MAEVE'S POV
Asha's glare could've set fire to the damn room.
He looked like he was one second away from shifting—which was wild, considering he was five. But that's how deep his loathing ran.
He wasn't scared of Ivan like he had been earlier. He despised him. And the part that gutted me was that I couldn't even blame him.
Impressions mattered to kids, and Ivan—Neanderthal that he was—had disappointed my little boy twice in a row.
Worst of all, he had cornered his mummy against a wall like a fucking brute. The lamp in Asha's small hands twitched, like it itched to swing.
I rushed to his side.
"Baby, hey," I said gently, crouching beside him. "Drop that, sweetheart. It's bedtime. You shouldn't be here."
But Asha yanked it away from my reach, planting his tiny feet like a warrior made of fire and grit.
"No. Get behind me, Mummy," he said, his voice tight with resolve. "I'll protect you."
My heart skipped.
