“I’ll hold your hand!” He grabbed my hand with both of his, gripping tight. “Then you won’t be scared! I’m very good at holding hands!”
Something warm spread through my chest. “Thank you, pup. You are very good at holding hands.”
“The best,” Killian said seriously. “Papa says so.”
“You are,” Mal said softly, watching us with an expression that made my ribs feel too tight.
I deliberately didn’t look at him. “Stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Being sweet right now. I’m starting to get mad at you.”
“You can be mad and I can still think you are incredible.”
“Quit it.”
“No.”
Killian looked between us, frowning. “Are you guys fighting?”
“No, Killian,” I said quickly.
“You sound like you’re fighting. You’re using the voice.”
“What voice?”
“The mad voice. The one you use when I eat cookies before dinner.”
Mal coughed. “He is not wrong.”
I glared at him. “Not helping.”
Umrik cleared his throat loudly, reminding us he was still in the room and we were being ridiculous in front of an ancient scholar who probably had better things to do.
I offered my free hand to Umrik, the one Killian wasn’t death-gripping. “Let’s just get this over with.”
The blood test involved a small needle prick, some ancient magical ritual that looked like it came straight out of a fantasy movie, and my blood glowing in ways that blood definitely should not glow.
Killian watched with enormous eyes, providing running commentary.
“Is Mama dying?” he asked with genuine concern.
“What? No!”
“But he’s taking your blood OUT. That’s where blood lives! Inside you, not outside!”
“Just a little bit. For science.”
“Science is weird.”
“Very weird,” Mal agreed.
“Can I touch it?”
“No,” I said immediately.
“Why not?”
