20. Hannah
Hannah
Otto had learned to say “go,” and the house had not known a moment’s peace since.
“Go,” he announced from his high chair as he banged both palms on the tray, where four blueberries sat in a puddle of syrup. “Go, go, go.”
“Nobody’s going anywhere, big man. It’s seven in the morning.” Brakkus stood at the stove in his orc form, flipping pancakes.
He caught me looking, leaned down and kissed my temple. He didn’t want anything from me. That was the part I couldn’t get used to. People were good to me when I’d done something for them. He was good to me when I was just standing in the kitchen.
The gate buzzed midmorning while I was on the rug with Otto, building a tower for the express purpose of destruction. Lola signed for the delivery and came into the living room holding a package wrapped in brown paper, about the size of a cookie sheet.
“For you,” she said.
It had Megan’s handwriting on it, and my stomach dropped. When my family reached out, it was because something had broken, and I was the one who needed to fix it.
I sat back and opened it on the rug while Otto supervised. Inside the paper was bubble wrap, and inside the bubble wrap was a small acrylic painting.
It was a scene of the house I grew up in.
Mom’s yellow curtains with cherries on them were new and bright over the sink.
A brown paper lunch bag sat on the counter.
At the stove stood a girl with strawberry hair, in an apron wrapped twice and still too big for her, cooking with her back to the viewer.
It was a kid doing a grown woman’s job. It was me.
There was a note on a torn piece of sketchbook paper.
Henny—Happy birthday. I know it’s late. I got this image in my head one day after you helped me move. It’s you at the stove, making breakfast on a school day. I don’t think I ever thanked you for everything you’ve done. I’m saying it now.—Meg
Otto smashed the tower and squealed with delight. I sat on the rug holding the painting, my chest tightening. I didn’t know how to receive something so genuine. Especially from my family.
“What’s that?” Lola said, coming around the couch to look over my shoulder. She took a surprised breath. “Oh. Somebody can paint.”
“My sister.”
“She has a gift.” Lola lowered herself onto the edge of the couch behind me.
“Who’s the little girl at the stove?”
“That’s me. My mom died when I was nine. My dad never really recovered. So… I had to grow up fast. I packed the lunches and cooked the breakfasts.”
She put her arm around me. “I’ll make lunch for you now, Mija.”
Lola got up off the couch and held her hands out to Otto. “Come on, mijo. Lunchtime.” He went to her without argument, and she settled him on her hip.
“Go on,” she said to me, nodding at the painting. “Find a place for it. I’ll get his lunch started.” I took the painting down the hall to my room and set it on the dresser.
That evening, Brakkus grilled chicken on the patio while I shucked corn at the outdoor table. We ate outside, and Otto fell asleep in his high chair. Brakkus lifted him out and carried him to the nursery.
We put him down together. Otto rolled onto his stomach, one hand tucked beneath his cheek, while Brakkus pulled the blanket over his legs. I stood beside the crib and watched his breathing settle. He’d need a raincoat by October. 2T. And boots he couldn’t pull off by himself for the pumpkin patch.
Then I realized… I was planning for the fall.
Brakkus touched the small of my back and nodded toward the door. I followed him into the hall, and he pulled the nursery door closed behind us. We both moved toward his bedroom.
“If you claimed me, what would it change for me?” I asked. His hand stilled against my back. “I know you said the bite completes the bond, but what would it actually do?”
“You wouldn’t be wondering anymore whether this is real. Your body would know I was yours the same way mine knows you’re mine.”
I thought of every time he had seemed completely sure while I was still trying to figure out what any of it meant. He had certainty. I had attraction, trust, and feelings so deep they scared me, but none of it came with the absolute knowledge he carried.
“Is that all?”
“No. You’d feel much more than that. If either of us was hurting, the other would know,” he said. “If either of us was scared, happy, angry, or excited, the other would feel it too.”
The hall seemed too quiet around us. “Could it ever be undone?”
“No.” He answered without hesitation.
Brakkus lifted one hand to the side of his throat. “The claiming bite goes here.” His fingers rested below his jaw. Then he turned his head slightly, showing me the other side of his neck. A faint silver scar curved over his green skin. “Nadia claimed me there.”
My breath caught. I had seen the scar before, but I hadn’t known what it was. Nadia’s mark remained on his body even after her death. My hand rose to my own neck. “And you would bite me in the same place?”
“Yes.”
I looked at the silver curve beneath his jaw again. The mark belonged to the life he had shared with Nadia. His bite on my neck would belong to the life he was asking me to share with him. “And after you bite me, the bond is permanent.”
“Yes.” His jaw tightened. “I want to claim you so bad I’ve had to stop myself.”
I swallowed.
“But I won’t do it until you ask me,” he said. “I don’t care what my instincts want. The bite is permanent. You decide whether it happens.”
I might already have loved him before he said it. That was part of the problem. “I’m not ready.”
Pain crossed his face before he hid it.
“Not because I don’t want you,” I said. “I do. But you still pay my salary, and I’m still trying to understand where Hannah the nanny ends and everything else begins.”
He nodded once. “Not yet isn’t the same as no.”
“No,” I said. “It isn’t.”
He bent and kissed me slowly. When he drew back, he ran his thumb across my cheek. “Come to my room tonight, Hannah.”
Going to his room wasn’t the same as moving into it. It wasn’t a claiming bite or a promise I wasn’t ready to make. I took his hand.
“Okay.”