Chapter 190 Chapter 190

Chapter 190 Chapter 190
Jolene
The heavy oak door creaks open, letting in a draft of cold air that smells of frost, fresh leather, and the dark, bitter tang of polished silver.
I don't look up from where I'm sitting on the edge of the mattress, my fingers tangled in the wool of the blanket. I know the sound of his boots. I know the heavy, steady weight of his pulse before he even crosses the threshold. 
Merrick walks into the bedroom, and my throat instantly closes up.
He’s dressed in his full war gear. Dark, hardened leather plates reinforced with cold-forged iron span his broad chest and shoulders. The double leather sheaths are buckled across his back, holding his heavy broadswords, and two silver-bladed hunting daggers rest at his waist. He looks massive. Terrifying. Like a dark war god stepping out of an ancient saga and right into our quiet, candlelit room.
“No shifter’s weave this time?” I ask, not surprised by how tight my throat sounds. 
“When fighting the fae, we’re vulnerable in our wolf forms,” he explains. “This is hand to hand combat in its purest form.”
I would perhaps have felt better if I knew Merrick would be able to shift, Enoch’s shadow looms huge and dark behind his eyes, wild and restless, howling for the blood waiting three miles down the ridge.
“He makes you stronger, right?” I ask in a small voice. “Enoch?”
“Yes.” His voice is gentle and kind. “As Astra makes you stronger.”
Merrick stops at the foot of the bed. He unbuckles his gauntlets, letting the heavy leather drop to the floor with a dull thud, and then he just stands there, staring at me. 
His jaw is locked tight, a muscle ticking in his cheek as his eyes sweep over my face, down to my heavy, swollen belly, and back up again.
"You're going now," I say, my voice growing raspy and thin in the quiet room.
It isn't a question. The tall clock in the hall is five minutes away from midnight.
Merrick doesn't answer right away. He closes the distance between us in three long strides, sinking to his knees on the rug right between my knees. His massive, calloused hands come up, cupping my face with a touch so impossibly gentle it makes my eyes burn. His thumbs smooth over my cheekbones, catching a tear I didn't even realise had spilled over.
"Look at me, Jo," he rumbles, his voice low, thick, and hoarse with raw emotion.
I force myself to look straight into his familiar, dark green eyes. The fear in my chest isn't a quiet sting anymore, it's a suffocating, clawing terror that makes it hard to pull air into my lungs. He’s going into a dark bottlenecked mine filled with shadow-casters, dark magic, and a volatile catalyst that could collapse the mountain.
"I'm going to rip that place apart, sweet girl," he whispers, leaning in until his forehead rests against mine. 
His breath is warm, smelling of pine resin and winter air. "I'm going to break their shadow-well, smash the catalyst to dust, and I'm coming right back to this room."
"Merrick..." I choke out, my hands flying to the iron plates on his shoulders, gripping the cold leather as if I could physically tether him to the floor. "What if it's a trap? What if Lysander..."
"Lysander isn't taking my family," Merrick growls softly, his hand dropping from my face to rest flat over my bump. “He’s not taking our home.”
The moment his broad palm touches my belly, Hope gives a hard, heavy roll against his skin, pressing right into her father's hand. Merrick lets out a shaky, shuddering breath, his eyes closing for a brief second as a crack appears in his hardened armor.
"She knows," I whisper, a broken sob slipping past my lips. "She knows her dad is leaving."
"I'm not leaving her, Jo," Merrick says fiercely, his eyes snapping open, blazing with that intense, unyielding Northern fire. "I'm clearing the path so she can be born in peace. So you can walk into that temple without looking over your shoulder."
“Do you think you can kill him? Lysander?”
“No. But I can stop him.”
“He will never ever stop coming for us. For me. Not until the world is… what he wants it to be.”
Instead of answering me, Merrick leans over and presses his lips against my bump, lingering there for three long, agonising seconds while his hand squeezes my knee. 
When he sits back up, he pulls my face down and kisses me - deep, hard, and desperate, tasting of salt and fire. I can feel a quiet promise vibrating straight through our mate bond.
“And I will never stop looking for a way to kill the fucker,” Merrick says at long last. “I don’t care if it takes an age. I’ll find a way.”
Through the link, I don't feel any doubt. I don't sense a hint of hesitation. I feel the terrifying, absolute weight of a King who would tear the heavens down before letting anything happen to me… to our child.
When he finally pulls back, resting his cheek against mine, his chest is heaving and his cheeks are flushed.
"Kaelen and Rhea are right outside the door," he says into my neck, his voice rough. "Julian’s children are stationed on the landing. If anything feels wrong, if you feel a single contraction, or if the bond flares… you tell Rhea instantly. She will take you to safety."
That stupid fucking temple.
"Just come home," I plead, my fingers digging into the straps of his chest armor. "Do you hear me, Merrick Blackwood? You come back to me. Don't you dare leave me to raise this baby alone."
A ghost of a smile touches his lips, dark and fiercely protective. "Not a chance in hell, Queen.” His voice is low and filled with emotion. “I’ve waited for you for an eternity. I’ve dreamed of this child for centuries. I’ll come back to you both, no matter what.”
He stands up slowly, taking a step backward, his hand sliding out of mine finger by finger until the cold night air fills the space between us. 
He scoops up his gauntlets, throws one last, heavy look at me from the doorway, and then steps out into the dark living room, closing the heavy oak door behind him.