Epilogue
Jade
The afternoon sun painted the city sidewalk in patches of gold and shadow as Ziggy and I made our way down Fifth Avenue.
“Look at you,” Ziggy said, bumping his shoulder against mine with a theatrical sigh. “All domestic and shit."
I laughed. “Speaking of disgustingly in love,” I said casually, “have you thought about visiting the Moirai? They do have a pretty good track record.”
Ziggy stopped so abruptly that a businessman in a hurry nearly collided with him, earning a glare that he didn’t even notice. He turned to me with wide eyes, one hand pressed against his forehead.
“Absolutely not,” he declared. “Have you lost your mind, did you forget what those three put you through?”
“They didn’t put me through anything,” I countered, pulling him back into motion before he caused a sidewalk traffic jam.
Ziggy resumed walking but maintained his outraged expression. “Jade, honey, no. I am not trusting my love life to three women with scissors and a god complex.”
I bit my lip to hold back another laugh. “They don’t all have scissors. Just Atropos.”
“Oh, well that makes it so much better!” His hands flew up in exasperation. “Only one of them can literally cut my life thread! The others just measure it and spin it while making cryptic comments about destiny!”
“I’m just saying,” I continued, unable to keep the amusement from my voice, “they found me a demon mate who worships the ground I walk on and makes me happier than I ever knew was possible.”
“Yeah, after you nearly died and had to fight your way back from the afterlife.” Ziggy crossed his arms. “I’ll take Tinder, thanks. Less risk of stabbing.”
We turned the corner heading to Magnur's fashion house, I tried to keep the smile off my face at the thought of seeing him soon.
“Besides,” Ziggy added as we approached the building, “some of us enjoy the drama of terrible first dates. It gives me material for my art.”
“Your last installation was literally called ‘Trauma Dump: First Date Edition.’”
“And it got rave reviews!” He held the door open for me with a flourish. “Creating from my pain is my superpower.”
We stepped into the bright, airy reception area, staff members moved between cutting tables and dress forms, some sketching, others draping fabric over mannequins.
“Hey, Jade! He’s in the back studio with the little one.”
“Thanks, Eliza.” I smiled, warmed as always by the casual acceptance I’d found here.
Unlike Trevor, who had isolated me from friends and colleagues, Magnur had incorporated me into his world without hesitation.
His staff, many of them supernatural beings themselves, had accepted me as part of their boss’s life from day one, treating me with a respect that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with genuine affection.
Ziggy and I wound our way through the busy workspace, nodding to familiar faces as we passed. A young apprentice grinned and pointed toward the back studio, mouthing “so cute” with an expression that told me exactly what we were about to find.
The door to Magnur’s private studio stood slightly ajar, and I paused in the opening, my breath catching at the sight before me.
My demon mate sat cross-legged on the polished concrete floor, his shoulders hunched slightly as he bent over our daughter with intense concentration.
She lay on a blanket before him, tiny arms and legs kicking excitedly as he carefully adjusted the pleats on a dress the color of crushed blackberries.
“There we go, little star,” he murmured, his deep voice softened to a gentle rumble. “Perfect. Just like you.”
Our daughter, two months old and already showing signs of her father’s otherworldly heritage in the slight reddish gleam of her eyes when she was excited, gurgled happily in response.
Behind me, I heard Ziggy’s soft intake of breath. For all his dramatic declarations and sarcastic commentary, he melted completely around our daughter. We all did. How could we not? She was the the living embodiment of everything Magnur and I had fought for.
I leaned against the doorframe, drinking in the sight of them.
The scars that marked Magnur’s body were visible where he’d rolled up his sleeves.
Once, they had been markers of his pain.
Now, they were simply part of the map that had led him to us, to this moment, to the tiny hands reaching up to grasp his fingers with complete trust.
Magnur looked up, his eyes finding mine instantly across the room. He set aside the tiny accessory he’d been adjusting and scooped up our daughter.
“Look who’s here, little star,” he murmured to her, rising to his full height. She looked so small against his chest, her dark curls a stark contrast to the crisp white of his button-down shirt.
“We’ve been perfecting her ensemble,” he announced, approaching us with pride evident in every line of his body. “The pleating on this dress is hand-stitched silk organza over a cotton base for comfort. The color brings out the warmth in her skin tone.”
He turned slightly so we could better appreciate the full effect of the tiny blackberry-colored dress with its intricate pleats and delicate embroidery.
“The hemline is slightly asymmetrical,” he continued. “It creates movement when she kicks, which she seems to enjoy.”
As if on cue, our daughter’s legs pumped excitedly, making the dress flutter. Her eyes fixed on me, and her face lit up with recognition.
“Ba-ba-ba,” she babbled, reaching toward me with grabbing motions of her fingers.
“I think she’s critiquing your accessory choices,” I teased, stepping forward to stroke her cheek. “Maybe she wants a statement necklace to complete the look.”
Magnur’s expression was so genuinely horrified that I burst out laughing.
“Absolutely not,” he said with complete seriousness. “Necklaces are choking hazards. I’ve researched this extensively.”
“Of course you have.” I grinned, leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw.
Ziggy stepped forward. “Alright, that’s enough,” he announced, reaching for the baby. “Give me my niece. You two are about to get embarrassing, and she‘s too young to be traumatized by her parents making googly eyes at each other.”
Magnur hesitated for a fraction of a second before carefully transferring her into Ziggy’s waiting arms.
“Hello, gorgeous girl! Look at this dress your daddy made you. Yes, it’s very fancy, isn’t it? Much nicer than anything he’s ever made for me, and I’ve known him longer than you have.”
Our daughter gurgled happily in response, delighted by Ziggy’s exaggerated expressions and sing-song voice.
With the baby thoroughly distracted, Magnur turned his full attention to me, pulling me closer until I was enveloped in the familiar warmth of his body.
One hand settled at the small of my back, the other coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
“I missed you,” he murmured.
I laughed softly, my hands resting against his chest. “I was gone for three hours. Just lunch with my mom and Ziggy.”
"Time moves differently when you’re not here.”
“We have time now,” I reminded him gently, my fingers tracing the line of his collarbone through his shirt.
His eyes darkened at my touch, the red in them intensifying slightly as he leaned down to brush his forehead against mine, an intimate gesture that had become our private ritual, a reminder of the connection that neither death nor magic could sever.
“It’s my turn to dress you now,” he said.
Heat pooled low in my belly at his words. “Oh? Is that so?”
His only response was a slight curve of his lips and the way his gaze traveled down my body, taking inventory of what he intended to remove. He laced his fingers with mine and tugged gently, leading me toward the private dressing room at the back of his studio.
“You‘ll be a big sister in no time, sweet girl!” Ziggy called after us, entertaining himself and the baby. “Your parents are so predictable it hurts.”
I flipped him off over my shoulder without looking back, his laughter following us down the hallway as Magnur pulled me toward privacy with barely restrained urgency.
Some things hadn’t changed since that first night at the rooftop the electric charge still built in the air when we touched.
But other things had deepened, growing stronger with each day spent building our life together.
The dressing room door clicked shut behind us, sealing away the bustling activity of the studio. He moved toward me his fingers finding the top button of my blouse, working it free slowly.
“No tearing today?” I asked, my attempt at teasing undermined by the breathiness that had already crept into my voice.
The corner of Magnur’s mouth lifted in that barely-there smile that still made my heart skip. “Not today. Today I want to savor every inch of you.”
His fingers continued their descent, the heat in his eyes made me shiver despite the warmth of the room.
My blouse fell open, and Magnur pushed it from my shoulders.
It slid down my arms and pooled at my feet, forgotten the moment it left my skin.
His palms skimmed over my shoulders, tracing the curves, I sighed and leaned into his touch, my body responding to him with the immediate recognition of coming home.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, bending to press his lips to the curve where my neck met my shoulder. “Every time I see you, I still can’t believe you’re mine.”
His mouth traveled across my collarbone, leaving a trail of gentle kisses as his hands moved to the fastening of my pants.
“I’m yours,” I agreed, my fingers finding the buttons of his shirt. “Just like you’re mine.”
My pants joined my blouse on the floor, leaving me in just my underwear.
Magnur pulled back slightly, his eyes traveling over my body, his hands followed his gaze, tracing the curve of my waist, the flare of my hips, the softness of my stomach that still bore the faint marks of carrying our daughter.
He knelt before me, his lips pressing against my hip bone, then trailed across the lower curve of my stomach.
“I dreamed of you,” he murmured against my skin, “before I knew your face. Dreamed of someone who would accept my love and love me as I am without turning away. I will forever be grateful fate sent me you.”
His hands curved around the backs of my thighs, steadying me as his mouth continued its exploration. I threaded my fingers through his hair, anchoring myself to him as pleasure began to build from every point of contact.
“I would never turn away from you,” I whispered, the words catching in my throat as his teeth grazed a particularly sensitive spot. “Not in this lifetime or any other.”
He looked up at me then. “I love you, Jade,” he said, rising slowly to his full height, his hands never leaving my body as they traced the journey upward. “Always and forever in this life.” He bent to brush his lips against mine. “And every one after.”
I melted into him, the familiar contours of his body fitting against mine like pieces of a puzzle finally solved.
Our thread hummed between us, vibrant and alive with possibility and I knew with absolute certainty that this love had been worth every sacrifice, struggle and choice that had led us here.
Worth dying for. Worth living for. Worth everything.