Page 79 of Kidnapped Bride

"Don't talk to me."

"Okay."

"I said don't talk to me!"

"I'm not— I stopped."

Another contraction rolled through me and I bore down on it so hard, I thought my eyes might be bulging.

The nurse at my right hip was saying something encouraging, but I couldn't hear her over the pain and the guttural noise coming out of my mouth.

I didn't sound human.

I sounded like something feral you'd hear in a nature documentary or a horror film.

Nikolai's hand was in mine but I was crushing it. I could feel the bones grinding together under my grip and some distant part of my brain registered that I should probably ease up. But then the contraction peaked and that thought got obliterated along with every other thought I'd ever had.

"One more push, Kira," Dr. Abadi said from between my knees. "He's right here. One more big one."

"You said that two pushes ago," I snapped at her, and she had the decency not to argue.

Every muscle in my body locked up as I curled forward and pushed with everything I had left, which wasn't much because I'd been at this for nine hours.

My throat burned from the vocalizations I'd been making. Sweat dripped off my chin.

Nikolai's hand had gone completely white in my grip, and he hadn't said a word about it, which was probably the smartest decision he'd made in the entire eight months I'd known him.

And then pressure gave way to relief so sudden, it felt like falling, and there was a wet, slippery rush, and Dr. Abadi said, "He's here," before a thin, sharp wail filled the room.

I dropped back against the pillows gasping and shaking, and Nikolai leaned over me. He pressed his forehead to mine and I swore I saw tears in his eyes. "You did it," he murmured. "Kira, you did it."

"Get off me, you're sweating on my face." I couldn't help how grumpy I was. I had just pushed a tiny human out of a hole not nearly large enough for that.

He laughed and pulled back and his eyes were wet, which I'd never seen before. But right then, watching the nurse carry our son to the warming table across the room, Nikolai Dragonov had tears running down his face and he wasn't even trying to hide them.

The baby was screaming. It was the most beautiful, awful, ear-splitting sound I'd ever heard and I couldn't stop crying either, though mine was ugly crying with snot and blubbering. Nobody had told me I'd feel like this.

The pain, yes, but not the waves of emotion. It was like I physically felt my heart making space for this little guy already. I knew I loved him more than life itself.

"Five pounds, two ounces," the nurse announced. "He's small but he's loud."

"Gets that from his mother," Nikolai said, and I punched him in the arm.

They cleaned him up and brought him to me, laying him on my chest as Nikolai leaned over the bed, still doting. The instant myarms came around him, he stopped his wailing and calmed, but his chest still stuttered a few times, tiny hands curled into fists.

"He's perfect," I whispered, trying to see him through the tears. And my body was shaking so badly, I thought I'd vibrate off the bed. I was cold, so cold.

"He's so small."

"He's premature, Niko. He'll grow."

"I know. I just…" He reached down and touched the baby's hand with one finger, carefully, like he was afraid he'd break something.

The next hour went by so fast with Niko hovering over me while Dr. Abadi helped me finish up and stitched a small tear I had.

Nurses kept poking and prodding, doing tests and making sure I was comfortable, and finally, when everything was finished, they left us alone with him. I felt instantly panicked.

Here was this new life, a tiny human only having breathed on his own for an hour or so, and I was fully in charge of him. And Niko was a criminal who took lives for a living and sold drugs. What did he know about helping me with a baby?