Page 44 of The Dark Elf's Found Family
But as I move toward the door, Nya's voice stops me. "Can I stay with Rhea tonight? Please? I don't want to go back to the inn."
The pleading in her tone makes my chest ache. Of course she doesn't want to be alone after what happened. Of course she needs to stay close to her friend, to make sure with her own eyes that Rhea is really okay.
"If it's alright with your father," I say, glancing at Ciaran.
He nods immediately. "Of course. We can collect her things in the morning."
Relief floods Nya's face as she burrows deeper under the covers beside Rhea. Within minutes, both girls are breathingdeeply, exhaustion finally claiming them after the trauma of the evening. I watch them for a long moment—my daughter and his, curled together like sisters, like they've always belonged in the same bed, in the same life.
"Come on," Ciaran says softly, his hand warm on my shoulder. "Let them sleep."
I follow him into the common room, my legs suddenly unsteady now that the immediate crisis has passed. The adrenaline that's been keeping me upright begins to fade, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness and hands that won't stop trembling.
Ciaran moves around the space with quiet efficiency, lighting the oil lamp on the mantle and stoking the dying embers in the hearth until small flames lick at the logs. The warm light transforms the room, casting everything in golden hues that should be comforting but somehow make me feel more fragile, more exposed.
I sink onto the worn sofa, finally allowing myself to fully process what just happened. My daughter could have died tonight. If we'd been even a few minutes later, if Ciaran hadn't known what to do, if his magic hadn't been strong enough to counteract the poison...
"Brynn." Ciaran's voice is gentle as he settles beside me, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body. "She's safe. You can breathe now."
But I can't. Every time I close my eyes, I see Rhea's blue lips, her still form on Eda's couch. I see myself standing helpless while my daughter slipped away from me, unable to do anything but watch. The terror of those moments crashes over me again, stealing my breath and making my chest tight.
"I almost lost her," I whisper, the words barely audible. "If you hadn't been there..."
"But I was there." His hand covers mine, stilling the tremors that run through my fingers. "And she's fine. A little shaken, but fine."
The steadiness in his voice, the absolute certainty, cuts through my panic like a blade. This is what he does, I realize. This calm competence in the face of crisis. He's spent years managing medical emergencies with Nya, years being the steady presence his daughter needed when her own body turned against her.
"How do you do it?" I ask, turning to study his face in the lamplight. The sharp angles of his cheekbones, the exhaustion around his violet eyes, the way he holds himself like he's carrying the weight of the world. "How do you stay so calm when someone you love is in danger?"
Something flickers across his expression—pain, maybe, or recognition. "Practice," he says simply. "Too much practice."
The weight in those words settles between us. I think of all the nights he must have spent watching over Nya, all the times he's had to make split-second decisions about her care. All the fear he's swallowed down so his daughter wouldn't see it, all the strength he's had to summon when his own heart was breaking.
"Thank you." The words feel inadequate, too small for what he's done. I turn my hand palm-up beneath his, our fingers intertwining. "For saving her. For knowing what to do when I..." My voice cracks. "When I was completely useless."
"You weren't useless." His thumb traces across my knuckles, the touch both soothing and electric. "You were terrified. Any parent would be."
"But you weren't. You knew exactly what to do, you never hesitated." I study his face, this man who's become so much more than a stranger passing through. "You saved my daughter's life tonight, Ciaran."
Something shifts in his expression, the careful control he always maintains slipping just enough for me to see the raw emotion underneath. Before I can process it fully, he's moving closer, his free hand cupping my cheek as he pulls me against him.
"I couldn't stand to see you like that," he says, his voice rough with feeling. "Couldn't stand to think that I might lose her. That I might lose any of you."
My breath catches. The warmth of his palm against my skin, the intensity in his violet eyes—it's overwhelming and perfect and terrifying all at once.
"I love Rhea," he continues, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. "I love all three of my girls. Nya, Rhea, and you."
The world tilts. My heart pounds so hard I'm certain he can hear it, can feel it where our bodies press together. All the careful walls I've built, all the reasons I've given myself for keeping him at arm's length—they crumble in the face of those simple words.
His girls.
Not just Nya. All of us.
"Ciaran," I whisper, but I don't know what comes next. How do you respond when someone hands you everything you've been afraid to want?
He must see the shock in my face, the way I'm struggling to process what he's said, because his grip on me tightens slightly. Not possessive, but anchoring. Like he needs to make sure I don't flee.
"I can see you've been hesitant," he says, his voice dropping to that low rumble that always makes something flutter in my chest. "And I understand why. Some bastard hurt you, left you and Rhea behind. But if you don't want this—if you don't want me—then tell me now."
