Rambaldi closed his eyes as Sanshoku threaded her face beneath his own. The movement was very foreign, but it felt absolutely right to him. Was this what his mother had felt like when she met Beartooth? Or when she and Alistair had become mates for that brief night, before everything went to hell? Irina’s star-touched mate had died in Phobus’ War, slain by his own grown son. Before his sons and daughters with Irina were ever born. What Rambaldi felt now was regret and longing for everything that had been, but also a new hope that he could heal. He certainly wouldn’t ever go back to how he had been before the war, but he could surely better himself for Sanshoku. Her little bird, she called him. He supposed that was apt; he did possess the wings of a songbird after all.

“So tell me when you’re gonna let me in.”