"Kess—"
"Don't." I pull back before I can lose myself entirely. "Don't say anything. Just—go get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be hard enough without both of us running on nothing."
For a moment I think he's going to argue. Going to close the distance again and kiss me until neither of us can think straight. Part of me wants him to. Part of me is terrified he will.
But he just nods, something fierce and tender and determined all tangled together in his expression.
"Tomorrow," he says. "We end this curse. Together."
Then he's gone, the door closing softly behind him, and I'm alone with my hand pressed to my belly and my heart pounding against my ribs.
Tomorrow, everything changes.
I close my eyes and practice the ritual words one more time, letting the harsh syllables ground me in something I can control.
Blood calls to blood. The willing vessel accepts. The curse transfers.
I fall asleep with the words still echoing in my skull, and for once, I don't dream of golden claws and my daughter screaming.
I dream of flying.
32
Rhystan
The first weekis the hardest.
Not the research—though that's brutal enough, endless hours bent over crumbling texts in a language that died before I was cursed. Not the timeline pressing down on us like a physical weight, the knowledge that our daughter's life is measured in weeks now instead of months.
No, the hardest part is having my pregnant mate three feet away and not being allowed to touch her.
She's sitting across the table from me right now, morning sun catching the red-gold streaks in her hair as she frowns at a manuscript. Wearing one of the dresses I had made for her—soft fabric that won't restrict her growing belly. Four months pregnant and showing clearly now, the swell of her visible even when she's hunched over ancient texts.
My dragon rumbles in my chest.Mate. Pregnant. Ours.
The beast doesn't understand why we're keeping our distance. Doesn't understand betrayal or broken trust or the complicated mathematics of earning back something you destroyed. It only knows that she'sright there, carrying ourchildren, and we're not wrapped around her keeping everything dangerous away.
Soon, I tell it.Maybe. If we don't fuck this up again.
The dragon subsides, unconvinced.
"This section mentions 'vessels of sufficient strength,'" Kess says without looking up. "But it doesn't define what that means. Physical strength? Magical capacity? Spiritual fortitude?"
"Probably all three." I keep my voice neutral, professional. "The curse isn't just physical. It's divine punishment compressed into blood and bone. Whatever vessel receives it needs to be strong enough to contain that without shattering."
"Good thing I'm not the shattering type."
"No." I let myself look at her—really look, just for a moment. "You're not."
She glances up, catches me watching. Something flickers in her expression before she banks it.
"Stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're memorizing me in case I die."
"I'm not." I return my attention to my own manuscript. "I'm looking at you like I'm trying to figure out how someone so intelligent can be so determined to get herself killed."
