Caelian’s footsteps grow closer. I can picture him, exhausted from another long day of consolidating his power over Dresden’s criminal underworld, probably wanting nothing more than a quiet evening.
Well too bad. We’re celebrating his birthday because he deserves to be celebrated for the great man he is.
As his shadow appears in the doorway, we all jump out.
“SURPRISE!”
Caelian stops dead, his eyes going wide. He takes in the decorations, the three of us grinning like idiots, the home-bakedbirthday cake on the table courtesy of Ms. P, and his expression shifts from shock to wonder.
“You did this?” he asks, his eyes finding mine. “For me?”
“Happy birthday, Cael.”
He crosses the distance between us in three strides and scoops me up in his arms, always so gingerly and mindful of my belly as he does.
We’re laughing as he gives me a gentle spin then kisses me on the mouth. Ms. Poitier is clapping, and even Dr. Tulio looks pleased.
The room is full of the kind of joy we’ve fought so hard to?—
Pain.
Sharp and unmistakable, radiating from my lower back around to my stomach. There’s no way to mistake it for a cramp or simple backache this time.
It’s much more insistent, far more intense. I go rigid in Caelian’s arms, my breathing becoming uneven.
His laughter cuts off immediately. “Nevi? What’s wrong?”
I look up at him, my eyes full of confusion, one hand moving to my belly. “I think... I think the baby’s coming.”
“Now?” he asks. “Are you sure?”
Another contraction answers his question, strong enough to make me tense up and gasp.
“Um… yeah. I’m pretty sure. If… if that’s not a contraction, I’m not sure what is. We might have to pause your birthday celebrations.”
Caelian caresses my face and nods, his expression steeling over from the joy a moment ago. He’s back in protective mode. Back to worrying about me and the baby.
“Alright,” he says. “Then let’s get ready. Our baby is coming.”
THIRTY-THREE
Nevaeh
The pain isunlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
I thought I understood pain. I’ve been attacked, held captive, even terrorized. But this is entirely different. The pain tears through my body like an instrument of torture, ripping away the air in my lungs and making me scream like I never have before.
“Another contraction coming!” the doula says, her hand on my belly. Her name is Miranda, a kind-faced woman in her fifties who Caelian vetted thoroughly before allowing into our home. “Deep breath, Nevaeh. Inhale, exhale.”
I’m in the birthing pool we set up in our bedroom, the warm water providing some relief as another contraction builds. Caelian kneels beside the pool, his large hand gripping mine while his other strokes my sweat-dampened hair.
“I’m right here, mia bella,” he murmurs in comfort. “You’re so strong, Nevi. You’re doing great.”
“Easy for you to say,” I gasp as the contraction peaks. “You’re not—ouch—pushing a human out of your body.”
Ms. Poitier appears with a cool cloth, pressing it to my forehead. “You’re doing wonderful, honey. Just breathe through it.”
Dr. Tulio monitors from his position at the foot of the pool, his features set in concentration. “You’re almost fully dilated, Nevaeh. It won’t be long now.”
