Jade Fern Grove chafa

Never in this universe should he have made the request—he couldn’t even fathom what he was thinking. But the words had spilled into the damp spring air and he waited with bated breath all the same—and she complied.

She complied, and the moment shifted—a surreality that hinted toward the dreams either would have had if fate had aligned differently—and for a moment, the roles had been placed to simply pretend.

So when she unfurled before him like a blossoming flower, his eyes softened upon the swell of her stomach and the vulnerability in her eyes. The rumble he made was barely held back—one of torment, perhaps—and he tipped his mouth down, placing the tenderest kiss to her rib cage—his head tilting to cup an ear to the life that lay within her.

And what a dream it would have been—that the faint movement he felt had been of his creation—something they had brought together to this world. His own dark frame lowered gently to the ground, an arm snaking to delicately hold her, his eyes closing for the exhalation of a sharp breath.

A year had changed so much for them—her last season, she had not wanted children… and he had. Until he had raised three without a mother—three yearlings who despised him. And everything had changed.

As he listened, he felt. The emotions within—the ache of knowing that this was only a veil. That once more he had not been enough.

“They will be beautiful,” he murmured softly, unable to resist from placing another loving kiss to her belly.