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I wanted to come since shortly after I slid into her tight heat, but I’ve been holding back. Her loud, unfettered bliss gives me permission for my own release as her tight walls spasm around me. I jet into her as I thrust and grunt and murmur her name on a final groan.
For a moment, my mind is a dead zone: no thoughts, wordless, just floating in bliss outside of time and space. Then my eyes flicker open to see her, still panting, sheened in sweat, perhaps floating, recovering from her own ecstasy.
I lean to kiss and nip her chin, but when I shift my weight to pull out, she presses me closer.
“Stay inside me, Sylas. Stay.”
Did I think the sex would kill me? No. This right here, the sweetness of her demand, that she wants us to stay connected as long as possible. It would be enough to kill a lesser male.
“I love you, Calliope Quinn.”
“I’ll say I love you, too, Sylas. But that doesn’t express the half of it.”
She tucks herself closer as we lie on our sides, still connected, and peppers me with kisses as she pats the bed behind her ass and calls, “Tater, Tater, alligator. You can come join us now.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Epilogue
Many Months Later…
Cally
The sun is fading behind the pines outside our little Quonset on this glorious Fourth of July evening. Time has flown in the months since I crawled under the fence and met Sylas. Our lives have changed so profoundly in that time it seems more like a decade.
I rest my palm on my rounded belly, smiling as our baby gives me a gentle kick. This little one already has a mind of its own—just like his or her mom. When my parents used to get exasperated with me, they would warn me that someday I might have my own sassy child. By the strength of the baby’s kicks, my parents just might be right.
The doctor explained that in the womb, hooves are soft. They don’t harden until after the baby is born. Thank goodness for small favors.
Worse than the kicking is that a month ago the doc put me on bed rest as a precaution, just in case. It’s not unusual. He’s done that for all the pregnant women in the compound.
But any discomfort or inconvenience seems trivial in light of the miracle growing inside me. Sylas and I are going to be parents! And not just to any ordinary baby, but a perfect blend of my humanity and his magnificent hybrid genes. I can’t wait to meet our son or daughter and discover who they’ll take after.
A flutter in my abdomen draws my hands to cradle the bump protectively. “Shhh, little fawn,” I croon. “You’re safe. No need to worry.” That’s what we’ve taken to calling the baby, thanks to the ultrasound tech spotting tiny nubs on its head that will likely develop into petite antlers. We don’t know yet whether its legs will be furry like its father or smooth like my human limbs, but you can’t mistake the hooves below the ankle. The day the doc showed us our baby’s tail on an ultrasound, the look on Sylas’s face was pure joy. I can’t wait to meet our little one.
As I caress the taut skin, I’m filled with awe all over again that there’s a tiny being growing safe inside me. Sylas and I created new life out of our love. It’s the most profound thing I’ve ever experienced.
Sylas refused to leave my side when I was placed on bedrest, fretting I’d get bored or lonely or—more likely—that I wouldn’t follow directions. Damn, that male knows me so well. But once I promised to follow doctor’s orders and work from my bed, Sylas relented. He even carried my worktable and printer to the bedroom, so I have my own little office within arm's reach.
I’ve taken thousands of pictures of the splicers going about their daily lives. As I suspected, the images show their humanity. No one could miss the look of kindness on Chance the centaur’s expression as he kneels to allow his mate, Jo, onto his back. Or the pure joy sparkling from Tyler’s eyes as he, with all his tiger DNA, dances with Olivia under the moonlight. Their happiness at finding each other despite adversity is palpable.
My favorite is a candid of lion-man Noble bending to kiss his very pregnant mate Jenna in front of their Quonset, his furred hand gently cradling her belly. Sylas says I managed to capture the wonder in the male’s eyes.
Colonel Slater continues to be cautiously optimistic about the public’s acceptance of the splicers when the time comes. He even told us that when Top Secret advance copies of my photos were distributed to several key senators, they talked about ensuring splicers’ rights. That worry hadn’t even come up on my radar, but it sounds as though when the time comes, our guys will have all the rights of a U.S. citizen. I’ll never get over the thrill of knowing my work made a real difference.
Of course, Sylas worries I’m doing too much. He fusses over me constantly, making sure I have enough pillows propping me up and refreshments within reach. I indulge him since I know it makes him feel useful, but truly I’ve never been happier.
The only dark spot in my otherwise joyful life is that my family doesn’t know about any of this. As Colonel Slater promised, I’ve been in touch with them, though all correspondence has to be approved before it’s sent. They know I’m fine, although I had to reassure them a hundred times that I’m not in jail. I can’t blame them. It would be the first guess of anyone who knew me well that I stepped over a line one too many times and got caught doing something I shouldn’t.
They understand that I’m safe and will contact them the moment I’m allowed. What makes me sad is that I can’t tell them about the love of my life, or the miracle growing bigger every day inside my womb.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and give thanks to whoever’s listening that I was lucky enough to meet the male who is perfect for me. Just yesterday, I woke before him and memorized every inch of his face, feeling warmth infuse me with just how much I love him.
Sometimes the tsunami of affection hits me out of the blue. At others, it’s when he does something amazing, no matter how small. A few days ago, when we were in our favorite position on the couch with my feet in his lap, he read me a story, complete with silly voices. It was so adorable I couldn’t help but imagine how great he’s going to be with our little one.
The loving feeling is mutual, though Sylas doesn’t bother to hide it like I occasionally do. He never hesitates to praise me and shower me with words like adore, cherish, and honor. It makes my stomach swirl and swoop just to think about how much he loves me.
Sylas has been working hard framing and matting my prints to sell in our little shop once the splicer community goes public. Business has already been booming just from residents wanting framed photos of their mates or candid shots of themselves.
He should be home soon, because we’re going to join all our friends at the lake to watch fireworks. Most Americans celebrate the Fourth of July because of something that happened in 1776. For splicers, it signifies something much closer to home. They’ve renamed it Splicer Independence Day and celebrate the army infiltrating the evil scientist’s lair and freeing them from captivity.
