Her eyes widen as she reads, then lift to mine. “The breeding contract is complete?” The playfulness in her voice can’t quite mask the emotion beneath it.
“No more kids,” I murmur against her mouth. “Three would’ve been too many.”
Her smile turns feral as she drops the phone and pulls me down onto the bed. “Agreed,” she says, already working at my belt. “Though that doesn’t mean we can’t keep practicing.”
I lower myself over her, claiming her mouth as she claims my body, the last ash of the diary drifting up the chimney and out into the winter night, taking with it the final shadows of the Knight curse.
Carolina’s scream wakes me before dawn, sharp enough to splinter the dream I’m in. Instinct takes me first—I reach under my pillow for the gun and sprint down the hall, heart hammering with every step.
“Nick! The girls are gone!” she shrieks.
The cold metal of the Glock warms to my palm as I move, barefoot and silent, listening for whatever threat has made my wife cry out.
Every door, every window, every possible entry point flashes through my mind as I calculate how quickly I can eliminate whoever dared enter our home.
The Christmas tree lights cast uneven shadows down the staircase as I descend. I pause at the bottom, eyes scanning for movement, ears straining for sounds of struggle. Nothing but Carolina’s voice, pitched high with what sounds less like fear now and more like—surprise?
I burst into the living room ready for war, weapon raised, only to find chaos of a different kind. Jack and Eve, uninvited and unapologetic, sitting at our dining table feeding the girls pancakes drowning in syrup.
My daughters giggle, their mouths sticky with sugar, while Eve winks at Carolina, who’s too stunned to speak. Relief floods me so fast it’s almost painful. My body’s still hunting for a target, adrenaline with nowhere to go.
I lower the gun, exhaling a string of curses under my breath that makes Jack smirk wider. “Merry Christmas, brother,” he says, casually as if he hasn’t broken into my home before dawn. “You’re out of maple syrup.”
Eve sits beside him, looking more relaxed than I’ve ever seen her. She’s wearing an oversized Christmas sweater; her hair is completely green this year and hangs loose down her back.
“We brought presents,” she says, nodding toward a pile of packages under the tree that weren’t there when we went to bed.
Carolina recovers first, crossing the room to kiss Jack’s cheek, then Eve’s. “You could have called,” she scolds, but there’s no heat in it.
I second that sentiment with a grunt. If it wasn’t because we don’t get to spend a lot of time together, since my brother and sister-in-law travel with the different Sanctuaries all year long, I’d chew them out for this rude awakening.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Jack asks, sliding a plate of pancakes toward an empty chair. “Besides, Willow and Lily wanted to help make breakfast for their dad. So when they called and asked us to help, we couldn’t say no.”
My older daughter beams at me, face smeared with syrup, utterly delighted by her uncle’s presence. “We called them last week,” she giggles.
“Yes, Uncle Marco helps,” Lily adds.
I set the gun down on a high shelf, out of reach, then take the offered seat. “How did you get in?” I don’t know why I’m asking. If Marco’s in on this impromptu visit, he obviously let them in.
“It wasn’t easy,” Jack says, eyeing the girls. “We had to climb in through a window, and… nah, just kidding. Marco let us in. Giving him a key was clearly an amateur move.”
Looking at my brother now, seeing the ease in his shoulders, the clarity in his eyes, I can feel a knot loosening in my chest that I didn’t realize was there.
“We finished the Sanctuary of Secrets in San Francisco early,” Eve explains, wiping syrup from Willow’s chin. “We sold out every night.”
“And made enough to award three more Willow’s Foundation scholarships,” Jack adds, pride evident in his voice.
Carolina squeezes my shoulder as she moves past me to the coffeepot. Her touch says more than words—she’s glad they’re here, glad to see this piece of our family returned, even if just for a visit.
“Uncle Jack said you used to put tinfoil on your windows,” Willow announces, eyes wide as she looks at me. “To keep out the aliens.”
I arch an eyebrow at my brother, who shrugs innocently. “Just sharing family stories.”
“That never happened,” I sigh.
“Says you,” Eve adds, deadpan, and Jack laughs, the sound filling the kitchen with a warmth I didn’t realize I’d missed.
We eat together, laughter and stories filling the room. Eve describes the stray cat that’s adopted them, a one-eyed tabby they’ve named Cyclops.
