You've got this,Nightmare says, and for once his voice is gentle.Both of you.
One more push?—
And then I hear it.
A cry.
Small, furious, alive.
"It's a girl," Marta announces, lifting a tiny, squirming thing into view.
A girl.
Eryx makes a sound—half laugh, half sob. His forehead drops to mine. "Chelsea."
I can't speak. Can't breathe. Can only stare as Marta cleans the baby and wraps her in soft cloth.
Then she's placed in my arms.
She's perfect. Impossibly small. Dark hair like Eryx's. Her eyes are squeezed shut, but when she opens them, I see?—
Oh,Nightmare breathes.Oh, look at her.
Her eyes are deep blue. But threaded through them, faint as starlight, are flecks of gold.
"She has both," I whisper.
Eryx goes very still beside me.
His wings flare half an inch, shadows pooling at the edges like they’re deciding whether the room deserves to exist.
I feel it through the bond: a flash of instinct so sharp it almost tastes like metal.
Mine answers automatically. My claws prick at my fingertips.
Protect, the darkness inside me hums.
For one terrifying heartbeat, I understand what it would mean to be the thing people warn in stories about.
Eryx’s hand hovers over her—shaking, reverent—like he’s afraid the world will take her if he touches.
Nightmare’s voice comes low and wrong-soft in my head.
Ours.
Eryx exhales—one ragged breath—and the shadows ease back.
He touches her then. One finger against her tiny head. Eryx's hand shakes. "She's perfect."
Obviously,Nightmare says, its voice thick.She's ours.
The baby's hand curls around Eryx's finger, and I watch something in him break open. Tears streak down his face.
"Hi," he murmurs to her. "Hi, little one."
She makes a small noise, like a kitten.
I love her,Nightmare announces.I would destroy worlds for her.
