Part of me is relieved to have some space to think, but there’s this weird part that actually misses his overwhelming presence. When did I start looking forward to his bossy protectiveness? When did I start being the one pulling him toward the bedroom withthat look?
After Drew, I never thought I’d be the one initiating intimacy. But comparing Drew to Abaddon is like comparing a flickering candle to a bonfire. The things that man can do with his hands, his mouth, his?—
Nope. Focus, Hannah.
I press a hand to my racing heart and laugh at myself. Who knew sex could actually be like this? It’s like the universe decided to make up for all those years my body was a prison by giving me the most incredible physical experiences possible.
And apparently I’m all in on this situation, even though I never consciously decided that. For once in my life, I’m letting my body lead me toward something good instead of betraying me.
My stomach growls loud enough to wake the dead, reminding me that there are now two hungry people in this body.
Holy shit, I’m pregnant.
The thought still feels surreal. I keep expecting someone to pop out and tell me this is all some elaborate prank. But the constant hunger and the way I’m always warm even when it’s snowing outside and the windows are open... When I asked Abaddon about it last night, his eyes went wide with excitement.
“The kit is doing it! From inside you! He is already powerful!”
Kit.Ugh. And the automatic assumption it’s ahe. We’re going to have some serious conversations about gender expectations and twenty-first-century parenting if this relationship is going anywhere.
Relationship.Am I in a relationship with one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse? My life has gotten so weird.
I shake my hands out, needing movement before I spiral into a full panic about impending motherhood. What do I know about kids? I’ve changed maybe two diapers in my entire life, and one of those times the baby peed in my face.
Food. Food will help. It always does.
I take care of business in the bathroom and head to the kitchen to make myself four pieces of toast with butter and jam. Not to share—these are all mine. Whatever’s growing inside me has opinions about carbs, and I’m not arguing.
The sound of hammering, followed by this hauntingly beautiful whistling, leads me down the hall. It’s in a minor key, sad but gorgeous, and it makes my chest tight in the best way.
I find Thing in a candlelit room, using multiple arms to hold boards and hammers while building what looks like a bed frame. The craftsmanship is actually incredible—rustic but sturdy, with a beautiful headboard.
“Hello,” I say, and he startles so badly he smashes his thumb with the hammer.
“Oh no!” I rush over and grab his hand before thinking about personal boundaries. “Are you okay?”
He jerks back like I’ve burned him, scrambling away on all fours before examining his thumb. The way he moves, the way he sniffs his injury—it’s both animalistic and oddly endearing.
“Sorry to just barge into your space,” I say, taking a step back.
“Wait. Do not go.”
I pause as he wipes his hands down his face, and I swear for a second he blurs into the shadows. But then he’s solid again, approaching me slowly.
“Why do you stay?” he asks. “You should go. We are monsters.”
I shrug, keeping my voice casual. “Monster is a subjective term. Kids used to call me things like that because my back was bent and I wasn’t like them.”
“It is not our backs. It is in our souls. Our insides are bent. Some monsters are real.”
I look at his beautiful furniture project. “Maybe, but sounds like if anyone was a monster, it was your father.”
His eyes flash with something that might be hope.
“Was that you whistling? It was gorgeous.”
He nods, confused. “I did not realize it was out loud.”
“Where’d you learn that song?”
