Alistair rose from behind the desk with predator's grace, circled toward me with deliberate steps.
He lowered himself to one knee before my chair—the lord of Blackwood kneeling like a knight swearing fealty. His hands gathered mine, cool but not corpse-cold, steady as stone.
The nearness jolted through me like lightning finding ground.
His breath came measured, controlled—a practiced rhythm that spoke of iron discipline.
His shoulders carried their old strength, that coiled power that once made him formidable in parliament and deadly in the hunting field.
"How?" My voice came out raw, meant only for the space between us. "How are you managing this control? I've been studying methods—ways we might share proximity without disaster."
"Animal blood." His thumbs traced my knuckles, the touch firing nerves I'd thought numb. "Enough to dull the edge, allow this." His gray eyes lifted to mine. "Though the pull toward you burns brighter than any thirst I've known."
"I know why." The confession scraped out. "The baby's heartbeat, doubled with mine—it heightens a vampire's hunger exponentially."
His hands tightened fractionally. "Explain."
"The texts describe it precisely. When the rhythms sync, it triggers a reflexive surge. Cold air blunts the response. Brief, deliberate contact proves safer than prolonged restraint." I leaned closer, voice dropping. "The margin notes were quite specific—women who'd lived through it, documented survival."
"Where did you find such texts?"
"The city library. Lady Maeve Carrow helped—she hides there from Lord Pemberton's proposals, knows every dangerous shelf and forgotten corner." I watched his face shift, something softening in the rigid control. "She pulled volumes the librarians pretend don't exist. Folklore. Testimonies. Warnings written in desperate hands."
For the first time in weeks, genuine warmth flickered in his expression—not hunger, not distance, but the man I'd married showing through the monster's mask.
"Tell me everything they said."
"Silver makes shallow cuts that sting and slow—not enough to kill, but sufficient to shock the system back to control."
My fingers turned in his grip, clasping back.
"Distance broken by controlled nearness works better than complete separation. The texts warned about exhaustion afterward, the need for heavy feeding to recover."
"I want to read them." His voice carried that commanding edge that once made ministers scramble. "Every word you've studied."
"They're in our room. Stacked on my writing desk."
"Our room." He tested the words like foreign currency. "You still call it that."
"Should I call it something else?"
"No." He rose to his full height, pulling me up with him. "Helena, I need clarity. My decision about the child, about us—you understand what I'm offering? To claim this baby entirely, to hold the three of us as one unit despite everything?"
"Your resolve holds?"
"Iron-clad." The certainty rang like cathedral bells. "This child is mine by choice if not by blood. You are mine by law and by something stronger than hunger. Nothing changes that."
I leaned into him, unable to resist the gravitational pull of his certainty. His arms wrapped around me, tightening until joy and fear tangled in my chest like wrestling snakes. His mouth pressed to my hair, and I felt the slight scrape of fangs against my scalp—control held by will alone.
A sharp knock shattered the moment.
Kathrin entered without waiting, her keen eyes cataloging everything—our proximity, his hands on my waist, the color in both our faces.
"Finally." Satisfaction dripped from the single word. "My son remembers he has a wife."
"Mother." Alistair didn't release me, a statement in itself.
"The servants are beside themselves with whispers." She advanced into the room like a general claiming territory. "Shall I begin preparations for the heir's announcement? The tenants should hear it from you directly, not from kitchen gossip."
"Yes." Alistair's response came swift, decisive. "Arrange everything. Full ceremony. Let them see the Blackwood line continues."
"Excellent." Kathrin's smile could have cut glass. "Helena, you'll need new gowns. Something that acknowledges rather than conceals. The modiste can arrive tomorrow."
"That's not—"
"It's entirely necessary." She overrode my protest with aristocratic certainty. "You're carrying the future of this estate. You'll dress the part."
She swept toward the door, pausing at the threshold. "Dinner together tonight. Both of you. No excuses, no locked doors. We're a family facing forward."
The door closed with finality.
Alistair straightened, and Christ, the feeding had transformed him.
Satiety lent him a beauty that transcended mortal—cheekbones sharp enough to cut, eyes bright as winter stars, power radiating from every line of his body. Beautiful and terrible, strength that meant danger, control that could shatter, hunger temporarily satisfied but never truly gone.
"You're staring." His mouth quirked, almost playful.
"You're worth staring at."
"Careful." But his hand rose to cup my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone with devastating gentleness. "That sounds dangerously close to desire."
"Would that be so terrible?"
"It would be complicated." His thumb stilled. "I'm not ready to test certain boundaries. The feeding helps, but you still sing to me. Your warmth, your pulse, the life growing inside you—it all calls to the thing I've become."
"But you want to." Not a question.
"God help me, yes." The admission tore from him. "Every part of me wants every part of you. The monster craves your blood. The man craves everything else."
Heat pooled low in my belly—want returning like a tide after months of drought. His nostrils flared slightly, scenting the change in me, and his pupils dilated despite the afternoon light.
"Go. Rest. Read your books again and mark the important passages. We have much to navigate."
I moved toward the door, paused with my hand on iron. "Alistair? Thank you. For choosing us."
"Thank you," he replied, voice rough, "for still wanting to be chosen."
I left him standing in the frozen room, beautiful and dangerous and mine, while want coiled through me like smoke, threatening to ignite everything we'd just rebuilt.