Page 149 of Born for Lace

I don’t think it can…

ChapterForty-Seven

Dahlia

First-light comes and goes.

And goes.

And goes.

Three days pass by.

Lagos moves around the farmhouse like a phantom—while he is awake, I can’t seem to catch him, and when he sleeps, I’m hesitant to wake him again.

Not after the taser…

He is disconnected and angry. His torment and disassociation cling to him like a second skin.

On the ground floor, I stand by the kitchen window, with Spero on my hip, looking out and seeing a half-built stonewall and the haze of the Redwind.

I set the taser down on the counter. In case he asks me where it is, I usually have it within reach.

My swelling belly stretches my white slip-dress. Admittedly, I wear it to showcase my body, every curve, and the tight, round shape of his unborn child at my hips.

If he is going to avoid me.

I will not make it easy.

As certain as the Redwind, I watch Lagos' huge foreboding figure part the dense crimson haze, loose strands of dark-blonde hair whipping around his face, heavy stones grasped in his arms.

Each stone has a purpose, each one contributing to the protective perimeter around our home.

A stone at a time.

The silence between us sometimes feels like a tear in The Crust, gasping and drawing us in. But there is peace in his solitude, even if mine is filled with angst and yearning.

Don’t push him, Dahlia.

To pass the time, I clean and organise the farmhouse. Spero has a playroom now, and we have a nice, clean, organised bedroom in the bunker, though Lagos has been sleeping at the door every night.

I sigh as he drops to his haunches, stacking the stones, hands and forearms bloodied from his toil of madness.

Worry washes over me.

I can see the weight of the Shadow on his shoulders. He carries that part of his personality as though it is a feasting animal, claws in deep, mouth at his jugular.

My stomach clenches and my lungs squeeze, knowing he wrestles with memories that haunt, terrorise him, and confuse him.

Each first-light, each stone, he fights, and I wish I could reach into his beautiful and gruesome mind to pull him out of the darkness, but I know he needs time.

Is he out there because he likes the Redwind? The drone of it?

Is it comforting? So he cannot hear the echoes of his own screaming torture.

Did he scream?

Probably not…

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