by Amy Sumida
I closed my eyes and thought of home—my other home in the Human Realm. The mansion I shared with Daxon and our son Caelum. The world shifted around me and the In-Between took hold of me. I went soaring through its cool darkness, traveling across galaxies in seconds. As much as I wonder what the Between is, I didn't ponder its composition as I went, mainly because I needed to focus on my destination or the In-Between could get confused. As safe as I was within it, I didn't want to end up floating there forever. But as soon as I arrived on Earth, my thoughts didn't shift to musing about the Between. Instead, they filled with images of my husband and our son.
I had some part in naming my children, but I'd mostly left it up to their fathers and just gave my final approval. Killian had chosen his grandmother's name for Rowan, Raza had gone with something beautiful and Arabic—a Djinn tradition—for Shahzadi (which also happened to mean “princess” so it was a way of giving her the title without demoting Rayetayah), and Tiernan wanted to pay tribute to the magic we hoped Falcas would have. Shadowcall in Fey is Falcasbeir. I pointed out that if he did receive the magic, his name in Fey would be Falcas Falcasbeir, which is a little redundant. Tiernan argued that if Fal didn't receive the Shadowcall, we could say he was named for his hair but if he did, his surname would be Shadowcall, not the old Fey version. Falcas Shadowcall has a nice ring to it so I gave my approval. As for Daxon, he took one look at our son and knew Cael needed a name that honored his heritage and his appearance. Caelum is Latin for the sky or heavens and the stars within it. So, it was an homage to me, as the Twilight Star, and, in a less obvious way, to Daxon, whose mór is related to night. But it also referenced Caelum's celestial features.
When I'd first conceived the children, Danu gave me a vision of what they'd look like to share with their fathers. I saw three of the four babies clearly but with Caelum, I only caught a glimpse of his hair. I knew he'd have his father's indigo locks. What I didn't see were his eyes—amethyst with the spokes of silver stars laid over them. They were my father's eyes and combined with his hair and dramatic bone structure, they made my son one of the most beautiful fairies I've ever seen. Heavenly even.
And his father was already teaching him to use those stunning looks to his advantage.
“Mama!” Caelum cried as he came running out of an open pair of French doors.
I always arrived in the back garden since it was usually empty or sparsely occupied. Daxon owned a massive property of over ten acres in Holmby Hills—one of L.A.'s finest and most expensive neighborhoods. He had developed the property with Fey needs in mind. There were acres of forest, a small lake, and many gardens available to make Daxon and his employees feel at home. But the back garden had been designed as an oasis for our family alone. High hedges hemmed it in and roses perfumed the air. Amid Fey statuary, a pool ambled in a natural shape, and Cael's marmalade kitty, Rufus, prowled amid the fallen flower petals for things to kill. Rufus looked up as his human made a fuss, then went back to hunting.
“There's my baby boy!” I shouted back and opened my arms to my son as I got on one knee.
Cael came straight into my embrace, and I swept him up to breathe in his fresh scent deeply. Sunrise warmed the sky into shades of pink and the birds started to sing as if rejoicing with us. I brushed Caelum's short hair back from his angelic face and kissed his blushed cheek.
“He's been up for over an hour, waiting for you,” Daxon announced as he stepped outside.
My Guard bowed to Dax as they passed him, heading into the house and down to the basement where Dax housed his Elite—a group of fairies who formed his security team. Now that he was a legal king—as opposed to a self-proclaimed one—his Elite was considered to be a Royal Guard, and Dax had taken great delight in exercising his royal prerogative to knight all of them. They spent the first few months calling each other Sir before it got old. Anyway, while I was in residence, my Guard shacked up with Daxon's and mainly kept out of sight. They'd share security duties as well as living space.
“Hello, Your Majesty,” I drawled as I set our son down.
Daxon's knights weren't the only ones who liked to harp on new titles but for me, it never got old.
Daxon strode onto the lawn—his gait that of a predator cat's—and into the light. Sunshine caught his indigo hair and highlighted it with sapphire, mimicking the shade of his eyes: his hypnotizing eyes that could stare into a person's soul and see their darkest fears. And that's the truth, not poetry. Daxon's mór is the Tromlaighe which, in English, translates to “Nightmares.” And that's exactly what he could become—your worst nightmare. He could enter your dreams and turn them into nightmares or he could make those nightmares appear before you, while you were awake, and render you immobile with fear. I'd also seen him condense his power through his enchanted tattoos and send it out in one massive blast that is nearly a physical attack instead of a mental one. Raza had once told me that the Tromlaighe is a magic strong enough to win the Unseelie Throne. I agree with his assessment.
“Hello, my Queen,” Daxon said as he reached for me.
I had a brief moment to appreciate his handsome face and the glimpse of indigo, Celtic-ish tattoos in the V of his shirt. Then his lips were on mine and his arms around me. Cael giggled and ran off after Rufus, but Daxon ignored him and kept kissing me. It would have taken an earthquake to stop him. Even then, I think he might have spared a few moments more for me before dealing with the trembling ground. No Dragon-Djinn issues here.
Dax eased out of our kiss but didn't release me, just loosened his grip so he could stare into my eyes. I had a flash of memory, of him looking at me the same way, moments after we had exchanged vows. Unlike my other husbands, Daxon didn't have to appease a kingdom with a huge party or follow any tradition that he didn't start himself. So, when it came time for us to get married, we did it our way. Daxon, a priestess of Danu, and I went to Danu's grove in Twilight for the ceremony. We had intended to speak our vows among her sacred apple trees. And we did, except not in Twilight.
Minutes after we arrived in Danu's Grove, the priestess had dropped to her knees. We were no longer in the Grove, at least not the one in Twilight. Danu had brought us to a version of it in her realm—a place you could only visit if she allowed it. An altar stood at one end of the clearing, within the mouth of a shallow cave, and Danu stood before it. As her form shifted through all of the Fey races—at least that's how it appeared—she beckoned us forward with open arms.
Daxon and I were married by Danu herself—an honor never given before.
Our goddess gave us her blessing and presided over the exchange of our vows while the priestess continued to kneel beside the sacred trees, heavy with glossy, fragrant, red fruit. Danu laid her hands on our shoulders as she spoke ancient words, most of which I didn't recognize but still managed to comprehend. She allowed Daxon and I to make our vows in English, though, then drew us together to seal those vows with a kiss. Through Danu's hands, her power slipped into our bodies and beyond, uniting Daxon and me in magic as well as love. Apple blossoms rained down upon us, appearing out of thin air. I could still smell their delicate scent and see them sparking with magic. When we eased apart, Daxon had stared at me just as he did now—with gratitude, amazement, and so much love that it nearly brought me to my knees.
If you had told me, back when I first met Daxon, that he'd look at me like this one day, I would have laughed my ass off.
“Five years,” Dax whispered. “Vanished amid happiness that I never dreamed I could feel.”
“I love you too.” I brushed back a lock of his hair and slipped it over his ear.
Dax liked to wear his hair short and straight but with bad boy bangs that tended to drape in a debonair way, angling over one eye. It was a good look for him. Though, to tell the truth, there was very little that could make that man look bad.
“I love you both!” Caelum declared as he came up to us with Rufus.
The poor animal hung from Cael's crossed arms, his bottom half trailing indigna
ntly. Rufus stared balefully at me but endured the treatment. He could be as vicious as any predator when hunting his prey but with Caelum, Rufus was always gentle and more tolerant than any other cat I've known, even the Cat who's a Puka.
“We love you too.” I rescued poor Rufus, setting him free to roam the garden again, then picked up my son. “I even love you enough to cook. Shall I make us breakfast?”
“No!” Daxon and Caelum wailed at the same time.
I chuckled. There are many things that I'm good at but cooking is not one of them. I used to be better at it, could even make something edible, but those skills had disappeared after I became Princess of Twilight. I don't know what happened, I just went to make something one day and ended up with a catastrophe. Now, they call me the Destroyer.
“Well, someone needs to feed us,” I shot back. “I'm starving.”
“That's what I pay people for, Seren.” Daxon rolled his eyes, then took my hand, kissed it, and wrapped it around his arm. “Come along, you two; Father shall provide.”
“Ugh.” I made a face at him. “Don't ever say that again. It was weird and almost biblical.”
“What?” Daxon scoffed. “It was fatherly and poetic.”
“It was weird, Dad,” Caelum confirmed. “You sounded a little like Torquil.”
I laughed my ass off at Daxon's horrified expression and our son joined me. Our laughter eased his irritation instead of bolstering it, and Dax grinned at us indulgently.
“Very well, I amend it to 'I shall see you fed.'”
“Much better.” I nodded. “But I withhold full approval until I know what you'll be feeding me.”
“Me too,” Caelum declared in unity.
“As if you both don't know that you can have whatever you want,” Daxon huffed.
“Now, that's what I like to hear.” I waggled my brows at my husband.
“I fully expect the courtesy to be returned to me later tonight,” Daxon whispered in my ear.
“Ah, I knew you had ulterior motives, Tromlaighe,” I said dramatically. To our son, I added, “Your father is always scheming.”
“Scheming?” Caelum asked.
“Coming up with brilliant plans,” Daxon said with a smirk.
“That's one way to define it,” I said dryly.
“I want to be always scheming too,” Cael decided.
I grimaced at my husband when he laughed.
“Don't worry, Son, I already have a scheme for that,” Daxon confessed.
“Danu save us all,” I muttered.
Chapter Eight
Daxon's chef, a Gancanagh named Philip, made us a breakfast feast. Gancanaghs are also known as Love Talkers; they can use their voice to seduce people. This particular Gancanagh had a French accent which Daxon seemed to think made him a better chef. Accent or not, Philip made damn good food so he got to stay. We ate at the long, rustic, wood dining table on the patio in the backyard. No iron furniture here, although Daxon does take great pleasure in having an iron gate at the front of the property. Iron is deadly to Fairies and even being near it can be a bad experience for them. So, an iron gate is like a natural ward, repelling Fairies. That being said, iron can't be enchanted so Daxon's gate doesn't have the normal wards most fairies put in such barriers. With such expansive grounds, that would be near impossible to place a ward around, Daxon doesn't see the point of bothering with one in a gate anyway. So, it's more of a statement piece.
“Tiernan thinks we should go back to doing the three-day rotation,” I said to Daxon before taking a bite of French toast.
Daxon's eyes widened. “I agree; a week is nice to have with you but then we have to wait another three before we see you again. I think we'd prefer to have less time but a shorter wait.”
“Okay, we're all in agreement. After this week with you, we'll go back to a three-day schedule.”
“Wonderful. You hear that, Cael? Mama will be back in nine days instead of three weeks.”
“Yay!” Cael declared.
Then a howl joined his shout and Daxon grimaced.
“They're fighting again,” Caelum concluded, then stuffed a piece of French toast into his mouth.
“It's Desmond who eggs Conri on, and you know it,” I said to Daxon's annoyed look.
“Because Conri makes it so easy.”
“That is hardly an excuse.”
Another howl pierced the morning.
“Damn dogs,” Daxon huffed as he stood. “Well, we might as well enjoy the entertainment. Shall we?” He waved us toward the arched exit that cut through the garden's high hedges.
Cael shoved the rest of his breakfast into his mouth, then tried to chew without choking.
“You look like a chipmunk,” I teased him.
“Son, never let a woman see you looking like a chipmunk,” Daxon admonished. “It's not sexy.”
“He doesn't need to be sexy, Daxon. He's five,” I said sternly.
“I'm giving him important advice about his future,” Dax argued.
Cael murmured something.
“What was that?” Daxon asked as he cocked his head at our child. “I can't hear you because your mouth is full of fried bread and syrup.”
“You're the one who forced him to choose between breakfast and a dog fight.” I got up and went to stand beside Cael. Holding my napkin in front of his face, I said, “Spit it out before you choke, baby.”
Cael obediently spit out his toast. Catching chewed up food in a napkin is one of the least disgusting things I've had to do as a mother. I swear, no one tells you about how gross kids are—what comes out of them and what they put into themselves. I folded the napkin and set it on my plate, then put a fresh piece of French toast on Cael's plate.
“Eat properly,” I advised him.
“I'm done!” Cael declared and jumped out of his seat without attempting to eat anymore.
I glared at Daxon.
“You're certainly full of blame this morning, love of mine,” Daxon noted as he swung Cael onto his shoulders. “The boy just wants to see the fight and it's not going to last long.”
He took off with my baby.
I sighed deeply and followed them, but I grabbed my mimosa to take with me. Desmond is a Cu-Sidhe, the same race as Conri's father but despite this, or maybe because of it, the men had an interesting relationship. They were definitely friends, but in a gladiator sort of way—a step up from soldier buddies. Or a step down—whatever step took it in a bloodier direction. It seemed as if every time I visited Daxon, Conri and Desmond had a brawl. I've seen Desmond goad Conri into it but in all honestly, I believe Conri allows it. They call their brawls “training” but it's nothing more than dog fights and I hate watching animals fight, even when they're not technically animals. I think the aggression has something to do with Conri's dad, but it could simply be a canine thing. Conri seemed determine to prove that Bargests—with their curving horns and fiery eyes—are better warriors than Cu-Sidhe.
“What the hell?” I stretched out my bra and fluttered it so the crumbs that had somehow managed to get inside it would shake free. “We had French toast, not regular toast. Where did these crumbs even come from?”
Crumbs. The bane of my existence. Children are like little crumb factories, spreading the stuff like Tinkerbell with her pixie dust. And one of the places it inevitably winds up is down my bra. Sensitive boobs are great for sex but awful to have around children—who are the natural result of sex. Oh, the irony. First, babies suck at your boobs until they're raw, then they beat on them because they're such nice squishy targets, and then they toss crumbs at them because... well, because they're children and children throw things.
“Crumbs everywhere,” I muttered as I shook my bra again. “The couch, the bed, my bra. When will it ever end?”
“What was that, Seren?” Daxon glanced back at me.
“Nothing,” I said sweetly.
I followed my boys down a pebbled path that wound past a forested area. It split there. One path went into the woods w
hile the other headed down a low hill toward our destination—the training yard. Daxon had hired more soldiers after he became King of the Fairy Underworlds. Only his Elite got to live in the main house; the rest lived in a separate barracks compound, complete with a mess hall, armory, and recreation rooms. In front of the barracks were several training areas as well as recreation areas and one of the training yards was surrounded by a ring of men and women, all Fey. As we drew closer, the soldiers parted for us and the fight was revealed.
On a square of hard-packed earth were two enormous dogs—one a Bargest and one a Cu-Sidhe. Both had the appearance of shaggy wolves but that's where their similarities ended. One of them was twice the size of the other and his fur was a dark, mossy green. The smaller one made up for his size—which was still at least twice as large as your average wolf—with savage horns that curled around his ears and burning eyes that were intimidating if nothing else. The snarls the two animals made were enough to make my skin crawl. They snapped at each other viciously and their deadly claws sent blood flying in arcs. You couldn't tell by watching them that they were both honorable men and friends to boot; they had every appearance of brutal enemies. Desmond was Daxon's right-hand-man and was also in charge of security. This meant that Daxon's soldiers were particularly eager to watch their commander duke it out with a Bargest.
