She cupped his face in her hands, keeping his gaze on her. “Am I what? Say it.”

He tried to turn away.

“Say it,” she commanded again.

“Do you… love me?”

She held his gaze for a long moment. She cared for him deeply, but love? She loved Lilith. Did she also love Octavian? Yes, she did. He was her lover, but also her child, sired by her own hand. How could she not love him? “I do.”

He went utterly, completely still.

For a moment, she faltered. Had she misread his affections? Maybe he didn’t feel the same way she did after all. She took her hands from his face and pulled back, instantly assessing how she might retreat with her dignity intact. The first spiny tendrils of anger sprang to life in her belly. “I—”

“I am honored. And unworthy,” he breathed. He laughed, a great boisterous sound of joy. He hugged her tightly, picking her up and twirling her around the room.

“Put me down this instant!” But relief swept through her. She had not made a foolish decision after all.

At their noise, Lilith began to cry from her crib.

Tatiana slapped his chest. “Now look what you’ve done.”

Octavian kissed her firmly, then let her go. “She’s only crying because it took you so long to answer me.” He went to Lilith’s crib and cradled her in his arms before returning to Tatiana. “We make a handsome family, don’t you think?”

“I do.” Tatiana nodded. “Handsome and powerful.” Recognizing him as her consort would give Octavian the most protection she could offer. If anyone harmed him, she’d be able to come after them with no questions asked.

Let the Dominus and their Elders come. She was ready.

Yahla sprawled across Creek’s chest, her rhythmic breathing warming his skin. His right arm curved around her body, his hand splayed on the small of her back, the feathers of her hair soft on his shoulder. His other hand held the charm his grandmother had made. Without it, he’d be dead by now.

He touched the charm to his lips, kissing it and saying a silent thank-you to Mawmaw. Was it wrong to thank your grandmother for making the best sex of your life possible? He stifled a laugh so as not to wake Yahla.

She inhaled a sleepy breath and stretched, stiffening for a moment against him, then melting back down until their curves rejoined. “You are awake?”

“Yes. I slept a little.”

“Did you dream?”

He nodded. “Of you.”

She lifted her head and smiled. “Did you do to me in your dreams what you did to me in your bed?”

“You’re a wicked woman, you know that?”

She turned onto her back so that her head rested on his shoulder. “I am whatever you need me to be, Thomas.” Her fingers drew small circles on his thigh. “Wicked. Willing. Wanton.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I did.” It had been a long damn time since he’d had a night like last night. One that had left him limp and drained of every ounce of built-up need. The only need he had now was Yahla. He wanted her beside him all the time.

“What else do you desire?”

“A simple, peaceful life.” It was true. He’d had enough trouble these last years to never want another problem again. But that wasn’t going to be the way of it as a Kubai Mata.

“You’re thinking of them, aren’t you?”

“Them?” He knew who she meant, just didn’t want to talk about it.

“Don’t pretend with me. The Kubai Mata. Your masters.”

“Don’t call them that.”

She shifted to look at him. The wildness had returned to her eyes. “Why, when that is what they are?”

He pushed up to his elbows. “I’m done discussing this. You know I can’t do anything about it.”

Her smile returned, this time bent and odd. “But I can. And I will.”

He shook his head. “Enough. There’s nothing to discuss.”

The scrape of the metal door being rolled back sounded from downstairs. Creek leaped from the bed and put a finger to his lips for Yahla to keep quiet. He’d locked the door. How had someone picked it without him hearing? He tugged on his jeans and grabbed his crossbow.

No footsteps. Whoever was downstairs was either really quiet or hadn’t come inside. He notched a bolt into the bow and went to the edge of the loft. “Don’t move or you’re dead.”

Argent’s green eyes stared back at him. “I doubt that very much.”

Creek dropped the bow. “Sector Chief. I didn’t realize it was you.”

“Obviously.” The dragon-shifter turned his attention to Creek’s V-Rod, running his fingertips over the gas tank before glancing up again. “If you’re waiting for me to come up there, you’ll be waiting a long time.”

“Yes, sir. Be right down.” He dropped the crossbow onto the bed so he could yank on a T-shirt. Yahla looked less than pleased to be left alone. He held up a finger to say he’d just be a minute. Argent probably just wanted an update. Which wouldn’t take long since there was nothing to tell. Shirt on, he bent, planted a kiss on her calf, and jogged down the steps. “So, what brings you by?” Unexpectedly. His favorite way to be visited.

“Have you spoken to the comarré about recovering the child yet?”

“Yes. She’s not exactly interested in taking that job.”

Argent didn’t seem fazed by the news. Instead, he crouched to examine the bike more closely. “Speak to her again. If she still refuses, kill the anathema. That will persuade her.”