I couldn't take my eyes off them.
Seraphina held our son against her chest, her rose-gold hair cascading over her shoulder as she gazed down at him with such profound love that my chest ached. Rhys's tiny fingers flexed against her skin, his eyes—golden like hers—drifting closed as he fought sleep.
Just days ago, I'd thought I would lose them both.
The memory of Seraphina's blood pooling beneath her during childbirth, her face ghostly pale as she slipped away from me, still haunted my dreams. I'd felt utterly helpless, watching the woman I loved dying before my eyes while bringing our son into the world.
"You're staring again," Seraphina murmured, not looking up from Rhys.
"I'm allowed to," I replied, moving to sit beside her on the bed. "You're mine to look at."
She smiled, finally lifting those golden eyes to meet mine. "Possessive as always."
