Chapter 195 Chapter 195

Chapter 195 Chapter 195
Jolene
The silence in the Moon Temple is so deep you can hear the slow, rhythmic sweep of the pine branches brushing against the high glass dome overhead.
The golden and silver dust from Hope’s birth has settled, leaving a faint, warm sheen over the cold stone floor. The Lunites have quietly withdrawn into the shadowed alcoves to let us rest, leaving only the soft glow of the hearth fire and the steady, tiny sound of my daughter's breathing.
“You will be moved to your own bedroom soon,” Priestess Vanya says after a while. “Where you will convalesce.”
I stare at Hope’s sweet little face. “Can Merrick stay with me there?” I ask softly, afraid of waking her up.
“Of course,” Vanya informs me. “With in reason. You need your rest.”
I’d argue with her, but I’m too busy staring at my perfect, beautiful little girl.
She’s asleep on my chest, wrapped snugly in a soft, white wool blanket. One of her tiny, pale hands is tucked under her chin, her little fingers twitching every so often as she dreams. 
Every time I look down at her, at her dark, thick tuft of hair, her tiny button nose, and the faint, lingering warmth of sun-fire beneath her skin, my throat tightens all over again.
I can see her magic. And what if others can see it too? What if they want to take her and use her like Lysander planned to do? How will we keep her safe?
As if reading my mind, Vanya walks over and places a comforting hand over mine. “No one can see it but you.”
I look up at the priestess’s kindly face. She saw me safely through this birth, and she made me feel less alone. “Are you sure?”
She nods. “Quite. As for what happened here during her birth… the Lunite priestesses will not speak to outsiders. This is our sacred duty. Now come,” she goes on. “Your mate is here and he’s eager to meet your daughter.”
“Is he allowed to come in?”
“Not into the temple, no man may ever set foot in this space, but we will move you to your bedroom.”
Two of the Lunite priestesses step forward, one of them is pushing a bassinet and the other a wheelchair. 
“I can walk,” I say. “I already feel so much better.”
The priestesses smile indulgently. “Of course you can,” Vanya says, “but this is your time to be pampered. You and the little princess. Let us take care of you. Such is your right and privilege.”
I want to argue again, but that would only hold me up. I’m as eager to see Merrick as he is to see me. I can feel it - his restless impatience vibrating through our bond.
Without a word, I hand Hope over to one of the priestesses and with a groan, I swing my legs off the bed. Everything hurts. It feels as if I ran a marathon, and at the end of it, someone shoved a battering ram up my vagina.
I lean back in the wheelchair and take a good look at the birthing chambers as the priestess pushes me out of the room. It is not warm and welcoming. Everything here appears stark and empty. But it’s still filled with something I can only call love and peace. 
Maybe it comes from the Goddess herself. A comfort she only affords to her birthing mothers.
The corridors are empty, cut from the same rock as the palace, and the Lunites we pass stop and bow to us. Then begin to chant as we continue to move along, away from the temple and into a room that looks a lot more like a modern bedchamber than the stark delivery room where I had Hope.
The bed is big, made up with plush, modern linens. There is no fire crackling in the hearth, but the room is comfortably warm, and the floor is warm underfoot. 
A Lunite pushes the bassinet up the bed as I get into it, and once I’m settled they hand the baby back to me. 
“Someone will be along shortly to help you shower,” Vanya announces. “For now, we’ll leave you with your mate.”
At long last, the doors open and my mate strides into the room, looking tall and fierce as always. A golden wave of heat and relief surges straight into my chest, wiping away the last lingering threads of my exhaustion.
Merrick’s eyes are fixed on me as he crosses the floor to join me.
He has scrubbed the worst of the mine gore from his skin, but his dark hair is still damp, and faint smudges of black soot trace the hollows of his collarbones. He isn't wearing his heavy war gear anymore - just a loose, soft linen shirt and dark trousers, his boots silent against the floor.
He looks exhausted. His broad shoulders are heavy, his jaw lined with battle fatigue, but his eyes are wide awake and sparkling with anticipation.
He stops dead in his tracks, his breath hitching audibly in the quiet room.
"Jo," he whispers. His voice is a broken, raspy thread, so low and fragile it doesn't even echo off the stone walls.
"Hello Merrick," I say softly, offering him a tired, watery smile. "We waited for you."
He closes the last few feet between us, moving as if he’s walking through a dream, his boots gliding over the floor until he’s kneeling right beside the bed. His massive, calloused hands come up, hovering an inch above the blanket, trembling slightly as if he’s afraid she might shatter if he touches her.
"She's real," he rumbles, a tear spilling over his dark lashes, cutting a clean track through the shadow on his cheek. "She's really here."
"She's very real," I whisper, gently shifting my arms to loosen the blanket. "And she's been waiting to meet her daddy."
Merrick lets out a shaky, shuddering exhale that vibrates through his entire chest. He reaches out with one massive finger, hesitantly pressing it into the tiny palm of her open hand.
The second his skin touches hers, Hope stirs. Her tiny fingers automatically curl around his massive index finger, gripping it with a fierce, surprising strength.
Merrick freezes, a breathless, helpless choke escaping his throat as he stares down at their joined hands. The fierce, terrifying King of the North, the man who just shattered a Fae catalyst with his bare hands it seems, looks completely undone, bowed before a tiny bundle of wool and light.
"Look at her, Jo," he breathes, his voice thick and hoarse with a reverence that fills every corner of the room. "She's perfect. She's so fucking perfect."
"She has your eyes," I tell him softly, leaning my head back against the pillows. "When she opened them earlier, they were green. Exactly like yours. Do you want to hold her?"
“Can I?” he asks, his voice still holding that quiet awe.
“Of course you can. Mind her head.”
He slowly gathers the bundle into his arms, sliding his massive forearms under her head and back with a delicate, practiced care that makes my heart swell until it aches. He pulls her close to his chest, bowing his head until his nose rests against the soft crown of her hair, inhaling her sweet, warm scent. “She smells good,” he says, more to himself than anyone in the room.
Hope shifts against his linen shirt, letting out a tiny, squeaky sigh, settling right over his heart as if she’s known its rhythm for a thousand years.
Merrick closes his eyes, resting his forehead against mine, his free hand coming up to cup the back of my neck. His thumb sweeps over my skin, warm, grounding, and steady.
"Lysander is locked in the deepest cell," he whispers into the quiet space between us, his voice rich with a quiet, absolute promise. "The sorcerer bound him with his magic. Atlas and the Ultimas are going after Athena to finish it. It's over for now, sweet girl. You're safe. Our daughter is safe… and I’m going to make sure you stay safe. Both of you."
I close my eyes, letting the heavy, suffocating fear of the last few months melt away into the warm, quiet sanctuary of his embrace.