Page 73 of Death Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

Greyson nodded. “I’ll reinforce the house wards too. If the calling is pushing at weak points, I want this place sealed.”

I kept my hands on the egg, felt the pulse, held the line. The dark spot stopped spreading. It didn’t vanish, but it paused, as if it had hit a wall made of stubborn healer magic and refused to admit defeat.

For now.

I lifted my eyes, finally, and met Cal’s gaze.

There was too much in it.

Hope. Fear. Gratitude. That unwanted pull.

I had the instinct to retreat, to shut it down, to return to the version of us that was simple. Friends. Allies. Occasional banter. No strange hunger sliding across my skin.

But the baby’s life sat under my hands, and the truth was clear.

I could cut the connection and protect my comfort.

Or I could keep it and protect the child.

I swallowed. “We find the relic,” I said, voice low. “We stop the calling. Until then, I’m the patch on the dam.”

Faith nodded, grim approval. “Good. Because if anything happens to that baby, I will burn the world down.”

Eve snorted, but it sounded more like relief than humor.

Cal’s gaze stayed on me, and the bond hummed again, insistent.

I did not kiss him.

I wanted to.

That was the problem.

Instead, I focused on the egg’s steady pulse and accepted the new reality.

I was bound.

And until the baby hatched, I was going to feel everything that came with it.

CHAPTER 10

The bond pulled on my magic.

The dark patches slowed, yes. The shell stopped creeping toward that solid, final lock. But keeping it there took focus, energy, and more of me than I wanted to admit.

I sat on Greyson’s living room floor with my back against the couch, palms damp, breathing careful. The bond hummed under my skin, a steady pull from behind the painting. Not a leash exactly, more like a taut thread tied from my soul to the egg. If I relaxed too much, the tension increased. If I pushed too hard, I got dizzy.

Cal hovered like an anxious bride.

He brought me water. Then he brought me another glass, as if hydration were a spell component.

“You need to drink,” he said.

I took it because arguing felt like effort, and effort was in short supply. “If I drink any more, I’ll need a bathroom break schedule.”

Cal’s mouth twitched. “I can stand outside the door, if that helps.”

“Not really,” I said, then immediately regretted how short it sounded. The bond made everything louder inside me. My patience, my nerves, and the unwanted awareness of him that still flickered in the background like a radio station I could not quite tune out.