Chapter 9 The Cat Concedes Defeat
The Cat Concedes Defeat
DELILAH
It begins as a single spark in the viscous dark.
The new life, still unformed and shy in its powers, shudders and then, suddenly, my entire system is alive with light and charge.
I feel it everywhere at once—in the crowns of my teeth, in the cartilage of my nose, in the tectonic plates of my pelvis, in the hummingbird flutter of the baby’s spine.
Something wakes, and then the current surges, not just through my blood but through the entire room.
My heart cedes control and for a moment, I am a passenger in my own nervous system, watching as Maeve’s will unfurls in an invisible net.
My girl is going to be so very powerful one day.
I sense myself as if I were her, still swimming in the warm, red-lantern world, but reaching up toward the sea of possibility.
The magickal pulse thickens, forming words or intentions or something close to a demand.
The world tilts briefly, as if the laws of physics are being rewritten nanosecond by nanosecond, and then something within Talia pops—her resistance shatters and her barriers fall.
I watch as the neural tapestry in her head gets rewoven, every strand of self-preservation laced with a hair-thin thread of hope, hope that she can survive this.
The echo of laughter—a synesthetic giggle, familiar from dreams I had as a child—fizzles in my mind.
Then the light, the pressure, the sensation of being more than one being, recedes.
Maeve, our impossible daughter, has saved the day again, for reasons I can’t yet understand, by means I can’t yet explain.
The room is changed by the miracle, though no one except me knows it.
I wonder if the others saw the color drain from my face or the way my fists clenched the covers as the baby did her work.
I wonder how many times she has done this in secret already, and how many more she will do before the world learns her name.
Probably more than I’d prefer, to be honest.
I feel a maternal pride that is already half terror.
This force growing inside me is not the life-force of a normal child, but something wilder than mere human biology.
The world is not ready for her, not ready for a baby who can bend minds and rewrite destinies, not ready for a future where she might rule or ruin us all.
But I am her mother, and I love her. I promise her silently that I will protect her, even if it means protecting the world from her.
I promise her, too, that I will never let her be lonely, even if she is the only one of her kind.
Sliding out of my head, I check my work as I go.
I let reality seep in and the bonds tying me to my mates go.
I seal up the walls for myself and my primary, keeping our darkness in the dark until we are ready to deal with it and then seal my door up again.
I move away, leaning back on the pillows to rest for a moment.
I watch the boys wait, eyes on her, and I feel her fear as she sits.
Talia’s expression gets stubborn, and her eyes pop open, looking defiant. She looks at her husband first, a smile splitting her face. “Well, well, long hair. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”
His face brightens, and he squeezes her. “Thank bloody hell.”
I close my own eyes, letting everything inside me re-focus and re-energize from within. I always need a little downtime after large magickal endeavors, and since this is the biggest I’ve completed yet, I suppose I should try to regenerate.
“Hell no, buster. That’s not enough!” Talia leaps forward, knocking Rafe back and kissing all over his face, her joy apparent.
Taurus wraps around me, offering his strength as I re-coup. ~Nice job, love. Very nice job. I love you. ~
I nod, letting him hold on to me and give me warmth and love as I watch them. I worry about many things as I watch, but now is not the time to deal with any of it.
She pulls away from him, looking at me with a soft grin. “You, I think I’ll thank you later.”
I nod, not wanting to spoil the mood by saying anything.
Turning towards Taurus, Talia leans in and kisses him, forehead against his. “I love you, you old reprobate.”
Taurus is still holding Talia in the circle of his arms, his hands gently cupping the back of her skull like he’s afraid she’ll shatter if he lets go.
She’s still perched on his lap, legs curled under her, one arm knotted around his massive shoulder.
They rock together, two tectonic plates shifting under the pressure of a thousand histories—shared, secret, silent.
Rafe is a statue on the edge of the bed; he hasn’t moved except for his eyes, which are wild and roving as if the world might shift its axis if he looks away for a microsecond.
I don’t blame him; he’s readying for the pain we will both suffer soon enough.
I watch Talia’s expression as she studies Taurus.
Her face is soft, almost childlike in this light, but the set of her jaw says she’s not backing down.
There’s something happening between them—some invisible conversation that rides on the current of their joined hands, their locked gaze.
I feel a pinprick behind my left eye. There’s a magickal frequency here, a low thrum as she pushes her will out and he matches her, joust for joust. I strain to eavesdrop, but it’s not a dialogue meant for me; I only catch the aftershocks in the surface tension of the air.
Taurus’s mouth twitches like he’s about to speak, but he tightens his lips, nostrils flaring, and holds her closer.
Then, without warning, he relaxes his grip and leans away, squinting at her like he’s reading a stubborn cipher.
For a full thirty seconds, neither of them blinks.
I’m used to their games of dominance, but this time something is off—it’s not about who wins, but about who will break the silence first, who will risk being the one to say it out loud and make it real.
I try to look casual as I inch closer to the headboard, putting deliberate space between myself and whatever is happening in the crossfire.
The mattress dips and sighs under my retreat.
I focus on the pattern of the sheets, tracing the paisley with my finger, pretending not to notice the thunderstorm brewing across the room.
I am not a part of this; I tell myself, not really, not now.
But even when you’re not the target, you still get caught in the blast radius.
Rafe and I are always in the blast radius, unfortunately.
Behind my eyelids, the bright metallic colors of magick gone wild swirl.
I let my breathing slow, regulate, and court the rhythm that always puts my mind back together after heavy work.
But the energy in the room is a living thing, and it keeps finding seams in my shields.
My heartbeat is a metronome, ticking away the seconds as Talia and Taurus continue their silent war.
At last, Taurus makes a sound—the ghost of a laugh escaping. “You’re impossible,” he says. He lets her slide off his lap and onto the bed, steadying her with a hand on her elbow. She lands with liquid grace, tucking her legs to the side, never breaking eye contact.
For the briefest instant, I think it’s over.
But then Talia leans in, closer than comfort allows, her lips almost brushing his ear.
She whispers something—too low for me to catch, but I can feel the words rippling through Taurus’s aura, making the hair on his arms stand up.
He jerks back, eyes wide, and then clamps them shut, his hands clenched into fists. Whatever she told him, it hit deep.
That’s a bad sign and I don’t like it.
That’s when Rafe finally moves. He rises off the bed in a single, smooth motion and stalks over to the window, arms folded.
His silhouette is sharp against the dusk light bleeding in through the curtains.
He stands there, back to the room, breathing through his nose like an animal tasting the air.
It’s obvious he’s not handling this well.
He keeps glancing over his shoulder, not at Talia or Taurus, but at me, as if I’m supposed to have a solution or a script for how this next part goes.
He’s right in a way—I know what’s coming. I’ve dreaded it since I felt the magick surge and the healing complete. But there are some truths that refuse to be born unless forced. I hold my tongue, counting the seconds until someone else cracks.
Taurus pulls himself to his full height, gathering all his battered dignity around him like a cloak.
“Sampson,” he says, voice rough with emotion, “why don’t we go find something strong to drink?
” I catch the glint of wetness in his eyes before he turns away.
“Let the ladies have their secrets for a while.”
My primary hesitates, looking like he might argue, but then Talia gives him a soft smile, and he wilts.
He brushes a knuckle against my cheek as he passes, an unspoken promise that he’ll be back to help me when it’s done.
Then the two men are gone, their footfalls fading into the hallway, leaving a silence so thick it feels like static.
Talia collapses onto her side, curling toward me like a question mark.
She looks smaller now, as if the war is over and all that’s left is the aftermath.
I wait for her to speak, but she just studies me, searching my face for a sign, a password, an escape route.
She’s waiting for permission to say something and I’m not in a place to give it.
After all, I know how to deal with being cast aside.
“The two of them are fucking exhausting, let me tell you.” Talia’s voice is a dry martini, two parts disdain to one part bravado, but her hands are shaking just a little as she says it.
She sits up on her elbow, hair sticking in all directions, an improbable halo of bedhead and static.
“This is way too much drama for it being within these walls and not outside of them. Christ.”
She rubs her palms over her face, dragging streaks of mascara across the hollow under her eyes, then lets them fall to the quilt.
The men’s footsteps still echo in the hall, receding into the soft velvet of the house’s acoustics, but it feels like the aftershocks will never really leave.
She says nothing else for a minute. She just breathes in and out, her breaths shallow and uneven, like she is practicing survival at the most basic level.
I almost say something trite and commiserating, but the words taste like acid on my tongue, bitter and pointless. Instead, I watch her, really watch her, see where the seams are coming apart. Talia is not unbreakable—she is only good at pretending otherwise.
She’s not as good as I am, but she hasn’t had to be. For that, she should be grateful.
“That chat will be interesting,” she finally says, the words coming out brittle and bright as tinsel. Her eyes track the ceiling, and I can see her cataloguing every new possibility, every future branching out from this moment.
“Interesting is a word for it,” I say in a hollow tone, and this time the words come out more like a confession than a comment. As if she can sense the war playing out in my head, she turns to me and fixes me with a look so direct it feels surgical.
“Well?” she says.
I hesitate, my throat closing up around the words I should say.
“I want a family,” she says firmly. She doesn’t smile or blush or look away. She just says it with a sincerity that makes me want to lie down and let her walk over my heart with her heels on. “I want it very much.”
I almost laugh at the simplicity of the phrasing—like she’s ordering a pizza, extra cheese, no mushrooms, easy on the sauce. I want to tell her it’s not that easy, but I don’t. She’s the one who just fucked this entire thing up because she couldn’t handle her emotions, not me.
“I don’t know that it’s possible,” I say, and I try to keep my voice gentle, but I know she can feel the edge in it.
My pessimism has always been a blade I use to cut myself out of hope before it can get too tangled.
“There is water and a bridge and—well, they’re men.
It’s less clear what will happen when men get involved. They need to figure it out.”
For a second, Talia just looks at me. She cocks her head, considering, as if she’s weighing my soul in her hands. Then she grins, conspiratorial. “I’m not worried about them.”
That makes one of us, but okay.
Damn it, Deli—just tell her. Tell her what you decided and be done with it. You can lock it all up, find your husband, and go surf the crowd at a desert festival in California or eat mustachioed cheese eaters in Paris or break into the Kremlin.
Do it, and you’re free!
But I can’t. Not yet.
Talia’s smile softens, and she scoots closer, her hip bumping against mine like a dare.
“So will we,” she says, and the words are a promise and a threat and an invitation, all at once.
Her hand finds my hand, fingers intertwining with a familiarity that is almost as dangerous as it is comforting.
I feel the electric pulse that always runs between us, the ancient battery we keep charging and draining in equal measure.
I try to picture that future—all of us a family. It’s impossible, and yet, there is something in the way we fit together that makes me want to believe we could do it, that we could be the ones who get it right when everyone else has gotten it so wrong.
Maybe I’m a romantic after all, or maybe I just want to be.
She leans into me, her head heavy on my shoulder. I wrap my arms around her, and we both settle into the quiet, two animals at rest after a storm. I don’t know how long we stay like that, but it is long enough for the world to feel a little less dangerous, a little less doomed.
After a while, Talia laughs. “You know what would make this better?” she asks. “A really greasy plate of fries and some milkshakes. Maybe a big chocolate cake for dessert, and then a bubble bath with enough bubbles to drown a horse.”
“Fries, cake, and bubbles,” I say, making a mental note. “Got it.”
We both know it’s not that simple, but for a moment, it almost is.
There go the cheese eaters.