“Principled to the end,” Casimir added, his jaw working.
A silence fell, and I counted seven of Koa’s breaths before daring to ask, “Did she suffer?”
Casimir opened his mouth, closed it. Zane plucked at a loose thread on the cushion.
“Yes.” Koa blinked a few times, then raised his chin. “We were six when she died. Sebastian came to her funeral. Lucian didn’t. That’s something I’ve never been able to forgive.”
The quiet that followed was heavy, laden with all the things they’d lost when Mahina had passed away. Not just their mother, but their childhood. I knew what came next. The training. The missions. Being molded into weapons instead of being raised as sons.
“After Mom was gone, we weren’t children anymore,” Casimir murmured. “We were assets.”
“But we had her for six years,” Koa said. “And she gave us something he could never take away.”
“What’s that, Koko?”
“‘Ohana. She taught us that family isn’t just blood. It’s the people who love you.”
“The people who choose to stay,” Zane added solemnly.
I looked at the three of them, so different in appearance and personality, yet bonded by a love that had seen them through thedarkest times. The vampire king might have given them dhampir abilities, but Mahina had given them something far more precious. She’d given them hearts that could love fiercely, loyally, through any storm.
“Thank you,” I whispered, fighting back tears. “For sharing her with me.”
The last photo Koa showed was simpler than the rest. Just Mahina, sitting on a porch swing, looking out at a sunset. She seemed peaceful, content, despite everything. As if she could see something beautiful on the horizon that the camera couldn’t capture.
I thought of everything she’d given my husbands: The foundation of love that had allowed them to survive the harshness that followed her loss, the capacity to care, to protect, to put themselves between danger and those they loved. And I was grateful,sograteful, that she had been there for them when they needed her most.
“‘Ohana,” I repeated.
“Family. Chosen, cherished, and unbreakable,” Koa agreed as he closed out of the slideshow.
They were so precious, the photos. Stolen glimpses of a time before I knew them, of the woman who had shaped their hearts long before I crashed into their lives. Without thinking, I laid my hand on Koa’s forearm as an idea took shape.
“We should make a scrapbook. Something physical you can hold. Something to honor her.”
“We’ve always kept everything digital.” His fingers paused over the keyboard. “It was easier when we moved around so much. Safer, too.”
Made sense. The constant relocating, the missions that sent them around the world at a moment’s notice. Physical mementos were luxuries they couldn’t afford, not when they might need to disappear in the middle of the night, leaving everything behind except weapons and essential gear.
“But you have a home now,” I reminded him. “Evermere isn’t going anywhere.”
“No, but books can burn,” he mumbled.
“So can we,” Zane scoffed, “but we keep breathing, anyway, yeah?”
Brumous yipped in agreement, his blue eyes bright and attentive.
“See? Even Brummy thinks it’s a good idea.” I smiled at the wolf, who wagged his tail happily. “And someday, when we havechildren, you could share it with them. Let them know about the amazing woman who helped raise their dads.”
The word “children” dropped into the conversation like a bomb. Zane’s body went rigid beside me, and his eyes widened to comical proportions.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” His hands flew up in surrender position. “What happened toProject: No Oopsie Babies?” He made frantic cutting motions across his throat while mouthing “abort mission” at me.
Casimir cleared his throat, sitting up even straighter, an impressive feat considering his normal posture was already perfect.
“You have no ovulation window at the moment, Seri, because your cycle has not yet resumed. The statistical likelihood of conception is approximately less than one fourth of one percent—”
“Oh, my Goddess!” I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “I wasn’t suggesting we conceive babies right this second!”
