The massive double doors of the Keep of Storms open and men pour in, wearing armor and speaking in loud voices. They laugh and jostle each other, full of enthusiasm even though not a few moments ago they were fighting each other on the field of battle. That’s all they do here in Aron’s slice of the heavens—battles after battles after battles, then they come and feast. I smile at them as they surge in like a wave, and each one makes Aron’s symbol in my direction. Some even move their hand up slightly with a second thump over the heart, a new gesture people have started to do for me specifically. Aron says that I’m not worshipped—not yet—but he wouldn’t be surprised if I started receiving prayers in the next millennia or two asking for him to intercede.

I scan the faces of the men—and women—as they crowd the feast tables that magically replenish themselves and begin to eat. Solat’s here, and Vitar, and I wink at them as they pass by. Solat’s following a female warrior from Old Suuol with a look of interest that tells me he hasn’t changed, even dead.

I’m about to ask where my Aron is when thunder crashes overhead again and I roll my eyes, even as I smile. Dramatic entrance incoming. I clasp my hands, waiting beside my throne and pretending I’m about to sit down in my smaller chair next to his. It’s a game we play—I move to sit, and Aron grabs me before I can and pulls me into his lap. It doesn’t matter how fast I am, my ass never gets in that chair.

Even now, I barely put my hands on the arm of my throne and then a massive gust of wind and a crackle of lightning sweeps up against me, rustling my skirts. A big arm locks around my waist and then I’m hauled into Aron’s lap as he sits on his throne.

“My love,” he growls, his throat full of thunder and pleasure at the sight of me. He’s become fiercer and more magical as he adjusts to his return in the Aether. Today, wind makes his hair constantly blow—even inside—and lightning sparks his eyes. The other day he wore a crown of pure lightning in bed.

Fucking sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

He nips at my neck, sending sizzles of pleasure through my body. “Did you miss me this day?”

“Nope,” I tell him.

Aron throws his head back and laughs, because he knows I’m lying.

I just grin and smooth his long hair back from his face, caressing his jaw even as I do. I’m getting used to the eyepatch and I have to admit, it does good things for my lady parts. “How was your day, dear?” I ask, teasing.

He gives me a pleased look, one hand gripping me high on my thigh. “Eventful. Prayers are coming in from Rastana. They are on the verge of civil war. I shall have to evaluate which side deserves my blessing.” He takes my hand and pulls my knuckles toward his mouth, pressing a kiss there. “You will help me?”

I squirm with pleasure. Aron doesn’t have to include me in his “job.” He’s the God of Battle, after all, but he likes to get my thoughts on things, and I love that he respects me enough to listen. “Of course.”

“After dinner,” he amends. “You must be hungry. Shall I feed you?” His eyes gleam with intensity.

“Maybe later.” I pat his chest. We both know that feeding me usually turns into some hardcore sex. The man gets wildly aroused when I eat a piece of fruit, and well, I do too. “We need to talk about something important.”

He turns my hand over and presses a kiss to the inside of my wrist, his tongue flicking against my skin. “More important than me feasting between your thighs?”

Unf. This man makes me crazy with lust. He’s good at distracting me, and it makes me super hot that he’s this affectionate in front of the Faithful—his army of soldiers who’ve earned their place at his side. There is nothing I’d like more than to drag him to our private chambers, jerk his pants off, and suck on his length until he’s pulling my hair. I’m all aroused but I really did want to talk to Aron about important things. “We have a…I don’t know if you’ll call it a problem,” I begin, a little worried.

He looks up from raining kisses on the inside of my arm. “Problem?” He frowns, and his other hand tightens around my waist. “You did not eat yesterday, either,” he says, remembering. “What ails you?”

Thunder crashes overhead, different from the booms that normally accompany Aron. This is rage—and fear. He’s worried about me. The others quiet in their seats at the table, the massive hall going silent as all eyes turn to us.

Awkward.

I pretend to pick a piece of lint off of Aron’s battle-tunic. “It might be nothing…”

“Woman,” he growls.

“Has a name,” I remind him.

“Faith.” His eyes flash brighter than any lightning and he grips my wrist tightly. “Tell me what is wrong. Has someone bothered you? Do I need to destroy them?”

“You romantic,” I tease.

He doesn’t laugh.

I bite my lip. “I’m not trying to scare you. I’m just…”

Aron’s jaw clenches and he pulls me tight against his chest. He leans in close, his breath mingling with mine. “There is nothing to be afraid of, my Faith,” he murmurs. “You know I will cross the Aether to keep you at my side. If I must invade the Underworld once more—”

Oh gosh, now he’s getting super worked up. I pat his chest, trying to calm him down. “Nothing as bad as that. No need to go to war. I just…” I try to think of a delicate way to put it because I’m not entirely sure what he’s going to think. Or if he’ll even like the idea at all. My stomach clenches and not for the first time in the last few days, I feel sick. Really, really sick.

What if Aron hates this?

“I’m pregnant,” I blurt.

He stares at me. “With a baby.”

I slap his chest. “No, with a fucking roasted chicken. Yes, with a baby!”

Aron’s big hand goes to my stomach. He presses lightly against it. “Here?” His voice is low, smooth, impossible to read.

“Do I need to give you an anatomy lesson, big guy?” I half tease, but I’m quietly freaking out. Aron’s a god of battle and thunder. He likes destroying things and going to war. How’s he going to handle a baby? “It seems that because I’m still mortal-ish, I’m in the weave. Yulenna saw a new thread coming from mine and I’ve been sick the last few days and my boobs inflated and—”

Aron’s hand goes to my breast and he cups it thoughtfully. “They do seem larger.”

I slap his hand away, conscious of all the Faithful staring. “Aron,” I whisper. “You haven’t told me if you’re happy or not.”

“I never thought,” he murmurs, and then caresses my stomach again. “Truly?”

“Truly.” I watch his face, anxious.

“And…it will not harm you to give birth to my child? To a god?” He looks worried for a moment. “I will not have you in pain, Faith—”

I shake my head, cutting him off. I realize his reluctance is fear—fear of losing me again. Sometimes when I sleep, Aron comes in from the endless battles and just holds me for hours on end because he’s terrified of losing me again. I love that. And I love him. “I’ll be fine. We’ll talk with the god of family if we have to. You said he was back, right?”

“Gental? Yes.” His gaze flicks over my face and then he cups my neck. “This is…you’re certain, Faith?” When I nod, his face splits into a boyish grin. “A child.”

“Or a roasted chicken. You guess which one.”

He laughs again, the sound booming and not unlike the thunder that constantly rolls across the Plane of Storms. He gets to his feet, me in his arms, and tilts his head back, shouting to the heavens, “I am to have a son!”

“Or a daughter,” I chime in as the keep erupts in cheers.

His eyes really light up, then, and I can tell he fucking loves that idea. “A daughter of battle.”

“Or whatever he or she wants to be,” I tell him primly.

Aron laughs, the sound so full of joy that it makes all my worry disappear. He’s not a man that can hide his emotions, and it’s clear he is utterly thrilled. “A child,” he roars again as the Faithful thump their mugs on the table in appreciation. “Our child!”