But then I look again. When I do, I see I missed a key feature that led me to the wrong conclusion.
On Zahara’s cheeks, there is a deep red burn where the blood has pooled. That expression is one I know all too well. It is the look of shame.
Reaching out, I cup her face in one of my hands. Her skin is hot to my touch. Her eyes close like a loud door slamming in my face.
“You do not want my child?” I say. It is the only thing that makes sense.
Zahara’s eyelids rise high. Her feline gaze flashes at me. That blinding light from the animal inside her shows not a hint of shame. That is definitely anger. “I don’t want you to die.”
“Oh.” I smile, pleased at the vehemence in her tone at the potential of my demise. “It’s not an actual death. I would simply lose my immortality.”
Behind me, I hear Gaius grinding his molars. I know Hadrian has come into the room as well. He doesn’t gasp his shock, but he vibrates with tension.
I can’t spare my brothers any of my attention. My gaze never wavers from Zahara. She is the center of my universe.
I watch as the sunlight within her continues to wax and wane. Clouds move across her gaze as though a storm is only moments away. This storm won’t be a light spring sprinkle. This promises the torrential rains of a hurricane.
“What is he talking about?” says Hadrian.
“We went to see Dom,” Gaius answers. “Apparently, the vampirism can be reversed.”
“How?” says Marechal.
From the corner of my eyes, I see Marechal go into Gaius’s arms. Gaius’s arms move slowly around her. But once he has Marechal in his embrace, it’s as though the lead has left his body and he radiates warmth around her.
The same happens when Cari goes to Hadrian.
“Dom, another vampire, was bled dry,” Gaius says. “He survived by reconnecting with his soul, or the light, or some such woo-woo nonsense. I don’t know. But his mortality was restored.”
“Bleeding?” says Zahara. “No one said anything about bleeding.”
“So you did know,” Gaius accuses her.
“I knew…” Zahara clears her throat and closes her eyes. When she tries to raise her gaze, it falters. When she tries her voice again, it is only a whisper. “The prophecy indicates that he would die before the child is born.”
She raises her gaze now. The sorrow in her eyes nearly knocks me down. A tear pools at the corner of her eye. I catch it before it can fall.
Another joins the first. And then another. I cradle Zahara’s face in my hands and let the tears fall.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“I will not die,” I say, leaning my forehead against hers. “I’ve been dead all my life. The first time I ever felt alive is the moment I met you.”
Zahara presses her lips together. She looks as though she’s struggling to let words out. Or keep them in. I’m not sure which.
“You are my destiny, Zahara. If I was born simply to spend a few days loving you and then die giving you a child, that time will be a life well-lived.”
“No,” she says, the single word a forceful gale against my lips. “I do not want this destiny. I do not want this child. I just want you.”
“You have me.”
“And I’m keeping you. You are mine. Mine.”
I cannot stop the grin that spreads across my face. This wee little kitten was right. I am her captive. I will happily bind myself to her for the rest of my days, however many they are.
“You gave me the land. Marechal figured out what’s wrong with the vines. As far as I’m concerned, this prophecy is fulfilled.”
“But the child?” I say.
“I don’t want a child.”
I wince at the vehemence in those words. It’s clear she means it. The little cherub I’ve been dreaming of since the car ride home, the little boy with her dark hair and my light eyes—in my mind, I see him crying at his mother’s rejection. I see him shoved out of the room as his mother takes another male to bed. I see him sitting on the street, begging for a crumb of bread because there is no one in the world who cares about him.
“I want this child,” I say.
In my mind’s eye, the little boy looks up. Something sparkles in his eyes. It’s faint, but it’s there. It’s a small light of hope.
“Well, you’re not putting it in my womb.”
Zahara lifts her chin in that defiant pose that made me hard just hours ago. For the first time, I do not stir below. She steps towards me, shoving a claw-tipped finger into my chest. The point of it is a dagger in my heart.
“And if you dare think of sticking Frankie into any other woman—”
“Who’s Frankie?”
“—I’ll claw her eyes out. Her tits, too.”
Zahara turns on her heel and heads to the glass door of the patio. I take a step to follow, but she growls at me.
It’s not a low warning growl. It’s a growl of pure menace. One that says: fuck with me and I’ll take a bite out of you.
By the Fates, I love this woman.
Zahara opens the door and steps out. She reaches down and lifts the hem of her sundress up and over her head. I want to growl at my brothers to avert their gazes from her nakedness. But I am left speechless as her body begins to transform.
The smooth skin I love to kiss grows dark fur. The heart-shaped mouth that leaves me drunk, elongates into a muzzle. The tall, proud woman goes down to all fours as she shifts fully into a black panther.
She is magnificent. She is beautiful. She is mine, and our children will be perfect.
As though she can hear my thoughts, my panther growls at me again. This time, she flashes teeth. I have half
