Page 36 of The First Child
“One night to find out if love is enough.”
“One night to learn whether the universe has any sense of justice left.”
Aniska chooses that moment to make a soft cooing sound, her empathic field radiating the kind of contentment that comes from being surrounded by people who would do anything to keep her safe. Whatever the tribunal decides, she knows she’s loved. She knows she belongs with us.
And maybe, just maybe, that knowledge will be enough to bring her home.
The baby monitorglows softly as Aniska’s breathing evens out. Her tiny fist uncurls against the pillow, finally peaceful after weeks of empathic storms.
I step back from the crib, and Sylas moves with me—our bodies finding that careful distance we’ve maintained for months. The space between us hums with unspoken things.
“She’s happy,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. The bioluminescent markings along his temples pulse faintly in the dim light. “I can feel it.”
“Good.” My throat is dry. “She deserves to be happy.”
We’ve done this dance a hundred times—putting her to bed together, moving around each other with practiced efficiency. But tonight feels different. Tonight, the air between us crackles with something that has nothing to do with Aniska’s empathic gifts.
I brush past him on my way to the door, and his breath catches. The sound goes straight through me.
In the living area, Christmas lights cast everything in warm amber. The little tree we argued about last week twinkles in the corner, surrounded by wrapped packages that probably contain more baby clothes and toys than any six-month-old needs. But it’s ours. This space, this strange life we’ve built—it’s ours.
“Coffee?” I ask, because I need something to do with my hands.
“No.” He’s watching me move around the kitchen, and I can feel the weight of his gaze like a physical touch. “Hada.”
I freeze with my back to him. The way he says my name—like a prayer, like a curse—makes my skin burn.
“What?” I don’t turn around. Can’t.
“Look at me.”
I set the coffee mug down with shaking fingers and face him. He’s standing in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, one hand braced against the frame. The lights from the tree catch the silver in his eyes, making them glow.
“This has to stop,” he says.
My heart hammers against my ribs. “What has to stop?”
“You know what.” His voice is rough, strained. “This pretending. This careful distance. This—” He gestures between us, and I see his hand trembling. “I can’t do it anymore.”
Neither can I. The confession hovers on my lips, but I’m terrified to speak it. Because once I do, there’s no going back.
“Sylas—”
“I want you.” The words are torn from him, raw and desperate. “I want you so much I can barely think. I want you when you’re arguing with me about feeding schedules. I want you when you’re singing to her in that terrible voice you think I can’t hear. I want you when you fall asleep on the couch with formula stains on your shirt.” He takes a step toward me. “I want you right now so badly it’s killing me.”
The coffee mug slips from my nerveless fingers and shatters on the floor.
“Shit.” I drop to my knees, reaching for the pieces, but his hands catch my wrists.
“Leave it.”
I look up at him from the floor, and the hunger in his silver eyes steals my breath. His bioluminescent markings are pulsing faster now, casting shifting patterns of light across his sharp features.
“I want you too,” I whisper. The confession feels like stepping off a cliff. “I’ve wanted you for months. Since that night when you did the calming ritual and I realized you weren’t the enemy anymore.”
His grip on my wrists tightens. “Then why?—”
“Because I was terrified.” The words spill out of me. “Because wanting you felt like losing myself. Because I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you, and it scares the hell out of me.”
