"You love it."
I do. God help me, I really, really do.
I close my eyes, letting his steady breathing lull me toward sleep. The baby gives one last little flutter, then settles.
Everything goes quiet.
Everything feels safe.
Until it isn't.
I wake up to cold sheets and the absence of warmth.
Nick's arm is gone from around my belly, and when I blink my eyes open, he's sitting up beside me, every line of his body tense.
"Nick?"
"Stay in bed." His voice is low, too calm. The kind of calm that makes my stomach drop straight through the mattress.
The baby explodes into motion, kicking and rolling like she's trying to claw her way out. I press both hands to my belly, whispering nonsense, but she won't settle.
"What's wrong?"
"They're here."
My blood goes cold. "Who's here?"
He doesn't answer. Just gets out of bed, moving toward the bedroom door. The wards I can't normally see suddenly flare to life, brilliant blue lines of magic crackling along the walls, the ceiling, the floor.
And then I feel it. The air goes thick and wrong, pressing in on me. Like the moment before a storm breaks.
Something hits the wards.
The whole apartment shudders, like it's bracing for impact.
I struggle to sit up, my heart hammering. "Nick!"
"Stay. There." He doesn't look at me. His focus is on the door, on whatever's trying to get in.
Another hit. Harder this time. The wards hold, but barely.
I watch, frozen, as shapes start to crawl out of the shadows on the other side of the magic. Some are dark and writhing, the kind that make your eyes water if you look too long. Others are too bright, burning with a light that feels all wrong. Twisted.
Demons. Angels.
They're all here.
The wards crack.
Nick's hand shoots out, and the magic shifts and reinforces, but I can see the strain on his face. There are too many of them. Too much power pressing against his defenses.
"You can't have her," he says, his voice ringing with an authority that makes the air vibrate. "You can't have either of them."
Something laughs. The sound scrapes against my ears like nails on a chalkboard.
"The child belongs to us, Kringle. You cannot protect her forever."
The baby's going wild. I can barely breathe through the barrage of kicks and rolls. She's terrified. So am I.
