Oh God.
"That's not—I can't be?—"
But even as I say it, I know it's true. The nausea. The exhaustion. The sore breasts. The late period.
I'm pregnant.
I'm pregnant with Adrian Nero's baby.
"The bleeding appears to be from trauma and stress," Dr.Reeves continues, his voice gentle. Professional. "But the fetus looks stable for now. Strong heartbeat. However, given the circumstances, you need to see an OB immediately. This isn't my specialty?—"
"The baby is okay?" My voice is small. Broken.
"For now, but you need monitoring. Rest. No stress." He looks at Adrian meaningfully. "And you need to be careful. The next forty-eight hours are critical."
I turn my head to look at Adrian.
He's staring at the ultrasound screen. At the tiny shape that's our baby. I can't tell what he is thinking.
His face is unreadable. Not surprised. Not shocked.
Something else. Something that makes my blood run cold.
Satisfaction. Possession. Calculation.
Like this is exactly what he wanted.
"Well," he says softly. "That changes things."
"No," I whisper. "This doesn't?—"
Another cramp. Sharper this time. I cry out.
Dr. Reeves is talking. Saying something about rest and monitoring and coming back in forty-eight hours.
But I can't hear him over the roaring in my ears.
Adrian moves closer. His hand covers mine on my stomach. Possessive. Claiming.
I want to jerk away. Want to scream. Want to run.
But I can't move. Can't do anything except stare at him.
At the man whose baby I'm carrying.
The man who just killed someone in front of me.
The man who's looking at me like I'm his.
He leans close. His lips brush my ear. Only I can hear him.
"You're carrying my child," he murmurs. "That makes you mine."
I want to argue. Want to fight.
But darkness is pulling at me. Merciful. Welcome.
The last thing I see before I pass out is his face.
