Storm Reawakened

Marriage Act 1

Of all the clichés that could have come flying out of Duke Storm's mouth, it had to be this? Reflexively cringing, my insides are screaming cusses at the author for the millionth time since waking up as Evara.

Hawthorne and I exchange glances, both of us embarrassed by the sudden onslaught of generational preservation.

"Father, please. May we sit down?" I mumbled, collapsing into a chair in a trance.

Duke Storm flanks me on one side, Hawthorne silently taking the chair opposite.

"What is it daughter?" Duke Storm questioned, his voice consumed by worry.

"Well, considering my convalescent state...children just seem so out of the question right now," I replied, my eyes darting everywhere but at the two other human subjects in the room.

"Nonsense! You're a Storm! And Storms are resilient! Especially when it comes to preserving their bloodline." Duke Storm smiles broadly, taking my hands in his and patting them affectionately.

I finally look at the man I call father, my eyes scrunching, and a sympathetic smile on my lips. I nod slowly, spluttering the first thought that comes to mind.

"Yes.Well, considering Duke Hawthorne's inability to...you know—"

"My, what?" Hawthorne demanded in a strained voice, his face drawn darkly.

"Inability!" Duke Storm exclaimed, turning to Hawthorne glowering. "Young man! You've married my daughter without telling us that you're incapable of siring children?"

"Father," I said, an edge to my tone because the look Eli Hawthorne is currently giving me could kill.

Okay. So, maybe this wasn't the best line of defence. Can't blame myself for trying to skirt the topic of babies. Hell—I want to go back to being a kid myself, shoving my face with ketchup flavoured chips and playing Mario Kart after school...oh wait. No, I still do that.

Except now, chip crumbs land on my boobs and my eyes squint with a death-grip on the gaming console—full bodied and aging in the vision department at twenty-four while coping with work-induced stress. That's me.

"Evara! I'm not judging the boy, but transparency in matters like this is absolutely paramount."

"Sir, I can assure you. My ability to perform and sire heirs is beyond acceptable."

"But Evara—"

"Evara, knows just how well I can perform in the bedroom. But I would prefer, that our private matters remain enclosed behind doors." Hawthorne punctuates every word, glancing at me for emphasis.

Eh? The only thing I know, is that his body is warm—but more like a dead weight that's next to me. As far as performance goes, I have to acknowledge Hawthorne for being able to share the same bed space—No sleep walking or talking, thankfully.

"Of course! I wouldn't dream of—ahem—interfering with marital bliss. So long as there aren't problems in paradise," Duke Storm stifled, coughing uncomfortably.

Paradise? This is hell.

And like the host of hell himself, Hawthorne gives me a devilish grin. "None whatsoever. I think my wife is merely being conscientious of her current state and my own welfare. She does not wish to burden me with your expectations."

Gawd. I hate the man for being so good a liar. He makes it seem effortless to act the part of a spouse while my exposure to marriage, has been dealing with sobbing brides because the dress of their dreams is too tight or tearing. Or worse. Grooms developing cold feet minutes before being announced to the alter.