Page 220 of Nightshade

Hands lodged into my hair, I fought the urge to sob on his doorstep. I knew I was crazy, even if I’d spent the last few months trying to convince myself that I wasn’t.

I didn’t know what else to do, though. Where to go. Jericho’s return, however impossible it might’ve been, depended on me.

I had reached the blackest of the abyss, and the only flicker of light had been snuffed with the slamming of that door.

Resting my forehead against the cold metal, I closed my eyes. “Please, Xhiphias,” I whispered, certain he couldn’t hear me. “If he doesn’t return to me, I don’t know what I’ll do. The baby that grows inside of me is his.”

Seconds ticked.

A loud clicking signaled the lock on the door.

I stepped back just as it swung open again, to find Xhiphias standing there as before, eyes narrowed.

“Whose?”

“Van Croix’s.”

“You are pregnant with Van Croix’s child, too?” Disbelief colored his tone in a way that had me convinced that Xhiphias didn’t expect me to return, at all, let alone pregnant.

“Yes.”

A flicker of confusion crossed his face. “And he knows of this child?”

“Yes.”

With a sigh, he crossed his arms, stroking his chin as if studying me. “You look like Death yourself.” Lips flat, he stared back at me for a moment, then stepped aside. “Come.”

I followed him in, and he guided me toward the pillows around the bonfire. The warmth felt good, but failed to fully penetrate the cold exterior that had clung to me for months. Taking a seat on one of the pillows, I watched him prepare a pipe, which he eventually lit, before sitting across the bonfire from me.

“I need to go back.”

A quick dip of his gaze toward my stomach, and he took a puff of his pipe. “I don’t think that would be wise.”

“Even if the baby is half Sentinel?”

Brow quirked, he paused his smoking. “You carry a Sentinel inside of you?”

Much as I was hesitant to say, not knowing the dynamic between demons and Sentinels, I answered for the sake of keeping his interest. “Yes.”

“Interesting.” He resumed his smoking and leaned back on one of the pillows behind him. “I wouldn’t know, then. I’ve never known someone to carry a Sentinel.”

“But there’s a chance it could hurt the baby?”

“Ordinarily, nothing survives the crossing. You seem to be the exception.”

Yanking up my sleeve, I showed him the branding on my arm, as I had before. “My father studied this symbol relentlessly, and I want to know what it means.”

“I told you once, I want nothing to do—”

“Please. Just tell me what you can.”

Rolling his eyes, he huffed. “Fine. It is an ancient Pri’scucian sigil.”

“Yes, I know that much. The Pentacrux stole the symbol, right?”

“I believe that’s how the story goes.”

“What does it mean? Does it translate to anything?”