“What’s it like?” Cass had avoided learning about pregnancy, had buried her head in the sand, some part of her believing it would never happen to her.
Her maternal instincts weren’t exactly strong. Milos was her baby and she doted on him, and she loved Mari with all her heart and would do anything for her. Did that mean she would feel some degree of hurt when she gave up her child?
Megan settled her hands on her stomach as Ares kneeled before her, rubbing her thighs through her jeans. “I’m sick more than I’m not. I’m tired all the time. I get awful sleep. I have the weirdest cravings.”
Ares grinned at Cass. “She really does.”
Doting idiot.
He looked as if the entire world revolved around the woman before him.
“Can I… I mean… I know some women don’t like it… but could I touch it?” Cass glanced at Daimon as she asked that. A mistake.
A thought pinged into her head.
Would he ever look at her the way Ares looked at Megan?
Did she want him to?
Her heart whispered the answer.
She did.
“Sure.” Megan shifted her hands aside.
Cass gingerly placed her palm against the top of Megan’s belly. Power curled through her, emanating not from Megan but from the baby growing inside her. She focused on it and a smile teased her lips against her will.
“She’s strong,” she whispered, glancing at Megan.
Who went awfully still.
Megan’s chocolate eyes slowly widened and edged towards Ares. “She?”
Ares teared up like a fool. “A little girl.”
Megan choked on what Cass hoped was a happy sob, covering her mouth with her hand.
“Oh gods, you didn’t know,” Cass blurted. Was it too late to backpedal and say she always referred to babies with the female pronoun?
Ares grinned.
Megan laughed, a little hysterically. “I told you there was more than one sex.”
Ares ran a shaky hand over his overlong tawny hair, his smile fading. “Shit. A little girl.”
He looked as if he didn’t know whether to be deliriously happy or absolutely terrified.
Megan’s face fell. “We’ll keep her safe.”
And it dawned on Cass.
Ares feared his daughter would suffer the same horrible fate that his sister had.
“She is strong.” Cass palmed Megan’s belly. “Very strong. Forged by flame like her father, but she will be kind-hearted like her mother.”
Caterina and Eva joined the group, all smiles. Calistos moved in to crowd Megan with Mari, and Cass turned to look at Ares.
Her gaze caught on Daimon.
He still stood in the same place, his eyes holding that pain she hated seeing in them as he stared at Megan and Ares.
Why?
It wasn’t because he couldn’t touch someone the way Ares was touching Megan, because he could touch her if he would only allow himself that pleasure.
So what was holding him back? Why did he look so hurt as he watched her touching Megan’s belly, when everyone else looked so ridiculously happy about the situation?
He turned his cheek to her and walked into the garden without a word.
Cass watched him go, the joy of the moment fading into concern that ate away at her, had her filling with a need to rise and follow him.
She pushed onto her feet and trailed after Daimon, following the steppingstones that wound between the manicured pine topiary in the central courtyard. Moonlight bathed the garden beyond, shining on Daimon where he sat on a boulder on the far side of the koi pond.
Cass stilled and watched him.
He stared at his bare upturned palm, his gaze distant. Miniature ice sculptures formed on his hand. Was he aware of the shapes he was making with his power? He looked as if he was staring straight through them, lost in thought and unaware of the world around him.
She edged closer, proving that to herself when he didn’t stir, not even when she reached the arched wooden bridge that spanned the pond.
The air was colder here, had her breath fogging in front of her face, and she looked at Daimon’s feet, unsurprised to see frost flowers blooming across the boulder. Whatever he was thinking about, it was upsetting him.
The ice melted and then reformed, taking on the shape of a woman.
Her?
The belly of the curvy figure swelled.
Megan?
No emotion touched his face as he ran a lone finger over the belly of the woman, but Cass could feel the turmoil beating in his heart.
A sorrowful edge crossed his features as he continued to touch the ice sculpture, as he lifted his hand and stroked her face. There was affection in that caress.
His mouth moved, his whisper so low she couldn’t hear what he was saying to the woman. In response, the ice sculpture shifted, touching her stomach first and then extending her arms towards Daimon.
His shoulders tensed beneath his turtleneck and he drew a shaky breath and then released it, shuddering as he did so.
He whispered something else.
The statue shattered, raining shards of ice like diamonds onto the rocks at his feet.
She should go.
She knew that deep in her heart, but that same heart needed to know the things Daimon wouldn’t tell her, the things he had buried deep—the cause of the barrier he kept lifting between them.
The source of the pain that often shone in his eyes.
Cass told herself again to go, not to intrude when he clearly needed some time alone.
But she couldn’t bring herself to move.
Couldn’t ignore the burning need to know why he was sitting alone with an ice sculpture of a pregnant woman.
“You’re a very talented artist,” she whispered, afraid of disturbing him, unsure how he would react.
He didn’t look at her.
Didn’t say anything.
“Is it someone you know?” She braved a step closer and rubbed her arms to keep the chill off them as the temperature dropped another few degrees.
He barely dipped his head in response, his ice-blue eyes fixed on the melting ice fragments around his feet. She had never seen someone look so alone. So lonely. So in need
