Forgotten Hollow

Recovery had become… different.

Not easier. Not painless. Just different.

Because Cerys was there.

She didn’t hover. She didn’t fuss. She simply existed in the room with a steadiness that made the world feel less jagged, less hostile, less like something I had to fight my way through.

We weren’t official. We weren’t labeled. We weren’t anything we could explain to anyone else.

But we were something.

Something real.

Something that tightened in my chest every time she stepped into the room with her hair pinned up and those soft freckles catching the torchlight like constellations.

Something that made her fingers linger a moment too long when she adjusted my posture. Something that made me reach for her hand without thinking. Something that made her look away quickly when she realized I was watching her.

And yes — something that made us kiss.

More than once.

The first time had been instinct. The second time had been curiosity. The third time had been… inevitable.

After that, we tried to fight it.

Both of us.

She was a medic. I was a patient. I was the great‑grandson of the highest Elder. She was his subject, his employee. I was an Enforcer, trained to hurt and take lives. She was a healer, trained to save them.

It was inappropriate. Unwise. Complicated.

But every time she steadied me, every time she murmured encouragement, every time she looked at me like I wasn’t broken — something in me loosened.

And something in her softened.

One night, after a brutal session that left my muscles trembling and my pride in tatters, she sat beside me on the bed, her hand resting lightly on my knee.

“You’re getting stronger,” she said quietly.

“You’re the reason,” I answered before I could stop myself.

Her fingers twitched. She looked away. But she didn’t move her hand.

I leaned in. She didn’t pull back.

Our lips met — slow, warm, inevitable.

She kissed me like she’d been holding something inside for weeks. I kissed her like I’d forgotten what restraint was.

When we finally parted, she whispered, “We shouldn’t keep doing this.”

“I know,” I said.

And then we kissed again.

And again.

Not every night. Not recklessly. Not without restraint.

But enough that the air between us was always charged, warm, alive.

Enough that we were choosing each other in small, quiet ways.

Enough that everyone around us knew.

Cesare’s knowing glances. Riordan’s smirk. My mother’s raised eyebrow — she’d been turned before Fiona was conceived, but decades hadn’t changed her. She was still the same warm, romantic, whimsy‑loving girl my father fell hopelessly in love with.

Their love story flickered through my mind — my mother at fifteen, finding a wounded Enforcer in the orchard behind her house. My father, too injured to port, trying to scare her off. Her stubbornness. Her kindness. Her saving his life. His return to thank her. His refusal to touch her until she turned eighteen. The way he adored her still.

I grew up watching that kind of love. My sisters found it too — strong enough to leave everything behind.

And for the first time, I wondered if I could have something like that.

Even Caelan — the coldest of us, the one who had to turn his humanity on to seem normal — gave a grunt of approval when he saw Cerys and me together.

And then came the night we stopped pretending.

I’d pushed too hard in therapy. My legs gave out. She caught me — barely — and we ended up tangled on the bed, both startled, both laughing quietly at the absurdity of it.

Her hand was on my chest. Mine was on her waist. We froze.

Not in fear. In recognition.

Something shifted. Something final.

I reached up and pulled the hair stick from her bun. Her hair fell around us like a curtain, soft and warm, carrying that scent that made something primal in me tighten.

She saw it in my eyes.

“Damon… we can’t keep—”

I kissed her before she could finish.

This kiss wasn’t careful. Wasn’t hesitant. Wasn’t testing boundaries.

It was the kind that erased them.

Every. Last. One.

She answered with equal certainty, fingers curling into my shirt, pulling me closer. I held her like I’d been waiting for this without knowing it.

We didn’t rush. We didn’t cross any lines we couldn’t uncross.

But we crossed enough.

Enough to change everything.

When we finally stilled, her voice was barely steady.

“This is real,” she said.

“Yes,” I whispered.

And it was.

After that night, nothing between us was casual.

She sat closer. I reached for her more often. She let me. I let her.

It felt like the missing piece — the thing I’d never had, the thing I’d never let myself want. Hope. A real romance. A meaningful relationship. Something that could have a future.

We didn’t announce anything. We didn’t define anything.

But we didn’t deny it anymore.

And then came the day I was released.

From the medic wing. From her care.

I was relieved. And worried.

Afraid this would be the end.

Later I realized she felt the same.

But it wasn’t the end.

She came often — to check on me, yes, but also simply to see me.

And I was here for it.

So were my parents. So was everyone else.

She took me outside to practice walking, and we ended up kissing in the open courtyard, not caring who might see.

Let them.

Dating a Coven Enforcer was an honor for any of Cesare’s subjects. An Enforcer dating a medic was ironic, maybe, but not scandalous.

This worked.

She joined us for movies at home — Mom and Cerys with wine, Dad and I with whiskey. Dad would wink at Mom and pull her close; I would do the same with Cerys.

For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was stepping back into life.

Not alone.

Dinner with a side of Revelation

San Myshuno rose ahead of us like a neon mirage — too loud, too bright, too mortal — but tonight it was neutral ground. The only place my two exiled sisters could meet me without triggering a political meltdown. I wasn’t decrepit enough anymore to justify an exception to their exile, and I hated how vulnerable that made me feel.

Cerys drove.

I sat in the passenger seat, still too weak to port, a wheelchair folded in the trunk like a threat I refused to acknowledge. I’d rather drag myself across the pavement than let anyone — especially her — see me in that thing. She’d packed it because she was responsible. I hated it because I wasn’t.

Her hand brushed mine on the center console.

I folded my fingers around hers.

She didn’t pull away.

Neither did I.

Officially, she was here as medical support. Unofficially… she was the woman I was falling for.

We reached the rooftop restaurant overlooking the city. Lanterns swayed overhead, casting warm light across the long table my sisters had already taken over. Jaymie and Fiona were halfway through a bottle of wine, laughing too loudly. Their grown children — Eirwen and Vincent — were arguing about something stupid and petty, the way only adult cousins who adore each other can.

Cerys sat beside me — officially to monitor my condition, unofficially to make my undead heart do things it had no business doing. Under the table, her fingers brushed mine. Not holding. Not quite. Just… there.

Enough to make my nerves spark.

Jaymie leaned back in her chair, smirking like she’d been waiting all night for this. Fiona wasn’t any better — she kept glancing between us like she was watching a slow‑burn romance unfold in real time.

Eirwen, now a fully grown woman with her mother’s violet eyes and her father’s magical spark and arrogance, raised an eyebrow every time Cerys leaned in to check on me. Vincent, tall and broad and smug as only a werewolf alpha‑in‑training could be, smirked like he was waiting for someone to say the quiet part out loud.

But no one teased. Not tonight. Not after everything I’d been through.

None of them had forgotten how close that last mission had come to being my final one.

Laughter rolled around the table — warm, chaotic, familiar — when an older couple approached.

Chase and Hailey Cameron.

Chase, former frontman of a grunge band that had been stupidly famous in the 90s and early 2000s. Hailey, his wife, holding a newborn in her arms. Both mortal. Both aging. Both smiling like the world hadn’t just tilted under my feet.

“Look who it is!” Fiona beamed. “Damn, you guys — Cameron curse struck again. Congratulations on Junior or Juniorette!”

Chase barked a laugh. “Not ours this time. None of my or Patches’ body parts were involved in the making of this one.” He pointed at Hailey. “Scout’s honor.”

“That’s right,” Hailey said, bouncing the baby. “My babymaker slammed shut for good after I begged Gump for one more baby and the overachiever gave me twins.”

“I will never live that down,” Chase sighed.

Jaymie and Fiona were up instantly, hovering like mother hens.

“Is this Chris’ little one? I forgot her name,” Jaymie cooed.

“Excuse you,” Hailey swatted her shoulder. “Chris’ baby is named Hailey Shae — after her amazing great‑grandma, aka: ME, thank you very much. And no, this isn’t her. Hailey is back home and already walking, and her mom and dad would never let us take her out of the state without them attached. At least not yet. I give it till the terrible twos and they’ll be trying to pawn her off to us. Or if Connor and Keira guess right and they are unofficially working on a sequel. I hope that’s right But no, this little one here is fresh off the presses and a Hanson baby. My late brother Grady’s son Luca is drowning in life right now, his family life has gotten totally derailed somehow, and his daughter ended up with this little sweetheart unscheduled and unprepared. They needed help for a while but too proud to accept it outright until the bottom fell out completely. So, we went there to get the lay of the land, we’re fixing up the house, paid off a few bills so they can breathe and for summer that bratty teen great-nephew of mine is coming to stay at bootcamp Cameron to learn some manners. Until then this little angel and her momma needed a change of scenery and lots of help, we have the space and the means. So, we have some houseguests until further notice.”

“And we have the time,” Chase added. “And the noise tolerance. Old age does have its perks.”

Fiona melted. “I can’t stop looking. Makes me want to go into production again with Gwydion. I loved this baby stage.”

Eirwen recoiled. “Oh my God, Mom, please no. We are weird enough as is. No siblings please! I swear, you breathe any of that to Dad and I’m moving out. He’d absolutely go for it. Oh my God, no.”

Jaymie snorted. “I second that. Fi, your birth with Eirwen was rough stuff. Plus, your husband was all antiquated machismo ‘I want a male heir to rule the world, rarara.’ Then he took one look at this beautiful baby girl and suddenly he was a new man, one normal people could actually bear to be around. And nobody look at me — my biological clock has already quit ticking that tune. Next baby in the Shaw family is going to be Vincey here making Nathan and me a grandparents. He hasn’t even gotten serious with any ladies in a long time. Get cracking, kid! Your grandparents aren’t getting younger, you know. They’d like to meet their great-grandpups while they can.”

Vincent rolled his eyes and drowned himself in his beer, raising the empty glass to a passing waiter for a refill.

Fiona waved her off and turned back to Hailey. “So, what are you guys doing with her? I didn’t know you two offered free babysitting services. Man, could’ve used that with this little nightmare when she was younger.” She pointed at Eirwen.

“Seriously, Mom,” Eirwen groaned. “I was a dream growing up.”

“I think you mean nightmare,” Vincent chimed in. “One all of us had to live through. And you perfected it in young adulthood. Nobody wonders why you’re still single. HA!”

Eirwen flipped him off, which only made him laugh harder.

“Ah, kids,” Chase said. “You were all dreams at some point — dreams that quickly turned into nightmares. Our babysitting services are very limited. I told our kids and grandkids we’ll keep an eye on their little ones to keep them from unaliving themselves, and we’ll throw some food their way in measured intervals, but anything beyond that is not on the menu.”

He winked at Hailey, then added matter‑of‑factly, “If someone shits their breeches, I’ll take them to the backyard and hose them down. The baby’s mom is on the can so we’re just holding her for her so she doesn’t accidently flush her down the crapper or something.”

“Gump! Seriously now!” Hailey nudged him while Fiona pulled the baby from her arms, snuggling a stranger’s baby. Jeezes Christ, women for you.

Fiona turned to me suddenly. “Here, Damon — hold her. Get yourself a taste, lil bro.”

“What— wait— Fi—”

Too late.

A warm, squirming bundle was deposited into my arms. I froze, stiff as a marble statue, staring down at the tiny face blinking up at me.

“I don’t do babies,” I muttered.

“Isn’t she precious?” Fiona cooed. “Doesn’t that make you want one, little brother? I bet Cerys loves kids, don’t you?”

I hated the eyebrow wiggle she shot at Cerys. I swear I blushed — undignified, unmanly. Fantastic. I just kinda/sorta started dating that woman and Fi’s already talking babies. Kill me now. Sisters.

“Uh…”

The baby was warm. Too warm. Too alive. She wriggled in my lap like she trusted me, like she expected me to know what I was doing. I didn’t. My hands felt too big, too cold, too wrong.
Cerys shifted closer — not crowding, not taking over, just close enough that her knee brushed mine, grounding me. She reached out, slow and gentle, letting the baby’s tiny fist bump against her fingertip. The little one latched on instantly, gripping with that newborn reflex that made my chest tighten.
Cerys smiled — soft, steady, the kind of smile that could calm a hemorrhage. Something in me loosened… just enough for the world to slip the knife in.

The baby was warm. Too warm. Too alive. She wriggled in my arms like she trusted me, like she expected me to know what to do. I didn’t. My hands felt too big, too cold, too wrong.

I glanced at Cerys — she smiled, soft, encouraging — and then it hit me. Hard. For one insane, traitorous second, my brain tried to picture this as ours. Me. Her. A baby.

The thought didn’t feel wrong. That was the part that scared the hell out of me.

Vincent clapped Chase on the back. “You guys wanna pull up chairs? We just got here ourselves. Our Damon here got dinged up pretty bad on a mission — almost didn’t live to showboat about it — had him laid up for over half a year. First time they even let him out of the house in months. I’d almost forgotten what he looked like, since they don’t let my kind near Forgotten Hollow to see him. But our princess is tougher than he looks, though he’s still a little weak in his loafers.”

“Jesus, kid,” Chase wheezed. “Warn a man before you try to rearrange his spine. More strength than sense, that one.”

Hailey gasped. “Oh no, Damon, that sounds awful. Are you doing okay?”

“I’m fine,” I rasped, wishing the ground would swallow me before anyone else tried to mother me. I was a damn Coven Enforcer. And Cerys was right next to me. Can I please be afforded one tiny shred of dignity?

“He is fine,” Jaymie cut in, far too cheerfully. “He brought his hot nurse.”

I wanted to strangle her. She knew exactly what she was doing — judging by the ‘Daaaww, too bad you can barely walk ten steps without going weak on us, huh?’ look she shot me. I mentally screamed the B‑word at her. Sadly, telepathy wasn’t one of our gifts.

Hailey blinked, then smiled politely at Cerys. “Oh! You must be the medic who helped him. Thank you for taking such good care of our boy.”

Cerys gave a small, professional nod — the kind that said I am not touching this with a ten‑foot pole.

“Aww, look at that,” Jaymie sing‑songed. “So wholesome.”

I glared at her. She grinned wider.

Hailey glanced down the hallway. “Ah — there she is. We won’t keep you. Mommy needed a bathroom break before we drive out to the airport. We came from visiting this little lady’s grandparents and uncle in Newcrest and trying to mediate the family drama a bit. Exhausting. Hansons are stubborn.”

She exhaled, then smiled at me again. “You all enjoy your dinner. And take care of yourself, Damon.”

She stepped aside.

And that’s when everything happened at once.

I looked down at the baby again.

I looked up.

And saw her.

Leonie.

She froze. I froze.

The world stopped.

A screeching‑tire sound ripped through my skull — maybe real, maybe not — and everything else dissolved into a loud buzzing, like she and I were standing in the eye of a tornado.

Jaymie’s voice became a distant hum. Someone took the baby from my arms. Someone laughed. Someone gasped.

None of it reached me.

Leonie stood there, holding the baby now, staring at me like she’d seen a ghost.

Or like she was one. Or I was.

Her hair was longer. Her face thinner. Her eyes — those warm, soft blue eyes — wide with shock.

And the baby in her arms…

Everything inside me dropped.

The restaurant noise faded into a vacuum. The lanterns dimmed. The city blurred. My family disappeared. Cerys beside me was talking to me. I felt a hand on my shoulder. Heard my name from miles away underwater.

It was just me. And Leonie. And the baby.

Someone shook me — hard — snapping me back into my body.

I looked at Jaymie like I’d just woken from a nightmare. Felt like it too.

“Damon! Are you okay? You just zoned out on us. Is that meds he’s on, Cerys? What kinda industrial‑grade strength stuff do you have him on?”

I heard Cerys’ voice, Fiona saying something, but the words scrambled together in my brain and made no sense.

“I… gotta… take a piss,” I blurted out like a barely potty‑trained toddler.

Voices quieted. Vincent gave me a look like Damn, bruh. TMI.

Cerys pushed back her chair to help, but I stopped her.

“No. I can do it.”

“Damon—”

“I SAID I GOT THIS!”

Rougher than I meant. Five pairs of eyes burned into me.

I scrambled up and hurried down the hallway as fast as my still‑weak legs allowed, guiding myself along the wall with one hand, hoping I walked decent enough to not look drunk. Down the elevator. Out the front door. The faster I tried to walk, the further it seemed to go, but eventually I reached it and stepped outside.

Chase was in the driver’s seat of a rental car in the valet section. Hailey was settling into the passenger side and just slammed the door shut. Leonie was leaning into the backseat, strapping the baby in.

I stumbled forward, grabbed her upper arm, and pulled her with me down a decorative path lit by lanterns. Chase stepped out of the car, but I waved him off. He stayed back.

I pulled Leonie far enough away to stop. She yanked her arm free and glared at me.

“That baby—” I rasped.

“Damon, don’t.”

“That baby — whose baby is it?!”

“Damon, stop! I am not having this talk with you. You look …. deranged! You are frightening me!”

She turned to leave. I grabbed her arm and pulled her back around.

Our eyes locked.

Confusion. Shock. Fear.

Her heart pounded — loud, frantic — slamming against my senses like a drumline. Her eyes were wide with shock and pain and something else.

Black rushed in from all sides. I heard a scream — hers — and then everything went dark.