Of the eight (though he knew only of seven) children Gabriel had brought into the world, Talitha and Ezekiel were his only true heirs. They were the only ones not born bastards. This made them unique, made them his true heirs. Both children had known what it was to rule Inferni—Gabriel did not understand why Talitha had stepped down, but assumed this was for the best. He was, after all, no longer a part of the leadership here. Still, he was proud of the two of them; they had survived wars and the wilderness and grown, despite their flaws.
Her smile brought a faint echo onto his face, a little thing that took away some of the age from him. Yet she seemed conflicted, and Gabriel tensed at this. She would not look at him. My God, what has she done?
A riddle. A clue. What did she carry? Certainly not wolves, he hoped. She was too outspoken to seek them out. If it had been rape, he would have known. Ezekiel would have slaughtered the bastard with Gabriel’s blessing. It was clear to him she was pained by this and had made some sort of poor decision, but to attack her now would be to push her away. Gabriel sighed and slid from the bed, half-limping to his taller daughter. “If you are happy and they are healthy, then it doesn’t matter.” For now, at least, this was not a lie.
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