Page 284 of May: Bloom & Bane

I rest my hand over my stomach. “Who knows,” I murmur. “Something tells me there’s still a chance.”

Ashán extends a single skelva toward the edge of the tissue paper.

“What are you doing?” I ask, an amused smile tugging at my lips.

“Practicing,” he rasps, his gaze fixed on the tiny pink sock Droot left on the cushion. He pinches the tiny scrap of fabric between the tips of his bony fingers. He looks so terrified of tearing it that a bead of sweat forms at his temple.

“Left side, Ash. Your claws are sharper on the right,” Sage points out. “Ease the pressure. You are handling a nestling’s sock, not anchoring a boulder.”

“I am easing it,” Ashán growls under his breath. “The yarn is… defying me.”

“You guys are ridiculous,” I giggle, wincing as Vaelína rolls against my ribs. My lower back aches. The size of my stomach makes it impossible to find a comfortable position for more than a few minutes at a time.

Instantly, the sock is abandoned. Their focus snaps to my face. The lashing shadows morph into a warm, undulating blanket of pure comfort. Ashán and Sage slide their hands beneath my hips, lifting me an inch off the cushions to ease the pressure on my spine.

I let out a long sigh. “Ohhh, God. Don’t move. Stay exactly like that for the next month and a half.”

“If you keep talking like that,” Ash murmurs, burying his face into the crook of my neck, “there’s going to be a lot of movement in this nest real soon.”

A helpless laugh escapes me.

“You’re terrible,” I whisper, though I arch into his touch, my fingers tangling in the thick smoky strands of his hair.

His fangs trace over my skin.

“Sage—”

“Do not look at me to restrain him, ílyara.” Sage’s vines creep higher along the edge of the cushions, white blossoms bursting open in a wave of sweet, intoxicating fragrance. “My roots long to be tangled deep in your soil. If the reaper wants to worship our little human, I will gladly hold you steady.”

“Oh, so it’s a conspiracy now,” I rasp. “Has it gotten hotter in here?”

Ashán lets out a low growl. “The fire in your blood calls to ours, ash’kaela.”

Sage’s vines tighten their grip, the blossoms along my ankles dripping a thick, sticky nectar.

“I am heavily pregnant, Ashán,” I breathe out, my fingers tightening in his hair as his tongue sweeps along my jawline.

“We know,” he growls, tilting his hips so I can feel how hard he is. “If it were up to me, you’d be much fuller.”

Droot lets out a deeply offended chirp and hops out of the living room.

“Are you two for real right now?”

“If I recall correctly.” Sage gives a lazy thrust, “one of us was begging last night, after four intense orgasms.”

“Any guesses who that was, ash’kaela?”

A blush rises up my neck. I squeeze my eyes shut, burying my face into my hands.

“That was a medical necessity,” I mumble. “The baby was pressing on a nerve. You both agreed it was… therapeutic.”

Ashán lets out a bark of laughter, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Therapeutic? Is that what we’re calling it now? I don’t remember a doctor prescribing the way you wrapped your legs around my waist, mí’maru.”

“Nor the way you sobbed our names into the dark when we stretched you open.” Sage chimes in, his voice laced with wicked satisfaction. “We were merely dedicated to your wellness, Saevúra. We are very thorough healers.”

“You are monsters,” I wheeze.

“We are your monsters,” they correct, “and until our nestling is ready to meet the world, you are our captive. And we will soothe every single ache you have,” they promise. “Starting right now.”