Her beautiful Zale had grown even if it was a tiny bit.
Nerissa must have taken care of him very well.
Zale's tiny, webbed hand remained pressed flat against the soft, flushed cheek of his newborn sister. The little abyssal prince blinked, his wide eyes slowly lifting from the sleeping tiger cub to lock onto the pale, sweat-slicked face of the woman lying on the pillows.
For a long second, Zale stared at Roxy. His tiny brow furrowed, his bottom lip quivering violently as his brilliant abyssal mind processed the familiar scent of lavender, the warmth of her aura, and the agonizing weeks of separation.
He usually doesn't cry. But as he looked into his mother's violet eyes, his little face scrunched up, and a loud, piercing, absolutely heartbroken wail tore from his tiny lungs.
The sound shattered Roxy's heart into a million irreparable pieces. The sheer, devastating grief in her son's cry bypassed every ounce of her physical exhaustion, striking directly at her soul.
