EPILOGUE
Lydia lay on the bed, watching as Seth fed their son for the first time. He was still terrified he was going to hurt the babe, even though she'd promised him he wouldn't. He was far too gentle for that.
"What are we going to name him?" she asked.
Seth looked up with the most beautiful smile she'd ever seen. "Ambrose?"
His choice surprised her, but it made total sense. The Malachai had kept his word after all.
Not the elder Malachai, Adarian, who'd made the pact with Seth. It'd been Adarian's son who had honored his father's word and kept them safe in his home in New Orleans until Seth's powers had returned. But for Ambrose, Noir would have found them.
"You don't want to use Nicholas?" It was Ambrose's human name.
Seth shook his head. "It's too common and there's no one else like our son. "
That was certainly true. He was a rare, rare breed.
Watching the two of them staring at each other with equal wonder and adoration, she smiled as she remembered what Seth had said when she'd asked him why he made her forget him when he'd left her with her father.
"I couldn't bear living if I knew I'd caused you pain. I'd rather you not know me at all, than to think of me and cry. "
He looked up and frowned. "Did I do something wrong?"
Lydia smiled through her tears. No matter how much she tried to explain it, he didn't understand that people could also cry when they were happy. "No, sweetie. I couldn't be happier than I am right now. "
Seth swallowed at those words that meant so much to him. He still couldn't believe, after all he'd been through, that he had her in his life, any more than he could believe this tiny little being had come from something like him.
His son was perfect in every way from the top of his bald head that was dusted with auburn hair, to his topaz eyes, to the tiniest toes Seth had ever seen.
And he would never deny him. No more than he could deny Lydia anything she asked of him.
Even the world.
But what scared him was how close he'd come to not having any of this. How many times he'd lain himself down in defeat.
Had he not tried that one last time . . . had he not found the courage he needed when he thought he had none at all . . .
He didn't want to think about that. He couldn't. Because in the end, this one perfect moment was worth every bit of pain he'd been dealt.
For this life, he would gladly sell his soul. And honestly he had.
Lydia owned it and he was ever, eternally, hers.
The Guardian Page 22
