“Birth control, beloved,” Koa clarified.
“Oh.”
My cheeks heated as understanding dawned. Papa had explained the basics when I got my first period, and I’d read enough books to understand the mechanics, but the practical part had never been part of my life before I married, and my stepmother certainly hadn’t bothered to provide anything when I left for my new home.
“When was your last menstrual cycle?” Casimir’s clinical tone made the question slightly less mortifying than it might have been.
“I—”
I stopped, unsure how much of an answer I could give them.
“We should have had this conversation a week ago,” Zane rambled, scrubbing his hand through his hair until it stood up in wild stalks. “Who knew condoms would be harder to bring up than marriage? I mean, somehow, ‘Hey, let’s talk about latex barriers,’ felt too awkward and—”
“Calm down, Z,” Koa said, then turned back to me. “When we helped you unpack, beloved, we noticed you didn’t have any form ofbirth control among your things. Given everything else going on, it wasn’t relevant at the time, but—”
“But since we’ve become active,” Casimir finished, “it’s a concern we need to address.”
I twisted my fingers together in my lap, trying to find the words to explain.
“I haven’t had a cycle since…”
The sentence died in my throat, the familiar choking sensation of the whisperbind closing around my words like invisible hands. I couldn’t say “since Arabesque started siphoning me.” The silence shackle wouldn’t allow it. I swallowed hard and tried again.
“Since Papa died.”
They exchanged glances, one of those silent conversations they were so good at.
“October.” Casimir’s eyes darkened with fury. “It’s April.Six to seven months of siphoning?”
“That’s not natural.” Koa stood and started pacing. “To go that long without a cycle.”
“Actually, it is, under certain circumstances.” Professor Casimir was back, his voice dipping into that tone he used when explaining medical concepts. “When a woman’s body fat percentage drops too low, she stops producing the hormones necessary for ovulation. It’s essentially a survival mechanism. The body recognizes it doesn’t have sufficient resources to support a pregnancy, so it shuts down that system temporarily.”
I glanced down at myself, at the body that was still too thin despite weeks of regular meals. Arabesque’s siphonings had taken more than my magic; it had drained my physical health as well. It didn’t help that what she considered sufficient rations had been far from it, and I’d given a third of that to Brumous to keep him alive.
I knew it bothered my husbands. Each of them ran their hands up and down my ribs at least twice a day, as if checking to see if they still jutted out as far.
“So what about future kids?” Zane’s concern replaced his usual silliness. “Is that… I mean, will Seri be able to…”
“Once she reaches a healthy weight, her cycles should resume normally,” Casimir assured us all. “Now that she’s no longer being siphoned and has access to proper nutrition, that should happen relatively quickly.”
“Huh. I didn’t think nature could turn fertility on and off like that.” Koa paced closer and brushed a strand of hair from my face withgentle fingers. “There’s another reason we wanted to have this conversation, though, beloved.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Shifter females undergo a change when they find their mates. Their normal monthly cycle stops and is replaced by a three-day heat once a year. It’s the only time they can conceive.”
“Since your mother was a wolf shifter,” Casimir picked up, “we’re not certain if you’ve inherited that trait. You didn’t get her wolf spirit or Moon magic, but you have other characteristics.”
“We just don’t know if that’ll happen for you or not.” Zane’s thumb traced circles on my thigh. “The whole mate-bond magical biology thingy is clear with full shifters. Half-shifters are more of a crap shoot.”
“We’ll find out within a year, I suppose,” Casimir said. “Either you’ll get a cycle once your body is ready, or you’ll have a heat.”
“In the meantime,” Koa finished, “we need to be more careful than we have been. We’re not ready for children right now.”
Children.
The word tugged at something deep inside me, a longing I hadn’t allowed myself to acknowledge until that moment. I thought of Josslyn, my half-sister, now almost eight weeks old and hopefully safe and loved far away from what she was born into. I’d learned through trial and error how to feed her, change her, rock her to sleep.
