Kissing him was paradise – had always been paradise. If Croe could live out the rest of her days pressed against him, skin to skin, she would. As if called up by his energy, her power hummed beneath the surface, reverberated through her throat in a husky purr. This near to him, everything else melted away.
Except for Ángela, that is.
Ángela.
Croe’s eyes closed, brows pinched, as she repeated the name in a whisper. It was a strange sensation, this echo of the vision in the cave, both like and unlike. The baby was an angel, she agreed. There was no more fitting name for this creature clinging to her breast. Ángela had saved her, in a way. Had saved them. Had changed the ancient laws, changed the world, just by winking into existence. And that vision would not, could not occur now – she’d been so small in that horrible dream, but in all likelihood would spend the entirety of her babyhood ensconced in castle walls.
Maybe that was one of the things that drove her to surrender, subconsciously. Either way, she had never been more grateful to be jailed. Croe may not have been out of the woods, but she would gladly sacrifice her own security to protect this child. What was a prison to her, would be a fortress of protection for Ángela.
When she opened her eyes again, she was smiling faintly, caught in her own thoughts. That smile spread to her eyes as she watched Mallos and Ángela watching each other, the bond between father and daughter snapping into place, like a tether between their hearts. Though she’d never been actively afraid that Mallos would reject his daughter, it was still a relief to see that he felt the way she felt.
Wordlessly, she lifted the baby up to him, like an offering. Her night-black eyes were bright, lit by inner stars.
|
 |