Elara grew fast.
Not in the way vampires didn't grow, or wolves grew slowly. She developed at a human pace—physically, at least. But her mind was quicker. She spoke in full sentences by eighteen months. Asked questions that made Lyra pause.
"Why am I different?"
They were on the widow's walk. Elara was two, her silver-amber eyes fixed on her mother.
"Different how?" Lyra asked.
"The others. Uncle Garrett's children. They're wolves. Aunt Isolde's are vampires. I'm not either."
Lyra had known this conversation would come. She'd prepared for it. But the words still caught in her throat.
"You're both," she said. "And neither. You're something new."
"Why?"
"Because your father and I loved each other. And the world didn't think we should. So we changed the world."
Elara considered this. "Can I change the world too?"
"Yes. But you don't have to. You can just be. That's enough."
Elara leaned against her mother. She was warm—always warm, her body temperature somewhere between vampire and wolf.
"I like being," she said.
"Good. So do I."