She let out another growl, turned her head to look at me, I smiled at her, she blinked her blue eyes and only then did she get up and prowl gracefully off the bed.
I closed my eyes and waited for it.
I didn’t wait long. I never did.
Lahn joined me in bed then he pulled me to his side, shoving his arm under me and holding me close as he reclined on the pillows.
I had no choice but to rest my head on his shoulder so I did. I kept my eyes closed. Then I opened them because his fingers were drawing random patterns on my hip over the silk of my nightgown and that felt better with my eyes closed.
The problem was, I could see his chest when my eyes were open.
So I was screwed either way.
“Kah Lahnahsahna, nahna rahna linas, shalah,” he murmured, My tigress, your golden eyes, please.
I sighed softly, pushed up to my elbow and looked at him.
God, he was gorgeous and I freaking hated that.
He stared in my eyes and said not a word. Then his gaze moved over my face. Then he stared in my eyes again.
Same drill. Every morning. Every single morning every freaking day for six weeks.
“She keeps it locked from me,” he muttered and I blinked.
Hmm. That was new.
And that’s also when I understood. I finally understood what he was doing.
He was looking for my spirit.
Well, that was gone. He’d broken it.
I looked away.
His hand came up and curled around my jaw, gently moving my face so I was looking back at him.
“I lost your eyes for five months, my doe, and I missed them. Even having them back without your spirit shining in them, I don’t like them turned away.”
Yep, same drill. He was being sweet.
I held his eyes. I did not stare. I did not glare. I waited for this to be done.
Sometimes, it took longer than others. Today, I had a feeling he was in for the long haul.
Then he did something else new. He rolled me to my back and loomed over me, but close, and his hand moved to my big, swollen belly, its warmth penetrating the silk.
“He comes soon,” he murmured.
This was true. It was getting close. Any day now.
And Lahn, I also knew, had given up on his golden girl. I knew this because he told me one time in the dead of night when my kid kicked me so hard he woke me. And Lahn, who had his hand on my belly, woke too. It sucked but I had to admit when I saw his eyes in the moonlight shining bright with wonder, his spirit exposed for me to see, his delight at feeling his child move for the first time not even close to hidden, I liked it. All of it. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
And he had murmured, pressing his hand gently into my belly, “That is a warrior, my golden doe.”
I figured he wasn’t wrong. The kid could freaking kick and he was a mover. It was like he was swimming in there, flips, br**ststroke, the whole enchilada. And he was peeved he didn’t have more room to move and told me so frequently by kicking the crap out of me.
Lahn took me out of my thoughts when he informed me, “I know you don’t wish it but I will be in the bath with you and the healer.”