* * *
‘Clash of will, the scent of blood,
Cries of pain, like a raging flood.
Thundering boots, the pounding drums,
Battle raged on, death the sums.
He killed with skill, his enemies fell,
Their screams and shouts, a living hell.
The stench of death, a constant reminder,
Of the cost of war, a solemn binder.
* * *
Oh, Mighty Warlord knows the cost,
The tears shed, the souls lost.
Battle never won without a price,
He carries that burden, a sacrifice.
For the mate he loves,’”
* * *
He paused dramatically and lifted his gaze to lock with mine as he finished.
* * *
“’He fights. He dies.
Only in death,
Forced to leave her side.’”
* * *
Subtle. Luckily, his last dramatic flourish had sent Alena into a squealing fit that wouldn’t stop until her father took her out of her highchair. Both girls were a mess, a handful of snacks smeared across each of their trays, their faces and in their hair.
Not to be outdone, Terra joined her sister, matching scream for scream. It was a game they played sometimes, just like the mumbling twin-speak I heard developing more and more in their interactions. I had no doubt they would have their own language worked out before their first birthdays.
Adrian and I still remembered noises and movements we’d used to communicate when we were young, things no one else on the planet would understand. That shared life, being a twin, was something I held sacred. I was beyond grateful that my girls would share that as well.
Velik cursed, his large hands wrestling overlong with the plastic snaps and buckles that held the twins in place. But he persisted. Soon he had a little one in each arm, both of his daughters reaching for his nose as he turned his face back and forth between them.
“You’re my beauty.” He turned. “And you’re my beauty.” He looked at daughter number one. “Smart, perfect girl.” Back to the other. “Smart perfect girl.”
His voice was…goofy. The sound shocking, coming from a male warrior over seven feet tall.
“Do we want to read some more?” he asked them.
“No.”
