Merri.”
She hummed happily and pressed a kiss to my chest. “I love you.”
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
MERRI
The sky was still on fucking fire. It was cool at first, kind of like seeing the northern lights, but now? Now it was nothing more than a sign the world was ending and I hadn’t done a damn thing to stop it.
I mean, logically, I recognized that I was only one person, and there was only so much I could do anyway. But also, I was the one with the fancy fucking womb and magic bloodline, so forgive me for feeling personally responsible.
Letting out a little huff of annoyance, I continued tromping up the path that led from the main house to Christian’s cottage. I hadn’t had a reason to venture out this way yet, but he’d moved back in a couple of days ago, so I wanted to check and see how he was faring. Luckily, the flowers I’d risked my life foraging for had been exactly what he’d needed to brew his healing potion or whatever. He’d needed a few days, but the man was mostly back to his usual self, if slightly altered personality-wise. He smiled less these days. Was a little less flirtatious. But who could blame him? He’d been on death’s door. That would subdue anyone.
Knocking on the heavy wooden door, I waited for him to answer, nervous I was disturbing him.
The door swung open and there he was, complexion healthy, smiling, but eyes still slightly dull. That might never leave him. Trauma changes you, and never in a good way.
“Ah, mademoiselle, to what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I just came to check on you. The house seems emptier now that you’ve gone home.”
He grinned, moving out of the doorway and gesturing for me to enter. “Come in, come in. This is such a welcome surprise. Would you care for something to eat? A drink, perhaps?”
