Page 67 of Claimed By the Damned
I barely hear him. My vision tunnels, the room tilting. Nausea slams me with renewed force.
Kolya did this.
He stole my choices. He stole my body’s autonomy. Again. And again.
Shaking hands press against my stomach, a useless attempt to erase reality. It’sreal. Inside me. I have no idea what to do.
The doctor turns to Grim, her kind smile fixed. "Congratulations, Dad."
Grim snorts. "Damn, guess I’m a miracle worker, huh?" He leans back, smirking like this is the week's best entertainment.
I stare, slack-jawed, disbelief momentarily overshadowing fear. “Are you serious right now?”
His grin widens. “What, you want tears? Not my style, princess.”
I whip my head toward him, stomach twisting anew. "Grim—"
He lifts a hand. "What? Correct her? Say, ‘Oh no, Doc, just chaperoned her for fun’?" He grins wider. "Nah, riding this out. Might get a free cigar."
Amusement flickers in his eyes, but when he truly looks at me, it fades. My chest tightens, hands shaking harder.What if the guys hate me? Throw me out? What if—
"Breathe, princess." Grim’s voice is uncharacteristically soft, though the smirk returns. His eyes—just for a second—aren't amused. He watches too closely, bracing for me to shatter. "You look like you’re about to pass out, and I don’t do fainting damsels in distress. Bad for the reputation."
A strangled sound escapes me—half sob, half hysteria. "Oh my Gosh, Grim, I don’t know what to do," I whisper, voice breaking. The possibility lodges like ice in my chest. My stomach churns with fresh, acidic nausea.What if they see this as betrayal? A trap? What if they fight over... over who the father is? Will it tear them apart? Will they blame me?Cold sweat prickles down my spine. He sees it, naturally, but keeps going.
"Look, worst-case? They kick you out, we run off into the sunset. Best-case? Three overly protective dudes fighting to rub your feet. Either way, you win."
"Grim, you can’t tell them. Not yet. Please." My voice wavers, hands clenched.
"Princess, you know this isn’t something you can hide forever, right?" His voice is flat, but there's an unreadable flicker in his steel-grey eyes. I swallow hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. "I just—I need time. Time to figure out… how. How to tell them. To make them understand this wasn't..." My voice trails off.A trap. A lie.He exhales sharply, a sound like air hissing from a punctured tire, and rubs a hand down his face. His jaw ticks.
Secrets, especially from Bastian, Ryker, and Ethan, aren't his usual game. He's the one who enjoys stirring the pot, not covering the simmering mess. But then his gaze lands on me, really lands, sees the raw terror, the way I’m vibrating with barely suppressed panic, the sheer desperation clinging to me. He might be a menace, but he’s not entirely without... something. Maybe it's a twisted sort of respect for surviving, or maybe he just recognizes a truly spectacular shitstorm brewing and wants a front-row seat. After a long, tense pause, he gives a short, almost imperceptible nod. "Fine." The word is clipped. "You get a little time. But you don’t get forever, princess. This kind of news? It has a way of getting out." Then, the familiar, infuriating smirk creeps back onto his face, though his eyes remain calculating. "And if you think they’re protectivenow? Hoo boy. Wait ‘til they find out they’re potentially a daddy. Or three. It’s going to be unbearable. Full-blown, ‘Lila, did you breathe too hard? Do you need a pillow for your pillow?’ protective. Honestly," he leans back, eyes glinting with dark amusement, "I might stick aroundjustfor the entertainment value. This is gonna be better than cable."
Relief floods me, fleeting. The truth's weight presses down, suffocating. Fear coils tighter, making it hard to breathe. What if they don’t take it well? Look at me differently? What if I ruin everything? Or they think I'm trying to trap them!
I clench my jaw, fingers tightening on my hoodie. Despite everything, Grim’s words plant a flicker of something—not quite amusement, but close. The image of them hovering, treating me like glass, almost distracts from the crushing uncertainty.
The thought of their faces—Ethan’s warmth turning wounded, Bastian’s mask slamming down into icy indifference, Ryker’s grin freezing into wary distance—makes a cold fist clench my gut, stealing my breath. Losing them... the imagined silence where laughter echoed feels like suffocation. They're my home, my safety net, solid ground after years of freefall.
This secret feels like a fracture line threatening to shatter it all. Grim bought me time, but it feels fragile. Sooner or later, I face them.
On the way to work, I stare out the car window. How the hell do I tell them? The words dissolve into panic before they form. My breath hitches, heart hammering, as I picture their faces when the truth comes out.
I squeeze my eyes shut, inhaling shakily. Part of me wants to run, pretend this isn't happening. But I can't undo it. Can't keep pretending I'm strong enough alone. Iwantto trust them, believe they'll stand by me. But after everything? Hope feels like too great a risk.
Chapter 21: Three Protectors, One Promise
Ethan
Lila’s pulling away, and it’s driving me insane.
Reading people? It's survival. Comes with the territory, when you grow up protecting your brother and dealing with a father who switched from neglect to rage at the flip of a coin, you learn the shifts, the tells, the warning signs. And Lila? She’s setting off every alarm I have.
Over the last few days, she won’t sleep in anyone’s bed. She claims it's just because she's not feeling well and doesn't want to disturb us, but I know it's more than that. It's another way she's pulling back. For months, she’s fallen asleep wrapped in one of us, tucked between bodies that made her feel safe. Now? She’s in her own room, door locked, drawing an invisible line between us that feels miles wide.
She barely touches us. It's not like she's yelling 'get away', that'd almost be easier. But it’s the little things that kill me. The way she flinches—a tiny, almost imperceptible tightening of her muscles, but I catch it—when my hand grazes hers. The way her answers to even the simplest questions are clipped, her voice carefully neutral as she hesitates a second too long. She’s running, even if she hasn’t moved an inch.
It’s worse, actually. It’s avoidance. If I reach for her, she finds a reason to move, a sudden task thatneedsdoing. If Ryker pulls her into one of his teasing side-hugs, she squirms away with a laugh that sounds brittle and forced. If Bastian so much as brushes against her in the hallway, she stiffens like she’s been caught doing something forbidden, her eyes wide and darting away.
