“Don’t,” I whisper when we break away, resting my forehead against hers. “Don’t take him away from me.” She doesn’t ask who I’m talking about—our son or Wicker, maybe even Lex too—which is good, because I couldn’t give an answer. I just know that I’m nothing without all four of them. She responds by touching my cheek, the scent of blood and old rain heady in the air between us. “Never.” She breathes, “On our blood.”
