know a father. Just as she had never known a father.
Sad how the circumstances of her life seemed inescapable, even for her unborn child. She pulled her sweater a little closer. Losing Mal like this was worse than when she’d thought he’d died in the city square. It would have been better if that had been his end than knowing he might now actually be her enemy. She shook her head, her vision blurring slightly. How would she fight him if it came to that?
Her hand slid to her stomach. She knew how. With strength and resolution, because protecting this child meant more than anything. She understood now why her mother had sacrificed so much and been willing to fight so hard. She also understood a part of her would die with him. There was no other way to survive something that horrific.
“Chrysabelle?”
The voice yanked her from her thoughts. She turned. “Mortalis. I didn’t know you were coming by.”
The shadeux fae blinked, his expression unchanged. “Sorry. Is it a bad time?”
“No, it’s fine.” She pointed to the chaise next to her. “Join me.”
He sat, perching on the edge like he might have to leap into action at any moment. He scanned the perimeter beyond where the security lights around the property faded into blackness. “I came to see how you’re doing. Nyssa’s been asking about you.”
“You told her about…” She didn’t mind Nyssa knowing about the pregnancy, but the more people who knew, the harder the secret would be to keep.
His gaze stayed fixed to one distant spot for a few counts. “No, she just wanted to know how you’re adjusting to life with Damian. That’s all she knows.”
Chrysabelle exhaled. It didn’t surprise her that Mortalis had kept the secret of her pregnancy from his partner. The fae was stalwart in his loyalty to those he considered friends. “You can tell her. I trust her like I trust you.”
A slight upturning of his mouth and Mortalis finally made eye contact. “Thank you.” He moved back on the chaise a little. “You’re well then?”
“Well enough. Thanks again for helping me buy that plane and find that pilot. Not that I plan to travel any time soon, but Damian might.” She shrugged. “It’s nice to know it’s there if we need it.”
“You’re welcome. Although I think Amery wishes he could have taken the pilot’s job.”
She smiled. “He’s a good kid. I like him. Tell him I said hi next time you see him.”
Mortalis’s gaze dropped to her stomach before shifting away suddenly like he’d heard something. He slanted his eyes toward her, looking past the horns that curled from the top of his head to his jaw line. “Without any alarm, stand up and walk back to the house.”
She sat up, her body tensing. She took a breath and relaxed as he’d asked, then stood. “Velimai made a gorgeous chocolate cake for dessert. Why don’t you come inside and I’ll pack up a few slices for you to take home to Nyssa.”
He nodded, still surreptitiously watching the horizon. “Sounds good.” He gave her elbow a nudge, pushing her forward.
She tried to keep a casual pace, but the tickle of fear at the base of her spine made casual difficult. Once they were inside, Mortalis punched the panel beside the sliders to close the curtains and give them privacy.
Her breath stuck in her throat. “What’s going on?”
Nothing about his expression said his answer would be good news. “Has Mal tried to contact you?”
“No. Do you expect him to?”
After a long breath, he nodded. “I think he’s outside right now. Watching you.”
She reached for the curtains, but he caught her arm. “Don’t. It’s better if he doesn’t know you know.”
“Why is that better? What does he want with me?” She put her hand over her heart to feel it race beneath her skin. “Do you think he knows about the baby? Velimai, bring me my sacre.”
Mortalis grabbed her arms and held her still. “Listen to me. There’s no way he could know about the baby. You’re not in any danger right now.”
She stared at him. “Really? Because you know I’ve invited him in. There’s nothing to keep him from entering the house.” Panic clawed at her throat, making it hard for her to breathe.
Velimai ran in with Chrysabelle’s sacre, her eyes rounded with concern.
“Mal’s outside,” Chrysabelle shot back.
Mortalis held up one six-fingered hand. “Nothing’s happening. I
“Like that’s better.” Chrysabelle shuddered. Something was wrong with her to react like this. She pulled out of Mortalis’s grasp and sat on the couch. “What is my problem? I don’t normally freak out like this.”
Chrysabelle nodded, not really wanting the milk but knowing Vel would feel better with something to do.
Mortalis sat on the ottoman across from her. “You going to be okay?”
“I’m fine.” She pressed her palm to her forehead. “Or as fine as I can be considering I’m going to be high- strung for the next few months. Holy mother, help us all. I don’t like this one bit.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “What am I going to do about Mal? I can’t live with him stalking me. Or whatever else he might be up to.”
“Whenever you leave the house, I want you to wear your body armor.”
“Mortalis, I have the gold from the ring of sorrows sewn into my back. Death isn’t a permanent thing for me anymore, remember?” She picked up her sacre, comforted by the sword’s height in her hand.
He raised his brows. “You carry another life inside you now. Do you trust that gold to protect your unborn child’s life as well?”
She closed her eyes for a moment, knowing he was right. “No. And this child is everything to me.” Including her only connection to the Mal she loved. She looked toward the sliders. “Wearing that armor isn’t going to keep Mal from coming back, though.”
Mortalis followed her gaze. “He’s drawn by the memory of your blood, I’m sure.” He sighed. “We need to take the threat level down.”
Her hand tightened around the hilt of her sacre. “I’ll do it.” She’d known this moment might come, just hadn’t expected it so soon.
Mortalis frowned. “Do what?”
She tipped the blade toward the sliders. “Reduce the threat level.”
“I didn’t mean kill him.” Mortalis looked a little shocked, which for him meant slightly elevated brows. “I meant find a way to reduce his cravings for your blood.”
She grimaced, but let the weapon drop to her side. “You want me to leave a glass of blood on the porch for him? Because I don’t feel like that’s a step in the right direction.” Although, if it meant helping Mal, she was all in.
A light turned on in his eyes. “In a way, that’s exactly what you need to do.” He nodded, clearly thinking through what he was about to tell her. “Let me explain…”
As soon as Chrysabelle went inside, Mal dropped over the security wall and onto the unoccupied neighboring property. No matter how much he wanted to sink his teeth into the comarre he owned, he wasn’t about to take on a wysper or shadeux fae to do it. The voices chimed in agreement.
For all the grief Chrysabelle had put him through, for the hell she’d made his life, she
He pushed through the overgrowth that had once been manicured landscaping. Whoever owned the property had let it fall into disrepair. He glanced toward the house. No lights, no sense of life inside. Was it completely abandoned? If they were winter people, they’d be here now. He peered through the branches of a bottle brush tree. Certainly more comfortable than the rusted freighter he called home. And so conveniently located. Chrysabelle had asked him to move into the new yacht she intended to buy. How would she feel about him living next door? Like he cared. With a twisted smile, he started forward to investigate, but an odd rustling caught
