Thing usually lets stronger personalities take the lead, which suits me fine. On the rare occasions he does voice opinions, he can be... challenging. Like pretending to be a mindless beast for two centuries when he could have told me he’d regained his sanity. I’m still processing that particular betrayal, even if I understand why he felt he couldn’t trust me.
After that first day of construction chaos, I was more than happy to leave them to their work and focus on Hannah. But now she nudges me forward with gentle insistence.
“Help them before Remus actually hurts someone.”
I give her my bestAre you sure adding fuel to this fire is wise?look, followed by another attempt at thelet’s go upstairssuggestion.
She laughs—that musical sound that hits me somewhere between my chest and my soul—and physically pushes me toward my brothers. I spread my wings slightly, giving her better access to my back, savoring her touch.
When she pulls away with that adorable laugh, I sigh and wade into the fray.
Surprisingly, we manage to work together effectively. Romulus had drawn up proper plans the night before, complete with measurements and assembly notes. Thing’s multiple arms prove invaluable for holding pieces in place while I provide counterbalance and Remus handles the precise work.
We work so smoothly that I don’t notice Hannah’s absence until my protective instincts suddenly flare to life. Before I can panic, Romulus grabs my arm.
“Smell,” he says simply.
The rich aroma of cooking meat and spices drifts up from the kitchen, immediately transforming my alarm into warmth. She’s been cooking for us all week, despite repeatedly insisting we shouldn’t get used to it. Every time I offer to handle the food preparation, she waves me off and heads to the kitchen herself.
Thing pounds in the final nail, and Romulus declares our work complete with more pride than a simple table probably warrants. But looking at our handiwork—solid, sturdy, made with our own hands for our family—I understand his satisfaction.
“Tomorrow I’ll stain it,” Romulus says, “but we can eat on it tonight.”
“Dinner’s ready!” Hannah calls, entering with a stewpot that’s far too heavy for her.
I’m across the room in seconds, carefully taking the pot from her hands. “You’ll burn yourself,” she warns, and the simple concern in her voice nearly undoes me.
No one has ever worried about my comfort before. No one has ever cared if I might be hurt by something as minor as a hot pot. The tenderness in her voice makes me want to abandon dinner entirely and show her exactly how her care affects me.
Only the knowledge that she needs the nutrition for our child keeps me focused on the task at hand.
After setting down the pot, I check her seat carefully, making sure the wood is smooth and splinter-free while Thing bustles around, setting the table with utensils and napkins. Watching Death play domestic servant would be amusing if it weren’t so endearing.
As Hannah settles beside me with that contented expression I’ve come to treasure, something shifts in my chest. Looking around the table at my brothers’ relaxed faces, the warm glow of lamplight on our handmade furniture, and Hannah’s smile that’s meant just for me...
I realize I’m happy.
For the first time in my entire existence, I’m genuinely, completely happy.
Hannah has brought us something I never knew we were missing—a sense of home, of family, of belonging somewhere other than a battlefield. Like sunlight breaking through an endless winter, she’s given us a new dawn.
The thought should fill me with pure joy, but instead, a chill of fear runs down my spine. As I finish my stew, savoring every spiced, perfect bite, a terrible question forms in my mind.
What if this disappears as quickly as it came?
I glance at Remus, who’s currently in control and enjoying his meal with characteristic indulgence. My stomach clenches with sudden urgency. We’ve been playing house when we should have been preparing for threats. Romulus needs to master his scrying shields, needs to discover what’s waiting out there in the darkness.
Because I’ve found something worth protecting now. Something precious beyond measure. And I’ll be damned if I let anyone—angel, demon, or otherwise—take this happiness away from us.
The contentment around our table feels fragile suddenly, like spun glass that could shatter at the first wrong move. But looking at Hannah, at the way she unconsciously rests her hand on her still-flat belly, I know I’ll fight heaven and hell to keep this moment, this feeling, this family we’re building together.
Whatever’s coming for us, we’ll be ready.
FORTY-EIGHT
HANNAH
I wakeup alone for the first time in a week, and honestly? It’s kind of jarring. Abaddon’s side of the bed—okay, let’s be real, like three-quarters of the bed—is empty, and I actually have to blink a few times to process it.
