“I’m almost finished with this one.”
“Already?”
“It’s small. The larger tears will take longer. Many sessions over multiple evenings, if you can be persuaded to sit for them.” She anchored the last stitch, knotted it, and cut the thread. “Done. You can look.”
He turned his head, craning to see over his shoulder. His wing flexed, angling toward the lamp, and the silver repair caught the light.
He went still. “It’s a rose,” he said.
“For our new beginning at Rose House. But if the pattern isn’t to your taste, I can—”
“Hanna, stop. I love it. It’s beautiful, both the meaning and the embroidery itself. I can’t believe…I can’t believe it’smywing. Stitched bymywife.”
His purr thrummed to life, and the warm vibrations moved through her, raising goosebumps on her skin. The child inside her kicked, reminding her of all the things left unfinished. The partially-mended wedding dress draped across the bed, and the garden outside with still-empty flower beds, waiting for planting. The many more tears in the expanse of her husband’s wings that begged for her needle.
Their life was only going to get more beautiful.
“We have a lot left to accomplish before the baby comes,” she said.
He reached back and caught her hand, drawing her around to his lap. “Then we’ll find the time.”
Chapter 25
Rikard
Who was this magician in his arms who could mend irreparable things? Her dress, her garden. His wings. His heart, though he hadn’t told her that. His family, which she’d made complete. He palmed her belly possessively, and the hatchling squirmed beneath his hand.
“He was so well-behaved while I stitched,” she said, making a face. “I think your purr woke him up.”
The observation landed with the precision of one of her stitches, placed exactly where it would do the most work. Thechild heard his purr through her belly. The child knew his purr before it knew his face. The sound thickened, rising in his chest like sap in a tree, and Hannalinde’s smile widened, specifically, devastatingly for him.
“When do you have to leave for the Nadir’s office?”
“Soon. An hour, perhaps.”
She leaned back against his chest, resting her head on his shoulder, and stroked her fingers over the twisted, ugly scars on his chest.
“A shame you can’t repair those, too. I’m sorry you have to look at them.”
Her fingers stilled. Then continued, slower, with deliberate attention, like she was assessing fabric for quality. “No, I like them. I want to do something for you,” she said abruptly. “And I need you to tell me if it’s too much.”
“When have I refused you anything?”
“You refuse to let me thank you!” Her laugh was brief and warm, and then her face settled into the slightly worried expression she’d had before. “I’d like to perform for you,” she said.
The purr had gone thick enough to rattle his teeth. He swallowed against it, which was useless. “Hannalinde. You don’t owe me—”
“This isn’t a debt. Debt is what brought me to your office. This is desire, and I’ll thank you for reminding me that I can feel it.”
He bowed his head, defeated by her logic. “I would love to watch you.”
“Not just the way we did before, where you watched and didn’t touch. I think I would like…”
“My hands on you?” he rumbled hoarsely, disbelieving his luck. “Making you feel good?”
Her cheeks bloomed, and she nodded. “Yes, and if you don’t mind, I’d like you to wield your gift as if it were your own.”
Hisgift. She meant the carved phallus. He felt dizzy with desire. “Anything you want.”
