My mate.
The words settled warmly in my chest.
Menon looked down at me then with such devastating tenderness my knees nearly weakened.
Dr. Childs followed my gaze toward him.
The celestial runes beneath his blue skin glowed softly beneath the festival lights while silver moonlight clung to his dark hair and massive frame.
He looked terrifying.
Beautiful.
Ancient.
And entirely focused on me.
“Ah, that would be an excellent explanation for all the years of sleeplessness and seeming difficulty with your casting. We never did try any lunar spells,” Dr. Childs said quietly.
Not judgmental.
Not shocked.
Just thoughtful.
A beat of silence stretched with no interruption, and I felt hope unfurl inside my chest.
Maybe this confrontation wouldn’t be as hard as I imagined.
But I was wrong.
Right then another voice sliced through the moment like ice.
“Or perhaps you were always right, Dr. Childs. Perhaps you are simply not well, Amrin.”
Every muscle in my body locked instantly.
Mother.
Evelyn Cordoza stepped closer from the shadows beside Dr. Childs, elegant and severe beneath the floating lantern lights.
My stomach dropped hard.
The warmth of the matebond remained steady beneath my ribs, but old instincts still twisted painfully inside me at the sight of her.
Years of disappointment did not disappear overnight.
“Mother,” I repeated carefully.
Her gaze swept over me critically.
Then over Menon.
Then over our joined hands.
Disapproval sharpened visibly across her face.
“Always so desperate for approval, Amrin. Well, I see the rumors were true.”
