Chapter 74 74
Neither had spoken since the door locked hours ago. The silence between them was louder than any argument.
The outer door burst open.
Mave ran in, barefoot and wild-eyed, pajamas twisted, teddy bear dragging on the floor behind him. A young maid hurried after him, apologetic and flustered, nightgown hastily thrown over her uniform.
“Mommy! Daddy!” Mave’s voice cracked into a sob the second he saw them. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “I had a bad dream! The witch lady was chasing me and—and the bad guys took you away and I couldn’t find you!”
Lucas was out of bed in an instant—sheets flying back, bare feet hitting the rug. He crossed the sitting area in three long strides and dropped to one knee just as Mave crashed into him.
“Hey, hey—shh, buddy, it’s okay,” Lucas murmured, scooping the boy up against his chest. Mave’s small arms locked around Lucas’s neck like a vice, face buried in his shoulder, body shaking with hiccupping cries.
Blair unfolded from the couch in the same heartbeat. She crossed to them silently, hand already reaching out to stroke Mave’s back in slow, soothing circles.
The maid hovered near the door, wringing her hands.
“I’m so sorry, sir—he woke up screaming. He wouldn’t let me comfort him. He just kept saying ‘Mommy and Daddy.’ I thought it best to bring him straight here.”
Lucas nodded once, not looking away from his son.
“It’s fine. Thank you. Go back to bed.”
The maid slipped out, closing the door softly.
Mave lifted his tear-streaked face, looking between them with desperate, pleading eyes.
“I want to sleep in between Mommy and Daddy,” he whimpered. “Please? Like in the comics. So the bad dream can’t get me. So you’re both right there.”
Lucas froze for half a second—his arms still cradling Mave, Blair’s hand still resting on the boy’s back. Their eyes met over Mave’s head.
But Mave’s lower lip trembled harder. Fresh tears welled.
“Please, Daddy… Mommy… I’m scared…”
Blair spoke first—soft, steady.
“Of course, baby. Come on.”
She moved toward the bedroom door, flicking on the soft bedside lamp so the room filled with warm golden light instead of shadows.
Lucas followed without a word, carrying Mave the few steps into the bedroom. He laid the boy gently in the center of the massive bed, pulling the covers back. Mave immediately scooted to make space, patting the mattress on either side of him like he was directing traffic.
“Mommy here,” he said, pointing left. “Daddy here.”
Blair slid under the covers on the left, fully clothed, keeping a careful distance even as she turned on her side to face Mave. Lucas mirrored her on the right—still in his sleep pants and t-shirt—lying on his back, one arm instinctively draping across the pillow behind Mave’s head.
Mave sighed—a long, shaky, relieved sound—and snuggled deeper into the pillows. He reached out with both hands: one small fist grabbing Blair’s shirt, the other clutching Lucas’s sleeve.
“Now the witch can’t get me,” he mumbled, eyes already drooping. “Mommy and Daddy are here… together…”
Within minutes, his breathing evened out. Soft snores filled the quiet.
Neither adult moved.
They lay there—Mave a warm, small bridge between them—staring at the ceiling in perfect, tense symmetry.
Blair whispered so quietly the words barely carried.
“He’s asleep.”
Lucas’s jaw worked.
“Yeah.”
Another long silence.
Then Lucas, voice rough and low:
“This doesn’t change anything.”
Blair didn’t look at him.
“I know.”
But neither of them moved to leave the bed.
Mave sighed in his sleep, turning slightly so his cheek pressed against Lucas’s arm and his hand stayed fisted in Blair’s shirt.
Lucas, on the other side, was also awake. He hadn’t closed his eyes once. His arm was still draped behind Mave’s head like a protective barrier, fingers barely brushing the pillow.
Every few minutes he glanced at Blair over the top of their son’s curls—quick, guarded looks he thought she didn’t notice.
Then Blair’s gaze drifted downward.
A small, dark shape moved slowly across the cream-colored sheet near the edge of the bed—long legs, tiny body.
A spider.
Not huge. Not venomous-looking. Just… there. Crawling steadily toward Mave’s foot.
Blair’s breath caught. Her whole body went rigid.
She hated spiders. Always had. The irrational, bone-deep terror that made her skin crawl and her heart slam against her ribs.
Blair let out a tiny, choked sound—barely audible—and without thinking, she surged forward. She threw herself across Mave’s sleeping form, pressing her face into Lucas’s chest, arms wrapping tight around his waist.
“Don’t let go,” she whispered frantically against his shirt, voice trembling. “Please—don’t let go. There’s a spider. It’s right there. Don’t move. Don’t let it get closer.”
Lucas froze.
His entire body went stiff under her sudden embrace. For a long second he didn’t breathe—didn’t move—didn’t even blink.
The warmth of her, the way her fingers dug into his back like she was drowning and he was the only solid thing left, slammed into him like a memory he’d tried to kill.
He could feel her shaking. Hear the shallow, panicked breaths against his collarbone.
Slowly—very slowly—his hesitation cracked.
One arm lifted from behind Mave and came around her shoulders.
Like he wasn’t sure his own body would obey. Then firmer. He pulled her closer, tucking her head under his chin, shielding her from the bed—and from whatever invisible threat she was seeing.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, so low only she could hear. “It’s just a spider. I’ll get it.”
He slid out of bed without disturbing Mave, bare feet silent on the rug. He padded around to the edge where Blair had pointed earlier, crouching low to inspect the sheets.
Nothing.
No spider. No web. Not even a stray thread or shadow that could be mistaken for legs in the low light.
He straightened slowly, eyes narrowing as he looked back at her sleeping form—curled now toward Mave, one arm draped protectively over the boy even in sleep.
Lucas crossed back to the bed in two quiet steps. He didn’t sit. He stood over her side, arms folded, voice low enough not to wake the child but sharp enough to cut.
“Blair.”
She stirred, blinking groggily, lifting her head just enough to focus on him. Confusion flickered across her face, then wariness.
“What…?”
He kept his voice quiet, controlled, but the accusation was unmistakable.
“There was no spider.”
Blair’s eyes widened a fraction. She glanced toward the edge of the bed, then back at him.
“I saw—”
“You saw what you wanted to see,” he cut in, tone flat. “Or maybe you just needed an excuse.”
She sat up slowly—careful not to jostle Mave—pulling the blanket hi
gher like armor.
“Excuse for what?”
Lucas leaned down slightly, one hand braced on the headboard above her, voice dropping even lower.