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"I can't do anything right now except panic," I informed him, but I let Bayer lower me onto the mattress, which was mercifully soft and blissfully horizontal. The moment I was lying down, a contraction hit me—not the gentle Braxton-Hicks I'd been dismissing for days, but a real one, a freight train of pressure that started in my lower back and wrapped around my entire abdomen like a vise.

"Oh fuck," I gasped, grabbing for Bayer's hand. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh—"

"I've got you." His hand engulfed mine, solid and warm and unshakeable. "I'm right here."

"Where's the doc?" I panted when the contraction eased enough for me to form words, and I started demanding the wonders of modern medicine. Wonders like pethidine and epidurals.

"Forty-five minutes out," Phoenix reported from the doorway, phone still pressed to his ear. "He's coming from the Blackwood territory. Hit traffic on the mountain pass."

"Traffic," I repeated incredulously. "I'm about to push three bears out of my body and there's traffic?"

"No worries," a voice said from behind Phoenix, and Simeon shouldered his way past with the calm authority of someone who'd done this before. Which, as it turned out, he had. I knew he’d delivered Tia.

"Now, I need to check how far along you are. Is that okay?"

Another contraction slammed into me before I could answer, and I tried to hunch forward with a groan that came from somewhere deep. Bayer's hand was on the back of my neck, his other arm bracing me, and I could feel the barely contained terror radiating off him despite his steady voice.

"That's a yes," I gritted out when I could speak again. "Do whatever you need to do. Just—keep them safe."

"All four of you," Simeon corrected firmly.

My mom had already assembled supplies with military efficiency—towels, hot water, the birthing kit that Dr. Coughran had insisted we keep at the packhouse. She handed things to Simeon without being asked, the two of them moving in a wordless choreography that would have been impressive if I hadn't been busy trying not to scream.

"You're fully dilated," Simeon announced after his examination, and even his calm facade cracked slightly with surprise. "Danny, you must have been in labor for hours."

"I thought it was indigestion!" I protested. I heard other voices as another contraction ripped through me and I stopped caring about who was in the room. I could have been giving birth in the middle of a football stadium and I wouldn't have noticed. The pressure was enormous—three babies, all trying to make their entrance into the world simultaneously, or at least that was what it felt like.

"First one's crowning," Simeon said, his voice dropping into a focused calm that reminded me, absurdly, of the way I sounded when I was guiding a student through a difficult problem. "Danny, on the next contraction, I need you to push."

"Already?" Bayer's voice pitched up. "Shouldn't we wait for Coughran?"

"The babies aren't waiting for anyone," Simeon replied. "Danny, you ready?"

"No," I said honestly. "But apparently that's irrelevant."

The contraction built like a wave, and I bore down with everything I had. Bayer was behind me, supporting my back, his massive frame curved around mine like a living wall. I could feel his bear just beneath his skin, a vibrating presence of fierce, desperate protectiveness that somehow grounded me even as the pain tried to drag me under.

"Good, that's good," Simeon encouraged. "Again." I pushed again, a guttural sound tearing from my throat that I would have been embarrassed about in literally any other context. But modesty had left the building somewhere around the time my water broke on Phoenix's hardwood floors in front of fifty people and a vampire diplomat.

"Head's out," Simeon said, and his voice had that particular quality of someone trying very hard to sound casual while doing something miraculous. "Danny, one more. Nice and controlled."

"There is nothing controlled about this!" I snarled, but I pushed, and suddenly the pressure released in a rush that left me gasping, and the room filled with a sound that stopped my heart.

A cry. Thin and reedy and absolutely furious, like a tiny creature deeply offended by the indignity of being born.

"Boy," Simeon announced, and I heard the smile in his voice even though I couldn't see past the tears blurring my vision. "Healthy lungs on this one."

"Let me see him," I begged, trying to crane my neck as Simeon placed a tiny, squalling, red-faced bundle on my chest. He was so small—impossibly, terrifyingly small—but his fists were clenched and his mouth was open, and he was screaming with a fury that said he had very strong opinions about the world he'd just entered.

"Hi," I whispered, one trembling hand cupping the back of his head. "Hi, baby. I'm your dad."

Bayer made a sound behind me that wasn't quite human—a deep, rumbling keen that vibrated through his chest and into my back. His hand came up to cover mine on the baby's head, dwarfing both of us, and I felt the wetness of his tears against my temple.

"He's perfect," Bayer choked out. "Danny, he's—"

Another contraction cut off whatever he was going to say, and I gasped, instinctively curling around the baby on my chest. My mom swooped in and lifted him away with practiced ease while Emery materialized with warm towels and a look of fierce concentration.

"Number two's not waiting," Simeon said, repositioning himself. "Danny, same thing. You know what to do now."