Page 96 of The Gargoyle and the Maiden
“Winds aid us,” he rumbled against her stomach, but she could hear the smile in his voice. His arms wrapped around her hips, holding her like she might fly away. “Loïc will be insufferable. He’s been demanding a sibling since we came to the cliffs.”
She laughed, remembering their son’s recent campaign for a baby brother or sister, complete with arguments about how much help he would be in looking after the hatchling. “Well, now he’ll have to be careful what he wished for.”
Brandt rose slowly, his hands sliding up to frame her face. The loving ache in the bond, his fierce protection tempered with tenderness, still had the power to steal her breath. “I love you, Idabel. My mate. My poison and my cure. My everything.”
“I love you, too,” she said, words worn smooth by daily use but no less true. She pulled him down for another kiss, pouring all her joy into it. “Thank you for this treasure. Thank you for keeping me safe. Thank you for our family.”
“You gave me that,” he murmured against her lips. “Would you like to see more of your garden?”
“Show me everything,” she said eagerly, tugging him along the path. “Every plant, every stone you placed. I want to know all of it.”
He swept her up into his arms instead, making her squeal with surprised delight. “First, let me show you the bower I built in the eastern corner. You need to rest, especially now.”
“I’m pregnant, not an invalid,” she protested.
“Humor me, human.” He nuzzled her hair, inhaling deeply. “I stole you from our nest earlier. And I did not get enough of you in the sky. I want to hold you and arrange your hair and wrap you in my wings.”
As he carried her through her moonlit garden, past beds of feverfew and banks of ancient vining roses, Idabel thought about the journey that had brought them here. The betrayal and pain, the war and separation, the long road back to trust. Every seed of doubt that had sprouted along the way had been ripped out by the roots, replaced with something stronger, something that could weather any storm.
Brandt settled them into a bower made from living willow branches that he’d deftly woven into a canopy. He arranged her carefully against his chest, his wing extending to shelter them from the wind. She gave in completely, finding the most comfortable position on his big body to rest her head.
His hand splayed possessively over her belly, as his purr rumbled through her, pleased and proud. “Sleep now. I’ll be here when you wake.”
When dawn came, she would rise while Brandt turned to stone, caring for their family while he guarded their threshold. But they’d find each other again at dusk.
