“You should fire him,” I said. Michael had made the city.
“Definitely.”
A baby’s wail sounded from upstairs. I froze in my seat, my heart beating a mile a minute.
“There she is,” Mom said and checked the clock above the fireplace. “Two-hour nap. Nice.” She climbed the steps and disappeared, and I watched Michael, seeking reassurances I could manage his surprise. I have someone I want you to meet, he’d said to me. I’d once told him I enjoyed surprises, and now, like Nathan, I wanted to throw my hands up in protest at why he hadn’t warned me so I could emotionally prepare for meeting this new…new little person that Mom carried down the stairs, eyes on me.
I stood and stretched out my hands.
Mom handed me the baby, and, bundled up, the baby smelled like all babies do, of powder and innocence. I kissed her little forehead, choking on tears at the back of my throat. I held back and enjoyed the girl with her pink pajamas and a pink hat that read “blessed.”
“She’s beautiful,” I said. And there it was, the mortal I could make new memories with. She would know me only as me and as I was now, and she would know me for the rest of her mortal life. “What’s her name?”
“Julia,” my mom said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to say to me.
My chin quivered, and Mom smiled. “Awww.” She hugged us and tapped my back, and I inhaled the smell of her, the one that has no comparison. It just smelled like Mom.
Too soon, Mom stepped back, and I sat down with the baby.
“I’m very happy you named her Julia. What a coincidence.” Michael winked at me.
If I could utter words without crying I would tell him what he’d done for me by bringing me here and allowing me to be a part of their lives. But he knew. This was his war plan for me. He conquered me heart and soul, and if I had to give up my life for his again, I would.
Mom took the baby upstairs so she could feed her, and we stayed with Dad, who talked shop with Michael. It turned out Dad had taken over Mr. Habib’s business and crafted weapons now. I wasn’t surprised. Daddy was a great craftsman. He’d always worked in his shed.
We left as quietly as we came, and when they closed the door behind us, Michael nudged me up the street. We strolled between the falling snowflakes.
“Do you still mourn the Before?” Michael asked.
I faced him. “No.”
“Why not?” He smirked, knowing he’d won.
“Because I look forward to being a part of this future.”
****
Hi, Milana here. Back in 2019, the irony of writing post apocalyptic/dystopian romance escaped me until Year2020. Still, I have faith you enjoyed this fictional world where Michael rules with an iron fist. He was a hard Alpha to write, and Julia handled him well. Sometimes I wanted to stab him in the eye with my pen, sometimes I wanted to cuddle with him. The struggle was real as I wrote him.
If you are new-to-me reader please note I write an overreaching plotline that spans an entire series, and you’ll read more about Michael and Julia as the series moves along. If you’re a seasoned Pumpkin, welcome back to Milanaverse! I’m excited and grateful for your loyalty and support. Enjoy an exclusive peek into Lord Raphael’s story next.
Court of Sunder exclusive teaser
uncorrected proof pending release
The commander tasked me to guard the prisoner with my life. A strange request seeing as Lord Raphael could not only self-heal, he couldn’t even die. But nobody questioned the commander, and I wouldn’t be the first to do so.
My partner, an angel named Koliko, stepped away from the door that led to the keep. I did the same. His hearing, far better than mine, likely heard the commander ascending the steps, and I could tell Koliko heard the commander specifically by the way he pulled back his shoulders, puffed out his chest, and stared somewhere above my head, never making eye contact with me even though, at my five-nine, we were almost the same height. I mirrored his posture.
From the other side, the commander knocked, and I opened the door for him, wondering for the millionth time why he bothered knocking when he could simply swing the door with a flick of his wrist.
He exited, then paused in front of me, a massive angel with golden wings, eyes, and hair, and also, a heart made of solid gold, hard and kind at the same time. The commander carried his divine presence like a second skin, and it made him seem larger than life. So when he turned his attention to me, and when those golden eyes locked with mine, I simply said, “Yes, Commander.” It didn’t really matter if he asked anything or not. The commander welcomed and rewarded obedience.
He took my hand and stared at it. An electric current ran from my fingertips to my shoulder, raising goose bumps on my skin.
“Bring me a bucket of this nail polish,” he said.
We stared at my glittery gold polish. “It comes in small bottles, Commander.”
“Then a bottle of it. For Julia, of course.”
“Of course. I will bring it tomorrow.”
“Excellent.”
“And Nevaeh?”
Shit. He said my name. He addressed soldiers as solider, and if we ever found ourselves in the unfortunate situation of having to speak with him personally, we addressed him as Commander and prayed he never found out we seldom folded the right corner of our blanket before heading out for the
