Page 310 of Vasmora

Sighing, he poured himself a glass of liquor and kicked it back. “He felt compelled to tell me about the battle between the scorpion and spider. Followed by his disappointment that I didn’t bring him a razorpup home from Solassios.” Swiping up the decanter from the table, he poured another drink. “Followed by a long and rather convincing argument for why he should be allowed to ride Luna by himself.” Another backward tip of his head emptied the second glassful.

I nibbled on my lip, once again staring at the concaved dips in his cheeks, my fingers tingling with the memory of having traced them. “I blame you for his relentless insistence.”

Zevander chuckled, turning around to reveal one of his more impressive erections. “I’m only relentless when I want something very badly.” The perfect V-line guided my eyes to where his manhood stood proud, the couple piercings he’d kept glinting in the light.

“You seem eager. A fortnight living amongst gorgeous, young Solassion women didn’t sour your appetite for me?” It wouldn’t have surprised me had they taken an interest in him. He aged like a fine wine, his scars failing to deter the many women I’d caught leering a few seconds too long.

“Lothare does draw quite a collection, but no.” His gaze dropped toward the sheets, as though he could see right through it. An arrogant smile matched the cocky roll of his hips as he strolled toward the edge of the bed and ran his finger across the covering, directly over my exceptionally sensitive nipple. “They don’t look like you.” Planting his fists at either side of me, he bent low and kissed my jaw. “They don’t smell like you.” He buried his face in my neck and inhaled, a rumble of a growl in his throat. “And as sure as Nethyria is cold, they could never taste like you, either.” His teeth nipped my earlobe, and I twitched, smiling.

“You don’t always have to be perfect, you know. You could say something infuriating sometimes. Add a little conflict to the mix.”

“I don’t say these things to impress you.” Hand cupping my jaw, he tilted my head to the side just enough to kiss the hollow of my neck. “I say them because they’re true. You are the only creature in this world that I crave.”

Familiar pangs of anxiety sank its teeth into my chest. My brows pulled tight as the worry hooked itself into my stomach. Humiliating, unfounded worry that always seemed to creep up on me at the most inopportune moments.

Clearly sensing it, he lifted his head, staring down at me. “What’s troubling you, moon witch?”

I hesitated to say, my silly emotions ruining our long-awaited reunion. “Is it possible to be too happy? I have this constant fear that something is going to take it all away. Every time you leave and come back. Sometimes, I have nightmares that I died and this is Caligorya.” My voice heightened as the worry climbed to my throat. “Nothing but an eternal dream.”

He lifted the sheet, his big body urging me to scoot over while he climbed into the bed beside me.

I’d forgotten how easily his body eclipsed mine. How warm and safe I felt tucked into the crook of his arm.

“The world has already taken its share from us.” Palm gripping my crown, he dragged me close and kissed my forehead. “We’ve paid our dues.”

“Is it enough?”

His fingertip hooked my chin, drawing my eyes to his. “It’s enough.”

Would it have mattered, anyway? If I was happy, living eternity with Zevander, our son, and everyone I loved? Perhaps that was what scared me most—not truly grasping what made reality real. What separated us from dreams.

I curled into his body, inhaling his spicy scent that had my mouth watering, the panic shrinking back to its dark corner. “It’s just that … the love I feel for you and Branimir … it’s incomprehensible. Like my heart is going to burst sometimes.”

He sighed and held me tighter, his biceps bulging around me as I lost myself in his embrace. “Well, there’s only one solution for that.”

“Which is?”

“I put another baby inside you. Another share of all that love.”

The night I’d told him that I was with child, he’d agonized, desperate to convince me that he’d make a horrible father. For the first five months of my pregnancy, he was certain we’d made a mistake. Didn’t matter how much I had reassured him, he kept his distance from me, believing his mere presence to be an omen to the child. Somewhere in the last few months of my pregnancy, he grew curious, and on the moonlit night of Branimir’s birth, when he’d held his son for the first time, something inside of him had flipped upside down.

I’d seen pride beaming in his eyes, and not the shallow gratification that came from mere praise. This was deeper. Far more visceral. The kind that bloomed on its own, withering the weeds of shame and humiliation that’d choked him for two centuries. He’d created life, and suddenly, the past no longer mattered.

“Are you so desperate to see me bulging with pregnancy again?” I asked.

He rolled over top of me, caging me beneath him. “Clearly, you have no idea how fucking divine you looked while carrying my child. It’s a wonder we don’t have a dozen of them already.”

“Absolutely not. One is good. Two is probably too many.”

“Three.” He nestled his face in my hair, inhaling me.

“One.”

“Fine.”

I frowned, pressing my palm against his chest. “Fine? You never give up so easily.”

Against my resistance, he kissed me on the nose. “We’ll revisit this after the second arrives.”