Epilogue
NINE MONTHS LATER
“I'm going to murder you," I tell Eryx through gritted teeth.
He's holding my hand, looking pale. "I know."
"No, I mean it. Actual murder. With my claws."
To be fair, Nightmare pipes up, he did help create this situation.
"Shut up," Eryx and I say in unison.
Another contraction hits and I squeeze Eryx's hand hard. He doesn't complain. Smart man.
"You're doing great," my sister Addison says from the foot of the bed. She's the calmest person in the room, probably because she’s had a baby herself. "Just breathe."
"I am breathing!"
Technically you're screaming, Nightmare observes. But I can see how you'd confuse the two.
Eryx shoots a look at nothing—which is where Nightmare lives—and growls, "If you can't be helpful, be quiet."
I am being helpful. I'm providing moral support.
"You're providing commentary."
Same thing.
Another contraction. I arch off the bed, and Eryx's other hand presses to my lower back, magic flowing from his palm. It doesn't take the pain away, but it dulls the edge.
"I hate you," I gasp.
"I know," he says softly. "I'm sorry."
"You should be. This is—" The words cut off as another wave crashes through me.
On the bright side, Nightmare says cheerfully, after this, filtering nightmares will feel like a vacation.
"Not helping!"
I thought it was encouraging.
The midwife—an elderly witch named Marta who my mother swore by—checks me again. "You're close. Very close."
"How close?" Eryx demands.
"Minutes."
His face goes sheet white. "Minutes?"
Oh good, Nightmare says. He's going to pass out. I've been waiting for this.
"Don't you dare," I hiss at Eryx.
He straightens. "I'm not going to pass out."
"You look like you're going to pass out."
"I'm fine."
He's definitely not fine, Nightmare stage-whispers in my head.
The next contraction is the worst yet. I feel it everywhere—ripping, tearing, like my body is being split in two.
"Push," Marta commands.
So I push.
And push.
And push.
Eryx's hand is in mine, his magic wrapping around me like a shield. I feel his fear through the bond, his awe, his absolute terror that something will go wrong.
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.
"You just met her," Eryx says, but he's smiling.
Irrelevant. She's mine now. Ours. No one touches her.
I laugh—exhausted, delirious, happier than I've ever been. Mama leaves the room to tell everyone the good news. They visit and ooh and ahhh, especially my dad.
And Eryx even more so. He’s a proud papa.
My heart’s so full it might burst.
A little while later, there's a knock at the door.
“Come in,” I say, still holding the baby. I can’t get enough of her. She’s perfect.
Dallas bursts in, wild-eyed and breathless. "Chelsea, I—" She stops. Sees the baby. "Oh my God."
"Hi, Dallas," I say tiredly.
She crosses the room in three steps, stares down at the baby, and her face crumples. "She's beautiful. You're both beautiful. I'm so happy for you." Then her expression shifts. "But we have a problem."
Eryx tenses. "What kind of problem?"
Dallas glances between us. "The bad kind. The kind involving—" She pauses. "Actually, it might be easier if Nana explains."
"Nana?" I repeat. "Nana's here?"
As if summoned, my dead grandmother materializes in the corner of the room. She's wearing a purple velvet gown, and her hair is piled impossibly high.
"Congratulations, darling!" she says brightly. "What a beautiful baby. Is it a girl? I think it's a girl."
"Nana," I say slowly, "what's the problem?"
Her expression turns serious. "It's Dallas. She's been cursed."
Dallas throws up her hands. "I'm not cursed!"
"You're absolutely cursed," Nana insists. "By a very irritating man who—"
"I'm handling it!"
"You're not handling it. You're ignoring it."
Eryx looks at me. I look at him.
"We just had a baby," I point out.
"I know!" Dallas says. "I wasn't going to say anything, but Nana—"
"Someone needs to," Nana huffs.
The baby makes another small sound. All eyes turn to her.
She yawns.
It's the cutest thing I've ever seen.
"We'll deal with it," I hear myself saying. "After I sleep. For three days."
Dallas exhales. "Thank you."
"But you owe me," I add. "Big-time."
She grins. "Deal."
Nana drifts closer, peers at the baby. "She's going to be powerful. I can feel it."
Obviously, Nightmare says smugly. She's a Nightshade and a Thornrose. She's going to be unstoppable.
Eryx's arm wraps around me, careful not to jostle the baby. "What should we name her?"
I look down at our daughter—this tiny, perfect thing we made. This choice we made together.
"Rose," I whisper. "Her name is Rose."
Perfect, Nightmare purrs. Our little thorn.
Eryx kisses my temple. "Rose," he agrees.
And for one moment, despite Dallas's curse and Nana's cryptic warnings and the chaos surely coming, everything is exactly as it should be.
We chose this.
All of it.
Ready to discover more enchanting worlds from Amy?
Read the first book in the series, How to Fake it With a Fae: when a bookish witch must marry to save her family’s magic, she winds up matched with a grumpy fae king who wants revenge on her family.
Check it out here: How to Fake it With a Fae
Meet my newest magical romance in Stupid Magical Love—available from Montlake!