11. Karn

11

KARN

I drag myself down the hallway, muscles aching from a night of pacing with feverish toddlers and no sleep. After baths, fluffy cakes, and cleaning the kitchen, I feel like I've already done a full day's worth of work in a few hours.

The sun's now fully risen, casting long shadows through the windows. Nova's back asleep in her bed, Luna curled against her sister like always. It only took a few hours before they needed a nap, still mildly tired.

My footsteps halt in the living room. Mira's curled up on the couch, her dark hair spilling over one shoulder. One of Luna's stuffed creatures is clutched to her chest, her breathing deep and steady. She stayed up with us all night, singing softly, wiping noses, brewing remedies.

She was incredible.

I run a hand over my face. The sight of her hits different this morning. Maybe it's the exhaustion breaking down my walls, or how natural she looks here, like she's always belonged. Or the way she stayed next to me all night.

Something just feels different. And I don't know how to squash it this time.

A strand of hair falls across her face. My fingers twitch with the urge to brush it back. Instead, I grab a blanket from the back of the couch and drape it over her. She stirs, green eyes fluttering open.

"The girls?" Her voice is thick with sleep.

"Finally down. You should've gone to bed."

"Couldn't leave you alone with two sick ones." She shifts, wincing at what must be a stiff neck. "You looked overwhelmed."

"I was." The admission comes easier than expected. "Still am, most days. But less so since you arrived."

Her eyes widen slightly. I don't usually talk about my emotions, but after everything we went through, I'm feeling oddly out of character. And I need her to know that she is wanted here.

"The twins adore you," I continue, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "And I—" I clear my throat. "The house works better with you here."

A small smile curves her lips. "I like being here."

The morning light catches the slave brand on her wrist as she tucks the blanket closer. The sight of it still makes my blood boil, but I take a breath, reminding myself that she is safe here now. She's made this space her own. Made us her own, in a way I never expected.

"I'm going to grab a shower," I tell her. "You should rest while they are sleeping."

I retreat before my sleep-deprived brain betrays me further. The urge to touch her, to close that careful distance we maintain, pulses stronger with each passing day. My heavy steps thud against the wooden stairs as I go to the master bathroom.

The shower's enchanted water streams hot over tense muscles. I press my forehead against the cool tile, but it does nothing to wash away thoughts of Mira. The way she hums while cooking. How her fingers brush mine when we're playing with the girls or making dinner. The fierce protectiveness in her eyes when the twins skin their knees.

How she looked at me the one time we almost kissed…

"Fuck." I slam my palm against the wall. The metal fixtures rattle in response to my demonic energy.

She deserves better than a gruff demon. Better than someone who spends his days covered in soot and metal shavings, who can barely string together a proper sentence about feelings. Who can't tell her he wants her to stay here and not just for the twins.

But gods, the way she moves through our home like she belongs here. The sound of her laugh when Luna levitates her toys. How she never flinches from my height or my fangs or my temper.

I turn off the water with more force than necessary. Steam billows around me as I grab a towel, scrubbing roughly at my hair. The mirror shows my violet eyes blazing with frustrated want.

"Get it together," I growl at my reflection. "She's here for the girls."

But is that all? We've had some moments - moments that I think meant something to her. Like the night she asked me to stay, though we've never addressed it since. Was it just a lapse in judgment? Or could she want me too?

I pull on clean clothes, still damp from the shower, and head out of my room. The sound of giggling and pots clanking draws me to the kitchen. The twins sit at the table, their copper curls wild from sleep, while Mira stirs something that smells like herb soup.

"Uncle Karn!" Luna waves her spoon in the air. "We're helping!"

Nova nods seriously, carefully arranging chunks of bread on a plate. Her freckled nose scrunches in concentration.

"I can see that." I ruffle their hair as I pass. "Feeling better?"

"Much better." Luna grins. "Mira made us special tea."

I catch Mira's eye. She gives me a small smile before turning back to the stove. "Just a few herbs and honey. Nothing special."

"It was magic tea," Nova insists. She still works on sorting her bread around.

"Looks very organized." I settle into my chair, watching her methodically arrange the food. She's always been the more precise twin.

Between them sits parchment and colored wax. I point to where Luna is already drawing, abandoning her bread task. "What are you doing, Luna?"

"Drawing!" she answers simply.

"I thought it would be good for them to channel their energy elsewhere at the table." Mira brings over bowls of soup, setting them down with practiced grace. Her fingers brush my shoulder as she passes, and I fight the urge to drag her toward me. She drops her voice. "Hopefully less magic protests."

"Need salt." Luna asks, already raising her hands.

"No magic at the table," Mira and I say in unison.

Nova giggles. "You sound the same." She takes a careful spoonful of soup, then beams. "Mmm. Good, Mama."

The kitchen goes silent. Mira freezes, spoon halfway to her mouth. Her green eyes fill with tears, and she sets the spoon down with trembling fingers.

It's shocking how quickly Nova sees what she's done. "I'm sorry," Nova whispers, looking between us. "I didn't mean?—"

"It's okay, sweetheart." Mira's voice breaks slightly. She reaches across to squeeze Nova's hand. "You can call me whatever makes you want."

I watch a tear slip down Mira's cheek. She wipes it away quickly, but not before I see the mix of joy and fear in her expression. The twins have never called anyone but Sarah that, and it wasn't for long.

Luna looks at her sister, then declares, "If Nova says it, I want to too."

Mira presses a hand to her mouth. More tears fall, but she's smiling now. I want to pull her close, to tell her she deserves this - deserves them, deserves everything.

Instead, I clear my throat. "Eat your soup before it gets cold."

But I can't take my eyes off her face, memorizing the moment my family felt complete.

Eventually, I glance over at the twins, now both hunched over their coloring pages while they take small bites of soup. Mira's clever idea is most definitely working. The scratching of their crayons fills the comfortable silence.

Luna's tongue pokes out in concentration as she scribbles, her copper curls falling in her face. Nova meticulously stays within the lines, carefully selecting each color before using it. Complete opposites, even in how they draw.

"Look what I made!" Luna holds up her paper, nearly knocking over her soup bowl in her excitement.

My breath catches. There we all are - stick figures with wild red hair for the twins, a tall figure that must be me with exaggerated pointed ears, and Mira with long brown lines for hair. But what makes my chest tight is how she's drawn Mira's hand linked with mine, little hearts floating around us.

"That's beautiful, starlight." Mira's voice is still rough from crying, but her smile is genuine. "I love how you drew everyone's hair."

"See? That's you and Uncle Karn." Luna points proudly. "And me and Nova playing with magic in the garden."

Nova peers at her sister's drawing. "The hearts need to be purple like Uncle Karn's eyes." She reaches for the purple wax but Luna snatches the paper away.

"No, they're perfect like this!"

The longing hits me like a physical blow. The simple innocence of a child's drawing showing what I want but can't have. Mira belonging here, her hand in mine, our family complete. The way she fits so naturally into our chaos.

I grip my spoon tighter, the metal warping slightly under my fingers. Mira notices - she always notices - and gives me a questioning look. I shake my head, not trusting my voice.

"I should get to the shop." I push back from the table, the chair legs scraping against the floor. My hands still tingle from the warped spoon. "Got orders backed up."

"You barely slept." Mira's concern hits like a physical touch. "The commissions can wait a day. Don't you want to stay and get some rest?"

My mind latches onto her words in the wrong way, thinking only if Mira and my bed and the things I could do that wouldn't be resting… "No, I need—" I clear my throat. "Work has to get done."

Luna pouts. "But we're drawing family pictures!"

"Save them for me." I drop a kiss on her hair, then Nova's. "I'll look at them tonight."

I practically flee downstairs. The workshop's familiar scents of metal and smoke wrap around me as I descend the stairs. I grab my leather apron, trying to focus on the day's tasks instead of Mira's soft eyes or how natural that word - family - felt on Luna's lips.

The forge roars to life under my hands. I feed it metal, watching it glow and bend. Hours pass in a blur of hammering and shaping, but every strike echoes with memories. All I can think of is how Mira looked as she slept earlier, of the way her body felt pressed into mine in that sweet hug I wouldn't let her out of, how I am dying for just one fucking taste-

"Dammit." I've hammered this piece too thin, distracted by thoughts of her. It seems to be happening more and more.

The metal screams as I crush it in my fist. My violet eyes reflect in the warped surface, accusatory. When did she become so essential? When did my chest start aching at the thought of her leaving?

I grab fresh metal, determined to focus. But my hands move with purpose now, shaping something different than planned. Something worthy of her. Something to show what I can't say with words.

The twins' laughter drifts down from upstairs, followed by Mira's warm voice. The sound settles into my bones like it belongs there. Like she belongs there.

My fingers trace the metal taking form beneath them. It needs to be perfect. She deserves perfect.