Page 10 of Fury of Affliction

Her friend lay dead. Their son hadn’t lived.

Leaning in, she kissed Amanda softly, said goodbye, and cradling her son, stumbled from the room. Numb, unseeing, feet slipping on blood, she careened across the antechamber, out into the hallway. Spotting the purple chair, she sank into leather seat. Hunched over, she stared at his small face. Sheer perfection. Beauty that would never be realized.

Rocking him gently, she named him Simeon, and pain shearing her soul, started to sing. Slow. Soft. Each note full of love and longing. Giving her son his first and last lullaby.

The songfrom that day played like a death knell inside his head. Melancholy in the melody. Sorrow in each chord. Devastation in the lyrics, giving voice to his pain, saying the things he found impossible to say.

There were no words.

No way to express the depth of his anguish.

Though, he knew the song by heart.

Rising and falling with the strum of acoustic guitar, Sloan hummed along. He felt the rasp in the back of his throat. Tasted of tears on his lips. Knew the weight of his son in his arms, still warm from his mother’s womb, and relived the torment of loss.

Every day.

Always the same regret.

Forever the same result.

He carried it with him like a talisman. Holding the memory inside his heart instead of his head. Living it. Breathing it. Becoming it as he drifted through a world without his son. He kept him close in the waking hours. Saw Simeon’s face in his dreams when he slept, knowing he should’ve been there. Instead, he’d arrived too late to save their lives.

The mother of his child was gone. So was his son. Buried twelve years ago beneath the hard, cold Texas ground. Had he been brave enough, he would’ve joined them. The drive to live had stopped him. The sense of something more did the rest, helping him hold on while he hunted for a purpose.

The night he met Bastian and the Nightfury dragon warriors proved his desperate belief insomething moretrue. He’d been resurrected and reborn, been gifted brothers. Warriors he loved and valued. The pack had saved his life, shifting his focus,providing a target, giving him an outlet for his grief and aggressive nature.

Knowing it, though (being grateful for Bastian’s intervention), didn’t stop him from playing a game ofwhat if, longing for a different outcome for his son. Incredibly long odds given human females rarely survived birthing Dragonkind.

His soul didn’t care about facts. It followed a different beat, crying out, reaching back in time, wishing, wanting, desperate for the impossible. For Simeon to live. For him to know the pleasure of raising his child.

The lead singer reached the crescendo.

His heart ached harder.

His son had turned twelve yesterday.

He commemorated it the way he always did—alone. Given his sins, he didn’t deserve anything else. He knew Theodora wouldn’t agree. She loved him too much to let him suffer alone. In the dark. Suffocating in the silence.

The entire reason he hadn’t told her.

His mate looked after him, twisting herself in knots to give him what he needed. Night in. Night out. She kept him steady. During the days too, holding fast while he slept, smoothing out his nightmares, giving him sweeter dreams. A tremendous give. One he thanked the goddess for all the time. She’d been made for him. He’d been born to ensure she thrived, so no matter how hard, he would?—

“It’s The Tragically Hip.”

Her voice dragged him from the past, bridging time and space. Dragged out of the purple chair in the hospital corridor, he landed inside his body. His mind followed. The song stopped playing as he realized where he stood—inside Black Diamond’s computer lab, her scent in his nose, his arms tight around her, with his palms pressed to the softest skin he’d ever touched.

Humming the tune against the base of his throat, she swayed in time. “Fiddler’s Green. You sang him Fiddler’s Green.”

“Yeah.”

“Beautiful.”

His chest tightened at her words. He’d hoped…hoped so hard…that he’d done right. That the song he’d chosen for Simeon had done his son justice.

“A lullaby about a little boy taken too soon.” Shifting in his arms, she pulled back enough to look up at him. Lashes wet with tears. Expression full of sorrow. Understanding shining in her green eyes. “Perfect choice, honey.”

Slipping from beneath her shirt, he gathered her long hair in his hand and pulled it over her shoulder. Comforted by the softness, he twirled his fingers in the thick strands. “I didn’t know what else to do.”