The softness didn't disappear.
It just went underground.
Damien still made breakfast. Still read parenting books. Still came home early and held her stomach and whispered promises to their unborn daughter.
But something else lived beneath that softness. Something darker. Something hungrier.
Christabel felt it.
Every time he touched her. Every time he looked at her. Every time he held back the way he used to let go.
"You're still holding back," she said.
They were in the kitchen. He was making dinner. She was watching him from the counter, her legs dangling, her hand on her stomach.
"I'm making pasta."
"You're hiding."
He set down the knife. Turned to face her.
"I'm not hiding."
"You are. You've been hiding since the night I told you I wanted the monster back."
"Christabel—"
"You promised me. No rules. No lines. No going back. That was the pact."
"The pact was before the baby."
"The pact is forever." She slid off the counter. Walked to him. "You don't get to change the rules just because I'm pregnant."
---
He looked at her.
Really looked at her.
At the woman who had killed for him. Who had killed for herself. Who was carrying his daughter and still asking for more.
"What do you want from me?" he asked.
"I want you to stop pretending."
"Pretending what?"
"That you're someone else." She touched his face. "I fell in love with the monster. Not the man who makes breakfast. Not the man who reads parenting books. The monster."
"He's still here."
"Then let me see him."
---
Damien grabbed her.
Not gently.
The way she remembered. His hands on her hips. Her back against the counter. His body pressing hers.
"This is what you want?" he asked.
"Yes."
"You want me to be dangerous?"
"Yes."
"While you're carrying our daughter?"
"Especially now." She pulled his face to hers. Kissed him hard. "I need to know you're still capable of it. I need to know you can still protect us."
"I can always protect you."
"Then prove it."
---
He carried her to the bedroom.
Not gently.
The way he used to carry her — like she was his, like she had always been his, like nothing had changed.
He laid her on the bed.
Stood over her.
Looked at her body — the curve of her stomach, the swell of her breasts, the hunger in her eyes.
"You're beautiful," he said.
"I know."
"So confident."
"You made me this way."
"No." He knelt on the bed. Crawled over her. "You were always this way. I just woke you up."
---
He undressed her slowly.
Not gently. Deliberately. The way you unwrap something precious.
Her shirt. Her bra. Her pants.
She lay beneath him, naked and round and more beautiful than she had ever been.
"You're staring," she said.
"I'm admiring."
"Same thing."
"Different intention."
She reached for him. Pulled him down.
"Then stop admiring and start touching."
---
He touched her.
The way he used to touch her. With hunger. With need. With the kind of desperation that came from wanting someone so badly it hurt.
His mouth on her neck. Her breasts. Her stomach.
He kissed the place where their daughter grew.
"She's kicking," he said.
"I know."
"Does it hurt?"
"No." She put her hand on his head. "It feels like her. Like you. Like us."
---
He moved lower.
Between her legs.
She gasped.
"Damien—"
"I want to taste you."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to."
He put his mouth on her.
She cried out.
His tongue moved the way she remembered. Slow at first. Then faster. Then harder.
She grabbed his hair.
Pulled him closer.
"Don't stop," she begged.
"I won't."
He didn't.
He licked and sucked and fingered her until she was writhing beneath him, until her thighs were clamped around his head, until she was screaming his name.
She came hard.
Her whole body arched off the bed.
He didn't stop.
He kept going until she came again.
And then again.
---
"Please," she whispered. "I need you inside me."
He climbed up her body.
Positioned himself at her entrance.
"You're sure?"
"I've never been more sure about anything."
He pushed inside her.
Slowly. Deeply.
She was so wet. So tight. So perfect.
"This is what you wanted?" he asked.
"Yes."
"The monster?"
"Yes, Damien."
"He's here."
"I know."
He fucked her.
Not gently.
The way she remembered. Hard and deep and demanding.
She met every thrust.
Held him tight.
And when they came together — when they collapsed in a sweaty, breathless heap — she pressed her hand to her stomach and smiled.
"She's quiet," Christabel said.
"She's listening."
"To what?"
"To us." He kissed her forehead. "To the sound of her parents being exactly who they are."
---
Afterward, they lay tangled together.
The city was dark. The room was quiet.
"I'm sorry," Damien said.
"For what?"
"For hiding. For pretending. For trying to be someone I'm not."
"You were trying to be a good father."
"I was trying to be a safe father." He turned his head. Looked at her. "But our daughter isn't going to be safe. She's going to be ours. And that means she's going to be dangerous."
"Yes."
"Then I need to be dangerous too. For her. For you. For all of us."
She touched his face.
"You already are."
"I forgot for a while."
"Don't forget again."
---
He pulled her close.
Pressed his lips to her hair.
"I love you," he said.
"I know."
"I love you in ways I didn't know I was capable of."
She looked up at him.
Her eyes were dark and deep and full of something that looked like forever.
"Then show me," she said. "Every day. In every way. Don't hold back. Don't hide. Don't pretend to be someone you're not."
"I won't."
"Promise?"
He kissed her.
"Promise."