Page 48 of Storm

“I don’t know, Melek, but you need to let go so I can find out.” He growls loudly, helping me lean against the bed. “I’ll be there in a minute, Sun,” I call. Melek takes both his still hard cock and whatever thing he shoved up my ass out. “Bastard.” I groan. He slaps my bottom on his way to the wardrobe.

Standing up, I teeter slightly on shaky legs, stepping backwards into a robe Melek drapes over my body. “We are not finished here,” he adds, stalking towards the bathroom. The spray of the shower quickly follows. I agree; he’s not finished. A smile graces my lips. I just left him angry and with a hard-on. I’m in trouble.

“Mama.” A sniffling cry comes from beyond the door. I forget about my abnormally indecent need for my husband’s cock and walk on stumbling feet, tying up the sash on my robe as I move. My hair is an absolute mess, so I try my best to tame the tangles. I quickly give up on that task, Sunny’s sniffles becoming increasingly more distraught.

Unlocking the door with a click, I wedge it open enough for my rounded lower half to get through before closing it behind me. Sunny is standing in the hallway, wearing his grey cotton PJs, hugging his bear bear. Tears fall down his cheeks. My heart cracks wide open at the sight. “What is it, baby?” I rush to him, my knees falling with a thud on the floor. He throws himself at me. His little snotty sniffles tickle the skin of my neck. Patting his head, I ask him again, “What happened, baby?”

Pulling Sunny back so I can see his face, I help him wipe away his tears, and he says four words I wasn’t expecting to hear this morning or ever. “Mary won’t wake up.”

All colour drains from my face.

For as long as I’ve known Mary—the last twelve years—she has risen with the sun and, without fail, she has a delicious concoction of smells coming from the kitchen, preparing our meals for the day. And always fresh bread—my favourite. She’s been a strangely unwavering source of comfort. The only person other than Melek to never make comments about the colour of my eyes.

This morning, the air smells stale.

Since we don’t have a nanny, once I stopped breastfeeding Sunny in the mornings, Mary started including him in her routine at my husband’s insistence. The boy needs to learn the meaning of hard work. So from two years of age, she would fetch him, and he would happily follow her around. Melek would go down for breakfast, and they would eat together before playing in Sunny’s room. I always let them have their time together. Usually, because Melek enjoys fucking me into a coma each night, meaning I’m not up until a more reasonable hour.

This is the first time Mary hasn’t been up before all of us, so my first instinct is concern, but what if she’s just ill? I’ve never seen the woman ill a day in her life, either. There’s a first for everything, so I push up off the floor and grasp Sunny’s hand.

“Maybe she’s not feeling well. I’ll check on her.” Cheeks flushed and nose pink, I suggest that Sunny play in his room until I come and get him for breakfast.

I should get Melek.

I can do this myself.

I’ve spent too much of the past twelve years relying on him and the sensations he holds over my form. I can face whatever is in that room. My mother was dying before my very eyes when I was brought to this place. I can do sickness, and I can do⁠—

Death—

Nix—

Taking a sharp breath, my heart begins to beat rapidly, my insides woozy.

I don’t know why my mind went straight there. Everything about this feels off—rancid, like the rest of Halo. Mary is older than Melek. How old? I don’t know. I’m relying on her help with Sunny when the baby is born.

That’s all set to change with the fae’s proposition. Once this is all sorted, I need to work on finding the information Adam requires.

Downstairs, I veer off towards Mary’s quarters by the kitchen. She has her own compact sitting room and bedroom, with a connecting door to the backyard. Her one day off is Sunday. I’ve asked her where she goes. Her response is standard: visiting family and friends. I wish I knew more about her life. Though I know we are her life, and that saddens me. To me, she’s more than a housekeeper. She’s been like a mother since I arrived at the manor. To Melek, she is very much just the help. He only ever gives instructions—no demands. The only emotion I ever see expressed from that man is towards Sunny or…

Eh, I can’t think about the small glimpses of something beyond in the commander. Hating him is easy. It’s what I need to continue to pull through. My goal is to find the information for the fae intruder and get Sunny and me out of here.

That’s it. Nothing more.

Fight.

Strength.

Those two pieces of Nix live within me now. Eyes on the prize, Storm.

Stepping into her cozy sitting area, I look around to find two lounge chairs and some knitting and embroidery supplies. This room has a beautiful view of the garden. I can just imagine Mary sitting in her recliner, knitting our yearly winter sweaters as she watches Sunny running around outside.

Pushing the intrusive thoughts out of my head, I aim for the bedroom door. It’s already slightly ajar. Creeping in, I find filtered light coming from around the curtain, helping me to outline the figure under the covers in the understated room, a monochrome patchwork quilt on top.

Going to the bedside lamp, I flick it on and wait, yellow shards filling the gaps. Mary’s silver hair cascades behind her in her turned position, facing the window. I take a deep breath and say her name. “Mary?”

To be fair, I don’t say it very loudly as I clutch the baby in my stomach close to me. My hairs stand on end, a strange idleness permeating the air while I pause. This is a lot scarier than I thought it would be. Mainly because, if she is gone, I’d hate to think how this household will go on. She is the glue that holds us all together. Melek wishes it were him. It’s not. It’s Mary, her dedication to taking care of everyone in this house with grace and ease worthy of any commander status.

“Get it together, Storm.” My breaths are hurried as I muster up the courage to sit on the bed. The springs beneath squeak slightly. I let my lungs fill before exhaling loudly, rubbing my palms together. The comfort of old wounds no longer stands tall.