85. Clearance
clearance
—EDEN
One week later—
If someone told me seven months ago that I would spend my third trimester curled up like a pampered queen inside a giant basket of woven willow branches, buried beneath fleece blankets and cloud-silk, while an eight-foot fertility reaper and a scarred warrior argued over the structural integrity of a baby crib…
I would have told them to check themselves into the nearest asylum.
Yet, here I am.
I shift, my bump heavy and solid beneath an oversized sweater.
“Sage, you do realize I look like the world’s chunkiest Easter bunny in this thing,” I huff, the basket creaking softly beneath me. Droot, sprawled beside my hip in his own nest of blankets, gives one solemn little shake of his head in wholehearted agreement.
“You look like a goddess,” Sage purrs, the vines woven into the workshop walls rustling as if nodding along with him. “That nest needs more fluff. I am gathering candymoss from the riverbank tonight—don’t ask, it’s a Remavau experiment.”
A shadow tendril reaches out from Sage’s abdomen, sweeping around my belly. “If you’re the Easter bunny,” Ashán muses, “then Sage and I are more than happy to keep hiding our eggs inside of you. Though I do believe we usually leave them a lot deeper than a bush.”
My face erupts into a scorching blush. I grab a stray fleece pillow and hurl it across the workshop, aiming straight at his smug face. “Ashán! Damien is right there!”
Damien doesn’t even look up from the crib. He catches the pillow one-handed, sets it neatly beside him, and resumes sanding. “Trust me, Eden.” A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “That was remarkably tame.”
“Speaking of eggs,” Ashán interrupts. “Did you hear about the krakens Andrik found walking through the forest?”
I blink. “... Krakens… walking? Don’t they have tentacles?”
“I’ll tell you what I’d do with those tentacles—” Ashán snickers.
“Ashán,” Sage warns.
“What? She asked.”
Sage sighs. “They do, ílyen. But they’re half siren. They can shift into a mostly human form.”
“That somehow raises more questions.”
“Apparently there were three of them,” Ashán says. “Which makes me wonder if they’ll each have a mate… or share one.” He tilts his head. “That poor—”
“Andrik said they were specifically tracking one scent,” Sage says.
I frown. “One scent?”
“One.” He confirms. “Imagine minding your business and suddenly being courted by three giant sea monsters.”
“Andrik said they seemed like trouble,” Sage murmurs.
“Andrik thinks everyone seems like trouble,” I giggle.
“I hope she enjoys seafood.”
“Ashán!”
Damien lets out a low chuckle, setting his sanding block down. “He’s not wrong, Eden. If those three are tracking a single scent all the way into the mountains, whatever female they’re hunting is as good as caught. Krakens don’t let go once they’ve wrapped around something they want.”
Ash’s shadows flare slightly, a possessive purr vibrating from his chest, telling me exactly how much he relates to that sentiment.
Before I can throw another pillow at him, a sudden pressure rolls across my lower abdomen. “Oh,” I moan, my hand flying to the underside of my belly.
The cloth slips from Ash’s clawed hand. “Ash’kaela, what is it? The baby? A contraction?”
“ílyen?” Sage asks immediately after Ashán.
Droot bolts upright, ears perked so high they nearly disappear. He hops to the edge of the basket, peering anxiously at my stomach.
“No, no. I’m okay, I promise.” I smooth my palm over my belly. “She’s just turning… I think.” Another little nudge earns a smile. “Or practicing her martial arts.”
“Elena did say she’s quite plump,” Ashán murmurs. “But maybe we should make sure that’s all it is.”
Damien pauses, glancing up from the crib. “What if… she’s growing her wings?”
Sage turns toward him.
“... Can babies do that?”
“I don’t know,” Damien admits. “I’ve never met a fertility reaper before you.”
My heart does a little flip at the thought of a little girl with her fathers’ beautiful wings.
Ash crosses the workshop in two long strides and drops to his knees beside the willow basket. Droot presses both tiny paws against my sweater and squints at my stomach as though he’s conducting an examination.
Andrik walks in carrying another armful of birch wood. He takes one look at the circle gathered around me and his eyes widen. “… What happened?”
Damien gestures toward my stomach. “We’re discussing whether the baby is growing wings.”
Andrik doesn’t even blink. “Probably.”
“Probably?!” we all say at once.
“Both of her dads have wings… why is that surprising?”
“I just thought they’d grow later.” I glance at my stomach. “Like Eirlys with her antlers.”
“Do you think she’ll have one each—like us?”
“Guys,” I interrupt, “we don’t even know if she has wings.”
Damien looks down at the crib. “We should probably widen it?”
“For what?” I ask.
“Clearance.”
“She’s the size of a melon.”
“For now,” Damien retorts.
“He’s right,” Ash agrees.
“He is not right.”
“If she has wings, they won’t be fully grown.”
“Initially,” Damien says.
“They’ll need room to stretch, ash’kaela.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Andrik…” I sigh. “Please. Be the voice of reason here.”
“I think the reasonable thing would be coming to live in the cabin with us.”
I sigh.
“There are three kraken roaming around.” He adjusts one of the crib slats. “All those tentacles would make childcare much easier.”
“Uh-oh,” Damien whispers.
The temperature plummets. Ashán’s shadows explode, swallowing the windows in a rush of black.
“What did you just say?”
“... The tentacles were for the baby.”
Sage and Ashán slowly get off the floor.
Damien melts into Jack, his shoulders broadening as mischief lights his face. He steps in between Andrik and my mates.
“You want three unmated kraken to hold our daughter… with their filthy tentacles.”
“Their tentacles looked very well-manicured.”
“Let me be very clear about this,” Sage murmurs. “We will rip those tentacles from their bodies and feed them to you if you ever suggest Eden leaves us again.”
“Rahnové, Vaelí…” I say, palms raised in the universal language of please-do-not-murder-your-brother. “He was joking.”
“Say, Andrik…” Ashán purrs. “Where’s your mate right now?”
Andrik’s fur immediately bristles. “Don’t.”
“Mm.” Ashán smiles, all fang. “Where do you suppose those three kraken are right now?”
Oh shit.
Andrik’s jaw snaps shut so hard a bead of blood spills from the corner of his mouth. His spine bows.
The last thing we need right now is for him to shift.
“Ashán,” I gasp, scrambling upright in the nest. “Stop it. Do not play with him like that.”
“We are merely participating in his logistical calculations, ílyen,” Sage hums. “If the deep-water beasts are truly so efficient with their appendages, perhaps the yeti should ensure they aren’t demonstrating that efficiency in his own territory.”
Andrik snarls.
Jack clears his throat. “I’m just going to move the pregnant woman now.”
Their head snaps toward me.
“I thought that would work,” Jack mumbles under his breath.
Andrik looks like he’s ready to tear the entire workshop down.
“Andrik,” I say carefully. “Lumi just texted me.”
His ears twitch.
“Therael’s leaving soon. She said Rh?ven is welcome to come play.” I smile. “Whatever that means.”
I know exactly what that means. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
The murderous tension evaporates almost instantly. A tiny, involuntary whimper escapes him.
“Unbelievable,” Ashán mutters. “All it takes is one invitation.”
Jack arches a brow. “Like you’re any different?”
He winks at me. Invitation accepted.
I smile sweetly.
“Ashán…Sage…”
Their eyes snap toward me.
“I’d really love it if you’d take me flying.”
Their throat bobs.
“You do remember what happened the last time you took me in the sky, don’t you?”
The shadows vanish. The vines bloom with tiny white flowers. Every trace of irritation disappears from their faces so quickly it’s honestly a little embarrassing.
Ash clears his throat. “The crib can wait.”
“Indefinitely,” Sage says, helping me step out of the basket.
Jack smirks. “Thought so…”