“There’s one thing I can’t figure out, though . . .” I started.
“Yes, little love?”
“How did you find me in Hepzibah’s lair?”
“Magic.”
“Bullshit.”
He chuckled. “Fine. Not magic. My beloved, you’ve not yet learned the subtlety of a hunter. Demi pulled the entire cabaret together to see who saw you last. Blue told us you were looking for your grandmother. You’d told me yourself that the lair was underground. I went out the gates and followed my nose to the stench of a poorly concealed and inelegantly drained corpse. Then I just had to look for dried blood on the rocks. Rather elementary, really.”
“You’re too clever. But weren’t you too sick to fight?”
He nuzzled my ear and whispered, “Yes. Still am. Fooled you, though, didn’t I?”
“Idiot.”
“But I’m your idiot, Letitia.”
“It all makes sense now, I guess. Except for my Nana.”
His sigh tickled my cheek, and I could feel his smile. “Best beloved, there’s an old saying. If you love something, set it free. If it chases you, it’s yours. In your old world, she was a child again in death, and you knew her only as a broken, needy thing. You gave her a new life, and you can’t be surprised that she took it with open arms and ran with it. The only thing you lost was a burden. In time, when she’s done embracing her new world, or perhaps when she needs the advice of a more accomplished spell caster, she’ll likely come back to visit. But you’ll be equals then. Did you really believe she’d wake up here anxious for a coddled life under your wing? Pish-posh. Even you fought your destiny when you arrived.”
“Well, sure. You kept telling me I belonged to you. So rude.”
“But I was right.”
“But I had to come to my own conclusions.”
He left dancing kisses along my ear and neck. “Took you long enough.”
I settled my butt more firmly into the crook of his body. “Well, as a wise man once told me, easy things are worth nothing. I had to make you work for it.”
“Oh, I’ve had my work cut out for me. Wooing you, running a caravan, fighting off journalists and pianists and equestrienne necromancers. And soon my work will double.”
“Why’s that?”
In response, he rubbed my belly, his warm palm making slow, gentle circles. “Because little Bludmen are incorrigible. And we can only assume our progeny will have your stubbornness and my wiles.”
I swallowed hard and put my hand over his. “How do we know for sure? Maybe Ruby’s glance was wrong, or maybe something happened when Merissa stabbed me, or maybe I’ll . . .” I trailed off, remembering the first hard pains of my miscarriage all those years ago. Since I’d been in Sang, countless people had tried to murder me, but nothing had hurt me so hard, physically and emotionally, as the process of losing a baby. I’d thought the scars would be permanent, but apparently a Bludman’s body could heal more than just age and dire wounds. I still couldn’t quite let myself believe that what I wanted most was possible.
“Can I tell you a secret, love?” It was a worried whisper, a rare thing from him, which set me on edge.
“Yeah, but I can’t promise I won’t get angry. I’m still mad about that hat you gave to the elk.”
“I’ve known since practically the moment it happened. Right after you were turned. There’s a scent Bludwomen give off when they’re . . . quickened. I just assumed that the damage you’d sustained from your world was still affecting you. But I had hope. And once it happened, your odor changed. Can you feel any difference?”
“I think so. But I’m afraid to let myself feel it. Because I might lose it.”
He dragged my hand up to his lips and kissed it, gentle as a butterfly. “Love, you’re a Bludman now. A predator. You were stabbed a few hours ago, and now you’re in bed and practically begging me to kiss you.”
I looked up, aghast. “Begging you to kiss me? Please. We can’t do anything. We might hurt the baby.”
He was already kissing me, his lips dragging down the tender place behind my ear and along my jaw. “You’re too intelligent and well educated to believe that anything we do in bed could hurt a baby, now or later,” he whispered, and my skin came alive as his breath heated me. “If a good stabbing can’t do it, then . . .”
“A better sort of stabbing can’t do it,” I finished for him, breathless already and turning to give him my mouth.
“After all, love . . .” He dragged a finger down my hip and slowly caressed up my leg, under my chemise, my skin all goose bumps and my breath catching as he ran a single finger along the crux of me, which was beyond aching for his touch. “If lovemaking was bad for your body, you wouldn’t want it so badly. That’s nature, is it not?”