Shringaar5

Darika's words followed him like a dream still chasing sleep. Unable to focus, unable to think, he blindly groped the wall until he stood at the top of the stairs. Sori gave a mewing cry and flicked her tongue out in search of food. Her tiny fist reached out and hit him gently on the chest, which brought the sudden, painful urge to weep.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, though he felt he should speak those words to her mother despite not knowing precisely why he needed to apologize.

"Leave him alone," he heard Darika's companion insist.

"I can't."

"You can and you will."

"Alin—"

"We're not staying here," the big man said firmly. "I'll bind, gag, and drag you from here if I have to. Don't think I won't, even if you do hold favor in your father's eyes."

"The sultan," she corrected. "Not my father."

Erik pressed his back to the wall and closed his eyes. What in God's name had happened that she believed he was her father? He hadn't asked her—he hadn't wanted to ask her anything at all. The sight of her made him uncomfortable to the very marrow of his bones, the way she looked at him brought the memories he attempted to forget each night. But there was something else in her gaze, some sort of potent drug that threatened to soothe him into complacency and catch him off guard.

"Damn it," he said under his breath. He needed to tell her that she was mistaken and send her on her way.

"Darika," her escort said, a warning edge to his voice. "Now."

"I want to come back," she said, her voice heavy with the disappointment.

"Why?" both Alin and Erik questioned from different parts of the house.

"Because I want to know him, even if he doesn't want to know me."

"There is nothing to know," Erik muttered. He gave Sori his finger to suck on, which she did with almost painful force.

"You're a stubborn ass," Alin grumbled. "And right now I don't care if you tell the sultan that I insulted you, because by the time we return home I'm fairly certain your brother will be ruling the sand and chances are he'll agree with me. Now, put down your tea cup and come with me."

"This isn't my tea cup. It's his," she answered softly.

Alin gave a sigh. "We'll return later. But in order to return, we must leave."

"What do you think happened between them?" she asked.

"I have no idea," he answered impatiently. Something in his voice made Erik's eyes narrow. "What does it matter? It's the past."

"I think it might have been me," she replied.

Alin had no witty retort, and several moments later Erik heard their footsteps shuffle along the plush carpet in the hall and out the front door. Just as the door shut, Sori released a wailing cry of frustration that the finger in her mouth provided no milk. She screamed in protest, her scrunched-up face bright red with fury.

"Oh, oh, oh," he said, jiggling her in an attempt to calm her. Her neck dipped, which nearly made his heart stop as he imagined his futile efforts snapping her in half. Wincing on her behalf, he clasped her tightly against his body and ushered her into the bedroom where Corinna sat up with arms outstretched.

"What in the world did you do to upset her this much?" Corinna cooed as she unfastened a button on her blouse and brought the screaming ball of child to her breast.

"I didn't do that," he said as he collapsed on the side of the bed.

Corinna smiled, though she kept her gaze trained on Sori. "It might be helpful if you could."

He wiped his hand over his face and exhaled, thinking he needed nothing else to separate him from being a normal man.

"What does it feel like?" he asked suddenly.

Corinna looked up at him, her face brighter than the last time he'd seen her. She appeared rested, her mood more cheerful and, he hoped, more forgiving.

"What does what feel like?"

"When you…" His gaze dropped from her face to her breast shielded by a tiny black-haired baby. Heat flared across his neck and cheeks, though he didn't know why he was embarrassed to ask his wife a question about a natural part of her life.

"When I feed her?" Corinna finished for him. He nodded but still couldn't bring himself to look at her, which made her chuckle. "You can't be that modest," she teased. "You are, after all, the person responsible for her."

He met her eye and gave a crooked smile. "And do you hate me for that?"

Her playful expression straightened. "I would hate you for lying to me, but I will never hate you for my daughter."

His head lowered, and he nodded, hands clasped together. "I didn't think it was possible to love you any more than I already did, but I'm certain that I've found more room inside of myself for you and for Sori. You have no idea how much I love the two of you."

"Yes, I do," she said softly. "Because it's how I feel for you and her." She motioned for him to sit closer, which he did. Sori snorted and sucked her way to contentment until she went limp from sleep in her mother's arms. "I worry about you, Erik. I worry about losing you."

He rubbed her shoulder, careful not disturb Sori. "You won't. I'll be here to protect the two of you no matter what."

"Not physically," she continued. "I mean inside. I worry about losing you in different ways, in ways I've almost lost you before."

"I don't ever want to be away from you," he answered.

She smiled. "Sometimes it doesn't matter what we want, it just happens."

"I won't let it." His hand slid into hers. "I swear to you."

She held on tighter than he expected. "Stay here with me. For the rest of the afternoon. I want to hear you breathing beside me and feel your arms around me."

He nestled beside her and hummed softly, stroking her unwashed hair. She still smelled faintly of blood and sweat and honey, the perfume of a night birth and a restful morning spent drinking tea and eating bread drizzled with honey. Eyes closed, he kissed her cheek, and she relaxed. Her body was now unfamiliar terrain to him, the swell of her belly soft rather than drum-tight over their child. He didn't care. She was his, and he wanted to touch her, every part of her that needed to be committed to his memory.

"Erik," she whispered. She positioned their daughter beside her in bed and reached back to touch his cheek.

"Sleep, Corinna."

"I can't make love to you today," she replied, her voice low and shy as a girl's. "I'm too sore, I think, to be able to…accept you."

He shushed her, unable to listen to the apology in her voice. "You need to rest. I'll stay with you and sleep."

"Tomorrow," she said, her voice as light as a feather. "I've heard a woman can apply cold compresses to keep the swelling down…and her husband happy."

"I am happy," he answered. He held her closer, pressed his lips to the back of her neck. "This makes me happy, Corinna, you make me happy."

"I want to keep you that way."

Frustration trapped the breath in his throat. She stroked his cheek, though her caress did nothing to soothe him. Her touch fell on the right side of his face, along memories and nightmares that had stepped through his front door. As much as he tried to hide it, he stiffened and wanted to pull away from her.

"You're the only woman in this world who will ever make me happy," he said at last. "After everything we've—"

"I have a feeling there's much more to come," she replied softly.