“That’s not reassuring!”
“It’s not meant to be reassuring. It’s meant to keep you focused. Now push!”
I pushed. And pushed. And pushed until I was certain I had nothing left, until I was running on empty, until my body was operating on pure instinct because my mind had checked out entirely.
“I see the head!” Dr. Hartley announced. “One more push, Luna. Just one more big push and your baby will be here.”
One more. I could do one more. I had to do one more.
The next contraction built and I bore down with everything remaining in my battered body. I screamed, the sound raw and primal and completely involuntary. I pushed through the painand the exhaustion and the fear. Pushed until I felt the pressure finally release, felt my body go limp with relief, felt the tension drain out of me all at once.
“We’ve got the baby!” Dr. Hartley announced.
I collapsed back against the pillows, gasping for air. Knox was saying my name, his voice thick with emotion, pressing kisses to my forehead and telling me I’d done it, I was amazing, he loved me so much.
But I couldn’t focus on his words. I was listening for a different sound. Waiting for a different voice.
The room was too quiet.
Where was the crying? Babies were supposed to cry when they were born. That was the first sound they made, the sign that they were alive and breathing and okay.
Why wasn’t my baby crying?
I lifted my head, trying to see what was happening. The nurses had clustered around the warming table where they’d taken the baby. Their movements were quick, urgent. Dr. Hartley had moved to join them, her back to me, blocking my view.
“Knox?” My voice came out weak, trembling. “Knox, where’s the baby? What’s happening?”
He wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at the cluster of medical staff, his face ashen, his whole body rigid with fear that I could feel pouring through the bond.
“Why isn’t my baby crying?” I asked again, louder this time, panic rising in my chest.
No one answered me.
“What happened with my baby?”
14
— • —
Knox
“Knox, what the hell-”
Lina’s voice broke on the words, tears streaming down her face as she tried to sit up and see what was happening with our baby. I tried to soothe her, tried to push calm through the bond, but I couldn’t focus on anything except the bundle of blankets on the warming table and Dr. Hartley’s frantic movements as she worked on our child.
Why wasn’t the baby crying? Why wasn’t anyone telling us what was happening? Why were all the nurses clustered around that table instead of bringing our baby to us?
My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. My wolf was clawing at my insides, desperate to protect, to fix, to do something. But there was nothing I could do except stand thereand watch and pray to every goddess I’d ever heard of that my child was okay.
Then a sound cut through the chaos.
A long, high-pitched wail. Loud and strong and absolutely beautiful.
I sagged with relief, my legs nearly giving out beneath me. The cry continued, piercing and insistent, the most wonderful noise I’d ever heard in my entire life. Our baby was alive and breathing and screaming at the world with tiny, perfect lungs.
I turned to Lina, tears streaming down my face, a smile breaking through despite everything. “Our baby is fine, love. It’s alive. Can you hear that? That’s our baby crying.”
But Lina didn’t respond.
