Epilogue #2
Both groaned at the idea, and before she could do anything but laugh, Razer stretched his wings and launched away from the manor. Azriel cast her a withering look before returning to the bundle in his arms and sticking his tongue out from between his sharp teeth.
Madan’s voice drifted across the terrace from the manor, dragging their attention toward the open doors. “One of these days, he’s not going to come back.”
From the wheelchair beside him, Whelan chuckled. “Anthoria will make sure he does.”
A confirmation jolted through the web of bondheart connections from the green dragon.
Brutis’s amusement echoed around them as he took flight to go after Razer.
Only Almandine remained nearby, stepping into the most distant swaths of golden light where her dark eyes sparkled through the gently falling snow.
“But!” Whelan scrunched his face as he wheeled a little closer, the chair sticking a bit in the snow. “I have something to show you!”
Ariadne turned to him, tucking closer to Azriel to benefit from his warmth.
The relationship between Whelan and her husband had returned to normal over time.
When the bond solidified for Madan, the tension dissipated entirely, and the two were, in all ways, as they had been prior to Azriel’s mistake during her rescue operation from Laeton.
She and her brother were more than grateful to see it mend. Meals together had been dreadful.
“I’ve been working with Phulan a lot,” Whelan admitted, but he gripped the armrests of his chair and slowly…slowly…moved his feet to the snowy ground. Brows pinched in concentration, he moved them back to where they could rest again.
Ariadne’s heart lurched, and she closed the distance between them to fling her arms around his neck. “That is wonderful! I had no idea you were able to gain some feeling back.”
With a quiet laugh, Whelan patted her back. “I’m not certain if I’ll ever walk again, but gaining some movement has been a huge improvement.”
“He’s being modest.” Madan hooked a finger around his mate’s horn and gave it a gentle tug after Ariadne retreated to stand beside Azriel again. “He’s hardly stopped practicing.”
“Forgive me for wanting to stand at some point,” Whelan growled up at him, a smirk lighting up his handsome face with a private joke between them. Then his red eyes dropped to the bundle in Azriel’s arms. “How is she doing?”
Not even attempting to hide her smile, Ariadne looked lovingly at the baby. “She needed some cold air.”
Madan snorted and rolled his eyes. “Just like her father.”
“No. Mother.” The voice came from the shadows of the garden, making them turn in time to see Sasja slide into the light.
She wore trousers and a long tunic, refusing to partake in the gaudy theme of the evening any more than she desired.
The only spark of color she agreed to don was a sweep of gold over her high cheekbones.
With a wide grin and light scoff, Azriel nodded. “Fair enough. You have spent most of the night out here.”
Holding out her arms, Sasja accepted the weight of the baby, the blanket falling back from her tiny head as she flailed small blue arms. The gentle coo of recognition had Ariadne’s heart giving a loving throb as the tiny dhemon child all but quelled her thrashing the moment she landed in her mother’s arms. Likewise, a softness fell over Sasja as she looked at her daughter’s round face and swept her thumb over the smallest bump at her hairline, indicating the location of her future horns.
The idea of bearing a child into the world no longer haunted Ariadne.
Where there had once been a time when she disliked—feared, even—the very notion of it, after helping Sasja through her pregnancy and subsequent birth, something shifted in her mind.
Yet whether or not she could even become pregnant remained a mystery.
A mystery she had no intention of exploring anytime soon.
One day, perhaps, they would travel to Algorath with Phulan to be poked and prodded by mages in an attempt to discover her capabilities.
Until then, Ariadne was more than happy to remain a loving and doting aunt of sorts.
“Has anyone seen Emillie?” Luce’s voice jolted Ariadne from her thoughts, and she turned just in time to watch the lycan summon her clothing once more.
It was a simple dress—the most they could convince her to wear—that embellished her curves and accentuated her long body in all the ways Camilla would be proud.
Ariadne pointed into the ballroom behind Madan. “She wanted me to tell you that she would love to dance.”
Scowling, Luce opened her mouth to snap back some retort about not enjoying a classic vampire ballroom dance before understanding the message and grinning. “Then I should see to her immediately.”
Whelan let out a bark of a laugh. As Luce started off, he said, “You look ravishing in that dress, by the way.”
Before he could duck, Luce flicked the side of his head and disappeared into the crowds of the ballroom.
“He’s here,” Almandine announced.
A massive bronze figure dotted out the stars as Sehrox lowered to a rest near the small dragon.
Almandine all but flounced over to the great dragon, sparks of excitement escaping her open mouth.
The two of them had grown closer than any of the others over the last year, with the great brute of a bondheart taking it upon himself to teach her how to be just as wickedly sharp as he was in the sky.
“Hello, little one,” Sehrox rumbled, lowering his huge face to greet her, exposing the figure on his back.
Ehrun slid down the shoulder of the bronze dragon and ate up the distance between them in no time with his long legs. Pausing a handful of paces away in fine, tailored clothing, he offered them a small smile. “Thank you for the invitation.”
It was Sasja who huffed and said something in the dhemon language before holding out the baby in her arms. Ehrun’s red eyes widened as he fumbled to take the tiny dhemon, but Ariadne watched in amazement, as she always did, as the monster from her dream terrors softened into the man she still struggled to acknowledge.
His instincts from the short time he had been a father rose to the surface, and he rocked the baby with ease, nothing but pure devotion in his eyes.
“It is Lhala’s first Bruxium,” Ariadne said, stepping closer to Ehrun so she could adjust the blanket around the small figure’s arms. Dhemon though she may be, babies were never quite as good at regulating their body temperature.
Azriel rested a hand on Ehrun’s shoulder, looking at Lhala with fondness. “It wouldn’t be much of a celebration without her uncle.”
Raising his glistening red eyes, Ehrun smiled and nodded to them both. “Thank you.”
“Stop.” Sasja drew out the common tongue word with a lip lifted in disgust. “No…this.” She waved her hand between them. “No sad.”
With a chuckle, Madan said, “She’s right. Kall would be furious if we didn’t show Lhala a good time.”
Ehrun’s grin grew. Speaking to them in the dhemon tongue, he started into the manor with Sasja and Lhala. Whelan turned his chair about and followed with Madan at his side. They disappeared inside amongst the crowd of guests, where Revelie instructed Jakhov through the steps of a waltz.
At first, Ariadne did not move to follow. She watched them go with a mixture of joy and sorrow at all she had gained and all she had lost. Leaning into Azriel, he pulled her flush against him and brushed his lips over the top of her head.
“Are you well, alhija?” Azriel murmured.
Ariadne let loose a long, slow breath and tilted her face up to him. Snow settled on her lashes as she took in the perfect angles of his cobalt face, considering his question. When at last she settled on how to answer, she rose up on her toes to kiss him gently and said, “Until the very end.”