Chapter 28
KAGE
The knock rattles through the quiet like a pebble against glass. At first I ignore it, figuring it’s some neighbor or delivery drone. But it comes again—louder, impatient.
I drag myself out of bed, the blanket still warm with Bella’s scent. Soap. Citrus. The faintest tang of copper from the scars she tries to ignore. My muscles ache from pretending to sleep beside her instead of wrapping her against me like instinct demands.
The knock becomes a thump.
I unlatch the door—and stare down at a tiny human with a plastic sword.
Natalie.
Her grin takes up half her face. “Wanna play pirate?”
I blink, throat rumbling. “Pirate?”
She waves the sword like it’s a holy relic. “I’m the captain. You’re the monster.”
I tilt my head. “Only if I get to eat the captain first.”
Her shriek of delight nearly knocks me backward. She charges past me into the living room, swinging the sword at invisible enemies.
Ten minutes later, I’m crouched low on all fours, frills flared, tail sweeping the carpet.
“RAAARGH!” I roar, rattling the windows.
Natalie squeals and lunges, stabbing my tail with the blunt plastic blade.
“Got you, monster!” she declares, tiny voice triumphant.
I collapse dramatically, claws clutching my chest. “Nooo. Not the tail. Anything but that.”
She bounces onto the couch, sword held high. “The monster is DEFEATED!”
I twitch once, growl low, and snatch her up with both hands, spinning her overhead. She screams with laughter, legs kicking as I growl: “Or is he?”
Bella leans against the kitchen counter, mug steaming in her hands. She’s watching, lips twitching like she’s fighting a smile. Her eyes are softer than I’ve seen them in years.
“You look ridiculous,” she mutters, taking a sip.
I roar louder, letting the sound rattle the light fixtures, then flop sideways, tiara askew on my horns—Natalie insisted I wear it.
“She made me,” I growl.
Bella snorts. “Yeah, sure. Big scary monster conquered by a five-year-old with a toy sword and a glitter crown.”
“Sea monster,” I correct. “There’s a difference.”
Natalie pats my snout. “Don’t listen to Mommy. You’re the BEST monster.”
Bella chokes on her coffee, coughing into her mug. My frills flick upward. Mommy.
She glares at me like I’m about to say something. So I don’t.
The game stretches on. I let Natalie climb onto my back, ride my shoulders, command me to stomp like a shipwrecked beast. She stabs me in the ribs, and I pretend to die with every jab.
“You’re too good at this,” Bella mutters, shaking her head.
I shrug, scooping Natalie into the air again. “I’ve been called worse.”
Natalie’s laughter fills the room, sharp and bright. Every squeal knots something tight in my chest.
Later, when she disappears into her room to fetch “treasure maps,” I sit back against the couch, removing the crooked tiara.
“She yours?” I ask, voice low.
Bella doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Mine.”
The words are too fast, too sharp.
I drum claws against my knee. “The father?”
Her jaw tightens. She doesn’t meet my eyes. “Not in the picture.”
Truth. But not all of it.
My frills twitch, instinct screaming at me to demand answers. To drag the rest of it out of her. But the brittle look in her eyes… no. Not now.
Instead, I grunt. Adjust the tiara one last time. “Pity. He missed the coronation.”
She actually laughs. Short. Broken. But real.
That night, Natalie refuses to sleep until I read her book.
She shoves it into my claws—a flimsy thing about stars and wishes.
“You have to do the voices,” she demands, crawling into my lap like I’ve always been here.
My throat rumbles. “Voices?”
“Yeah! The star has a squeaky voice.”
I attempt it, growling falsetto. Natalie cackles so hard she nearly falls off the couch.
Bella leans in the doorway, arms crossed, smiling despite herself.
By the time I finish, Natalie is curled against me, her little hand resting on my arm. Her breaths deepen, soft and steady.
I murmur, “The stars are real. And they’re watching.”
She mumbles something in her sleep. My chest aches.
Bella moves closer, sits on the other side of the couch. Our shoulders almost touch.
“You’ve done well,” I whisper, staring at the sleeping child.
Her smile is small, tired. “I tried.”
She doesn’t say we. But the word hangs between us anyway.
We sit in silence until Natalie snores softly, mouth open. Bella leans her head on my shoulder, just a little.
And I stay still. Breathing her in. Guarding them both. Pretending—for one fragile heartbeat—that this is home.