Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
LAUREN
I take a long nap for most of the day and practically bounce down the stone stairs for dinner, excited to rejoin everyone.
The great hall is transformed from this afternoon—warm golden light spills from iron sconces mounted on the ancient stone walls, casting dancing shadows across the vaulted ceiling.
The long wooden table that could easily seat twenty is set with mismatched but beautiful dishes, and the smell of seared meat and fresh bread makes my stomach growl audibly.
The food is delicious—way better than anything I’ve cooked in years—and it’s easy enough to ignore Romulus, who’s still sulking at the far end of the table like a gargoyle someone forgot to animate.
He sits rigidly in one of the high-backed chairs, his massive wings folded tight against his back, barely touching the food on his plate.
His tail lies motionless on the floor beside him, and his jaw is clenched so tight I’m surprised his teeth don’t crack.
Meanwhile, the rest of the family is incredible.
So fun and engaging and warm. The conversation flows like wine, punctuated by laughter and the clink of silverware.
I totally understand why Remus spoke about them with such affection.
Each one of them is a character straight out of a storybook I’d want to read cover to cover.
Abaddon dominates one end of the table—all lion mane and intimidating curved horns that catch the candlelight.
His golden eyes are fierce, his muscled frame taking up nearly two chairs’ worth of space.
But then he absolutely melts and becomes a teddy bear whenever it comes to his wife or daughter. Like right now.
Baby Raven is perched on his massive shoulders, her tiny clawed hands grabbing his horns like handlebars.
She’s the size of a human toddler but covered in sleek black feathers, with leathery wings that keep flapping excitedly and nearly smacking her father in the face.
Her eyes are bright and mischievous—way too intelligent for someone who can’t even talk yet.
Hannah sits beside them, petite and human and somehow completely at ease surrounded by all these supernatural beings.
Her auburn hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and she’s wearing a flour-dusted apron over jeans and a sweater.
She keeps trying to get Raven to eat. “Come on, sweetie, just one more bite of potato.”
But Abaddon’s more intent on swinging his massive head around, making Raven shriek with giggles as she clings to him, her tiny wings flapping with pure delight.
She knows exactly what she’s doing when she releases one horn to steal a piece of steak off her dad’s plate and stuff it in her mouth before her mom can stop her.
“Raven!” Hannah tries to sound stern but can’t quite hide her smile.
Across from them, Kharon is a study in contrasts.
Where Abaddon is lion-like and golden, Kharon is darker—his skin a deep bronze, his features more human except for the small horns that curve back from his temples.
His black wings are folded neatly behind him, and he moves with a quiet grace as he constantly tends to his partner.
Ksenia sits beside him, heavily pregnant and glowing despite the exhaustion evident in her pale face.
She’s stunning—high Slavic cheekbones, blonde hair pulled back in a braid, one hand perpetually resting on her rounded belly.
Kharon keeps refilling her water glass, adjusting cushions behind her back, cutting her meat into smaller pieces without her even having to ask.
The tenderness in every gesture makes my chest ache.
They said she’s only six months along, but she looks ready to pop any day now. Apparently that’s when Hannah delivered Raven. These special hybrid pregnancies work on a completely different timeline than human ones.
Which makes me frown and press a hand to my own flat stomach.
Uh.
I’m usually so good about protection—it’s been drilled into me since my teens. But I didn’t even think about it with Remus. Things got so hot and heavy so fast, my brain just completely shut down. Every rational thought dissolved the moment his hands touched my skin.
But I’m not exactly ready to be a mommy, as devastatingly cute as Raven is. Like, not even close.
Layden sits catty-corner to me, hunched over his phone, only half-participating in the conversation.
He’s the most—I cringe away from the word normal even when I think it—human-looking of the brothers.
No wings, no tail, no horns. Just a lean guy in his twenties with tousled dark hair and bright blue eyes that rarely look up from whatever screen he’s staring at.
He’s wearing a hoodie and jeans that have definitely seen better days.
Apparently his human appearance is because of some horrific trauma involving his father literally cutting off his wings. Jesus. I don’t know the whole story, but I guess after the whole buried-alive thing, he went off and lived among humans for a long time.
The more I learn about this family, the more I realize they’ve been through actual hell. Multiple hells, probably. And yet here they are, laughing over dinner like any other family, passing dishes and teasing each other and wiping baby drool off their shoulders.
While Hannah pushes back from the table to get dessert from the kitchen downstairs, I sidle up to Layden. I try to speak low because I can feel Romulus’s eyes boring into my back like laser beams. “Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?”
Layden’s blue eyes look up at me, startled by the direct address. “Uh. Sure?”
I nod my head toward the fireplace sitting area—a cozy nook with overstuffed leather couches and a fire crackling in a hearth large enough to roast a whole pig. Still feeling Romulus’s stare but refusing to acknowledge it.
“Now?” Layden asks, glancing at his half-finished plate.
I nod again, more insistently.
We leave the table and head toward the couches, our footsteps muffled by thick woven rugs. “What’s up?” he asks, finally tucking his phone into his hoodie pocket.
“Well, you seem like the guy who knows stuff.” I keep my voice low, very aware that supernatural beings probably have supernatural hearing. “And you’ve been around humans more. So you know both worlds.”
He nods slowly, waiting.
I feel my cheeks go pink. “I noticed there’s a lot of babies around here, and uh—” I wave a hand, embarrassed but determined to power through. “That’s not really my thing right now. I don’t suppose there’s some sort of... like... supernatural birth control?” I whisper the last part.
To his credit, his eyes only widen the tiniest bit before he nods. “Yeah. I know something. Come on. My bag’s in my room.”
Muscles I hadn’t even realized I’d tensed suddenly relax, my shoulders dropping. “Oh my gosh, that would be amazing. Thank you.”
I start to follow him toward the curved stone staircase when all of a sudden, a large hand on my shoulder stops me cold.
“Where are you going?”
I turn in surprise to see Romulus looming over me. Up close, he’s even more imposing—easily six and a half feet tall, with those powerful wings creating a shadow that seems to swallow the firelight. His jaw is tight, a muscle ticking in his cheek.
“None of your business,” both Layden and I say at the exact same time.
I smile at Layden—solidarity—then glare up at Romulus, refusing to be intimidated.
I can practically feel him seething as I follow his brother up the winding stairs, the temperature seeming to rise with his anger.
Layden’s rooms are only one floor up, but they’re nothing like the elegant, posh spaces I’ve seen everywhere else in this castle.
Instead of tapestries and antique furniture, they’re absolutely stuffed with monitors and computer equipment.
At least six screens glow in the dimness, each showing different feeds—news channels, social media, what looks like stock market data.
Ethernet cables snake across the floor like vines, and there are concerning stacks of dirty dishes on every available surface, along with what might be a small mountain of takeout containers shoved in one corner.
“Wow, are you a computer genius or something?” I step carefully over a tangle of cords.
“Oh, nah.” He shoves a pile of clothes—I genuinely can’t tell if they’re clean or dirty—off a chair and onto the floor so he can pull a worn canvas bag out from behind his desk. “I just like to keep a watch on things.”
I nod, noting the multiple screens. One shows what’s definitely security camera footage of the castle exterior. Another has lines of code scrolling past. “Right. Just... watching.”
“Okaaaaay,” he says, plopping down in his desk chair and dropping the canvas duffle bag on his lap.
He sorts through it, and I hear metallic clanking and glass bottles rattling around inside—sounds like he’s carrying a whole apothecary in there.
His brow furrows as he grabs and then discards items. “No, not that. Not that. Where are you?”
He hums under his breath, completely absorbed in his search, pulling out things that look increasingly alarming—a jar of something glowing faintly blue, a knife with strange symbols on the blade, what might be a shrunken head but I’m really hoping is just a weird doll.
“Here we are.” He pulls out a small pink plastic disc triumphantly and hands it to me.
I frown at the familiar object, popping it open and looking down at what appear to be completely normal birth control pills—the little round tablets in their familiar foil packaging. “Um. Am I missing something?”
“Nope. These are—” He winces but then waves a hand.
“Magic. I hate using that word, but essentially, yeah. Let’s just say I know some folks who are familiar with beings from other realms. Different realms from the ones my family’s from.
” He shrugs. “You aren’t the first to be concerned about not creating inter-realm offspring. ”