Lucien gave a soft cry of protest, but quieted down as soon as I laid him back in his crib. His tiny fingers clutched mine for a heartbeat, tight and warm, before slipping free. His little fists beat the air once, twice before his red eyelids fluttered shut again.
Dawn was creeping up outside, but the window was already sealed tight against the sun and the cold. I've triple-checked. Keeping the dim and still, safe.
"Thank you," I murmured to the old healer at my side, the one who helped with the birth. My voice was a whisper, thin and exhaustion. "For taking care of him."
She had been the one to teach me everything. From how to change his diaper, how to feed him, how to mix his milk with the right amount of blood he craved. And still, every time his little fangs flicked down at the scent of it, something painful twisted inside me. He was barely a month old. He hadn't even started teething properly, and yet, his hunger for something vile was so raw.
