Beloved (44 page)

Kira woke when a warm hand touched the side of her face. She’d been dreaming of Octavion, so when she opened her eyes she half expected him to be there. Instead she found Jaya, her smile quickly taking away the sorrow that had burrowed its way into Kira’s heart. She didn’t like having her emotions played with and she certainly wasn’t ready to be cheered up. She pulled the covers around her shoulders and closed her eyes.

“Leave me be, Jaya. I want to be alone.”

“But Brenna wants me to stay with you today. She said you need me and that laying here day after day is not good for you. Besides, the bell flowers are blooming, you must come see them.”

Kira sighed, then opened her eyes again. Lying next to her were Nigel’s sketch book and flute. That’s all she needed—another reminder of the grief she’d experienced in the last few months.

“You know what would cheer me up more than anything?” Kira reached for the flute and held it out for Jaya. “Learn a pretty song on this. I miss hearing music and I think Nigel would want you to have it.”

Jaya’s eyes lit up and she plucked the flute from Kira’s hand. “Are you certain?”

“Yes, but you have to practice somewhere else. I don’t want to hear your song until it’s perfect, deal?”

“Oh, yes. You have a deal.” She jumped to her feet and bolted from the lean-to, taking her happiness with her.

Kira knew what it felt like to be a Darkord now—to have half her heart and soul taken away, leaving her empty and hopeless. By her calculations, it had been almost four months since Octavion was ripped from her arms and she hadn’t even been able to cry yet. She told herself it was only a dream and that she’d wake from it at any moment, but the truth was she was numb. That hole she’d always crawled into when she was younger had welcomed her home and slammed the door shut behind her.

By midday it was obvious that the citizens of Lairdor weren’t going to leave her alone. Not a moment passed that someone wasn’t checking on her or trying to coax her out of her bed to do something. Anything. So at Lessa’s insistence, Kira went to the creek to wash up and change her clothes. It was no wonder, she reeked. She’d worn the same clothes for days and hadn’t bothered to bathe or wash her hair.

When she returned to camp, she hung up the clothes she’d washed after bathing, grabbed Nigel’s sketch book and went for a walk. She knew the spot well—the fallen log that spanned the creek. It held good memories with Octavion and Mahli, and bad ones with Shandira, but Kira felt peace there and she was sure no one would bother her.

Mahli found her and settled in beside her. Kira buried her fingers in the cub’s fur and gave her a rub. She’d almost doubled in size while living in the meadow and would be full grown soon. “We’ve been through quite a lot, haven’t we girl?”

Their eyes met and for the longest time they held gazes as if Mahli was trying to express her sympathy. Then she blinked, nuzzled closer and began to purr.

Kira placed Nigel’s sketch book in her lap, untied the leather strap and flipped through the pages. The firsts few sketches were of animals—some Kira recognized and others she didn’t.

The more pages she turned, the more she realized there was no way this could be Nigel’s. The images depicted on each page were of Lydia and Kira—her sitting on the hood of Lydia’s car listening to her music, Lydia with a camera held to her face as she focused it on a butterfly, and Kira sitting by the fire in the clearing with Toran at her side.

She quickly flipped through the journal until the she found the sketch she needed to see—the one of her sleeping in the lean-to back on Earth. Tears filled her eyes as she realize this wasn’t Nigel’s sketch book after all, but Octavion’s—the one she’d knocked onto the ground when exploring his lair on the mountain. She closed the book and held it to her chest. This was a part of
him
—something she could cling to while she waited for his return. Because she would wait. She’d wait for an eternity, if she had to.

She wiped her tears and began thumbing through the pages again, this time taking a moment to study each one. She laughed at his rendition of her and Altaria’s first sparring match with Al lying on her back, Kira’s sword at her throat. Of course that never happened, but she loved that he thought of her that way—a strong warrior woman who could protect herself.

The last few pages were different, less polished—obviously Nigel’s handiwork. She recognized the first one—the map he’d drawn, showing her the way to Lairdor—but the others were a surprise—Thea’s beautiful face without her scar, Kira sleeping in her pod and the last one, Octavion standing in front of the group inviting them to make their home in Pride Meadow.

She traced his face with her finger, memorizing every detail including his dimples.
I miss you so much.
Like she’d done a million times a day since he left, she shared her thoughts with him, knowing her efforts most likely fell on deaf ears. Even if by some miracle Ramla allowed Octavion to hear her thoughts, he’d not once responded, leaving her to believe the king had somehow taken that gift from him. Regardless, she continue to try. It was the only thing that kept her sane—that and her swelling belly.

Kira opened the book again, purposely turning to a sketch of her and Lydia sitting on a bench at the park across from the high school. They were both laughing at something. As mad as she was at Lydia and Altaria for keeping Octavion’s secret from her, she missed their friendship. She ran her fingertips across the Crystor, its many swirling lines reacting to her touch. Maybe it was time she found some forgiveness in her heart. It’s what Octavion would want and she had to admit she was tired of blocking their thoughts.

She closed the book, retied the leather strap and used the fallen log to brace herself so she could stand. She turned to walk back to the camp, but stopped when she saw Lydia off in the distance. Kira didn’t move, just stood there watching and waiting while Lydia did the same. For several seconds their eyes locked on each other and no words were uttered. No thoughts shared. But it was time.

Kira smiled and the next thing she knew Altaria appeared in front of her and wrapped her arms around her. Kira dropped the book and stumbled back, the log stopping her fall.

“Can’t breathe,” she managed to squeak out.

Altaria released her and flashed one of her crooked grins a split second before shifting into Lydia’s form. “Do you still hate me?”

Kira shook her head no, but said, “Yes.”

Lydia’s arms flew around Kira, her embrace not nearly as strong and suffocating as Altaria’s. “I knew you’d forgive me. I just knew it.”

Kira squirmed out of her grasp. “Shouldn’t you be hiding or something? What if someone sees you?”

Lydia stepped back and spun around, her lavender dress twirling with her. “I’m free. Father announced I was alive and that his deception was to keep me safe. There was a huge celebration to welcome me and Altaria home.”

“Al?”

“Yeah, it was like a coming out party for her. Everyone knows we are kindred spirits now and it’s wonderful. We don’t have to hide anymore.”

“That’s great. I’m so happy for you both.”

Lydia looked at Kira from head to toe, her smile quickly morphing into a grimace. “You need to get some exercise, my friend. You’re getting fat.”

Kira laughed. Placing her hands on her belly, she smoothed the fabric to expose a perfect baby bump. “I’m not fat, I’m pregnant.”

Lydia’s eyes doubled in size and her mouth fell open. “But I thought . . . what about the . . .?” She shook her head as if to get her words organized so they’d come out right. “This is great news.” She reached out and laid her hand on Kira’s belly. “Have you seen Mara yet?”

“No, not yet. I didn’t want anyone to know until I was sure.”

“Well you’re sure now, right?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Lydia took a step back, shifted into Altaria and was gone, leaving Kira in her mist. There was no question in Kira’s mind what Lydia was up to—she’d return in a moment with Mara in tow. So much for keeping her pregnancy a secret. Knowing Mara as well as she did, the entire kingdom would know before nightfall.

Octavion wove his way through the trees, being extra careful not to alert her to his presence. He’d dreamt of this day for far too long, praying it would eventually come, but never daring to hope it would become reality.

He’d given his word to King Ramla that he’d serve him until the day Octavion died, and he had every intention of keeping it. Not once did he waver. Everything he was asked to do, he accomplished to a degree of excellence, far exceeding the king’s expectations. No task was too difficult or below him.

After some time passed, the king began to trust him. Octavion was allowed to train with a seasoned Jayde, honing his gifts so that his magic came as easily as breathing. He was given privileges reserved for royalty and allowed to carry a weapon. But even with all this, not one moment passed when he didn’t think of Kira and long to be with her.

When rumors filtered into Panthera that a new prince had been born in Xantara, Octavion’s heart swelled in his chest. The bitter sweet moment tortured him to no end. He wanted to be with his family, hold Kira in his arms and look into the eyes of their creation. But that wasn’t an option. Not now. Instead he’d have to live knowing Kira wasn’t alone, that she’d have a little piece of him to hold and watch grow. The only legacy he could leave his child was honor.

What he hadn’t counted on was that the birth of his son would soften Ramla’s heart. The king loved children and was rarely seen without at least one of his grandchildren playing at his feet or tangled around his legs.

Octavion slowed his pace. He could see the meadow through the trees and hear the rambling creek. He could have appeared right next to her but she’d feel his spirit before seeing him and ruin the surprise. He only hoped Lydia hadn’t told her yet. He’d sent word to her the night before, asking for her help. The sheer volume of her excitement and enthusiastic thoughts had nearly deafened his mind.

He stopped and listened—the sweet melody of Kira’s laughter filled his heart with warmth. Oh, how he’d missed her laugh. Little by little he inched closer until he stood at the edge of the trees. He could see her now, a vision of long red hair swept over her shoulder so it wouldn’t tickle the face of the infant she held to her breast. She kissed his forehead, then handed him over to Lydia while she readjusted her clothing to cover herself.

His arms ached to hold her. Now that he had his freedom, nothing would ever tear him away from her again. He moved closer—only a few feet away from the fallen log—but she still hadn’t sensed him.

Kira
.

Her head shot up and their eyes met. Even from a distance he could see them glisten with tears as she slowly rose to her feet. An instant later he stood in front of her.

“Am I . . . dreaming?” she asked between sobs of joy.

He pulled her close and folded his arms around her. He buried his face in her hair and took in her scent. “I am real, Kira. And I will never leave you again.” He kissed her neck, her jaw and finally her lips, kissing so deeply it felt as though they’d melted into one being. He lifted her from the ground, finally abandoning her lips for her collarbone—the spot that tempted his cravings beyond compare. He breathed her in, letting her scent tease the back of his throat.

“Ahem,” Lydia interrupted. “There is a child present who insists on meeting his father.”

Kira laughed. “I almost forgot.” She wiped the tears from her face and transferred the infant to Octavion’s arms. “He’s a hybrid, like his father.”

Octavion swallowed the lump in his throat. After everything Kira had been through, especially being stuck by the fin of a S’Kiff, he never thought this possible. To hold their son in his arms brought him unspeakable joy and filled the hollow spot in his heart left by his mother and all the many months without Kira.

He peeled back the tiny blanket to get a better look at his child. “He still has his stripes? How old is he?”

“Two days. The Kapri is tomorrow so you better hurry up and think of a name.”

He ran his fingers through the baby’s red hair, making it stand straight up like a lion’s mane of brilliant flames. He chuckled.
Blaze.
“I think I will name him Blaze.”