“You’re mine. Which means your pain is mine. I won’t gamble with you. Ever.” His voice was low, trembling with a rawness I hadn’t heard before. “So don’t fight me on this.”
I didn’t argue again. I couldn’t.
Because behind the steel of his words was something else, a fracture, jagged and bleeding. His jaw was tight, his breathing uneven. He was holding me, but it felt like he was barely holding himself together.
“I should’ve been here,” he muttered, more to himself than me. His grip on my hand tightened, then loosened, like he was terrified of hurting me but unable to let go. “I left you pacing this house, sick, worried out of your mind while I was out drowning myself in blood. What kind of man does that? What kind of mate leaves his woman to suffer like that?”
“Lucien…”
“No.” His eyes burned into mine, wild and haunted. “Don’t make excuses for me. I’m supposed to shield you, to keep every shadow, every worry, every sickness from touching you. And instead, you’ve been here… like this.” He gestured at me, the sweat damp on my skin, the pallor I knew he hated seeing. His throat worked like he was swallowing glass. “If anything had happened to you while I wasn’t here, if I’d walked in and found…”
He broke off, shaking his head hard, the muscle in his jaw jumping. His other hand came up, cupping the side of my face as if to reassure himself I was still real, still warm beneath his touch.
“I won’t forgive myself,” he whispered, his voice rough, frayed with something dangerously close to despair. “Not ever. So, you don’t get to downplay this. You don’t get to tell me you’re fine when you’re not. Because I can’t…” He stopped again, dragging in a sharp breath. “I can’t lose you, Sorcha. Not now. Not ever.”
His words should have scared me, the ferocity of them, the iron in his vow. But instead, they sank into me like an anchor. Because underneath the rage and the guilt was love, the kind that burned, the kind that consumed.
And for the first time, I realized his greatest fear wasn’t Keller, or demons, or the wars they were fighting. It was me, slipping through his hands.
The doctor arrived not long after, his presence quiet, efficient. Lucien paced the room like a caged animal as he examined me, every muscle in his body tense, his fists clenched at his sides. Outside the door, I could hear the faint sound of Troy and Jericho pacing too, their boots restless against the hardwood. They were all on edge, all waiting.
“She’s sick. She’s been vomiting. She’s weak. I want you to fix it.”
The doctor inclined his head, as if Lucien’s command was no more unusual than being asked to pour a glass of wine. “Let me see her.”
Lucien never stopped moving. His eyes cut to me every second, like if he blinked, I might vanish.
And as the doctor worked, I realized something that hit deeper than the fear, deeper than the sickness. This was my life now. These men, this world, Lucien. I’d integrated into it so completely that the thought of being without him made me feel hollow, like the world would collapse without his presence to hold it up.
I couldn’t imagine my life without him anymore. And that terrified me as much as it comforted me.
Lucien hovered, pacing at the edge of the bed like a caged beast.
“Pulse first,” the doctor murmured, gently wrapping his cool fingers around my wrist. “Elevated, but steady.” He pressed the back of his hand to my forehead, then retrieved a small light from his case, shining it briefly into my eyes. “Responsive.”
“Don’t just state the obvious,” Lucien snapped, his voice low but vibrating with restrained violence. “Tell me what’s wrong with her.”
The doctor ignored his tone, his movements efficient, practiced. He asked me questions, asked about what I’d eaten, how long I’d been sick, whether I’d fainted. My answers felt heavy in the air between us, especially with Lucien’s every breath burning into me like fire.
Finally, the doctor sat back slightly, folding his hands. “It isn’t anything sinister.”
Lucien froze. “Don’t speak in riddles. What does that mean?”
The doctor’s gaze slid to him. “It means she isn’t poisoned. No infection, no demon’s touch. Her body is exhausted, stressed, and undernourished from what she endured in captivity. She is also still adjusting to your bond.”
Lucien’s jaw worked, his voice sharp. “My bond?”
“Yes,” the doctor said, his tone softening as his eyes flicked to me. “The bite ties you to him. Your body is still adapting to carrying his essence in your blood. That adjustment can cause waves of sickness, dizziness, sensitivity. It will stabilize in time.”
I swallowed hard, the word bond echoing in my head like a drumbeat I couldn’t escape.
But then the doctor’s eyes sharpened, the kind of look that made my heart stutter. He hesitated just long enough for dread to bloom in my chest before he spoke again.
“There’s something more,” he said. His gaze moved from me to Lucien, then back again. “The symptoms aren’t just from the bond. She’s pregnant.”
The world tilted. My throat went dry, my heart slamming into my ribs so hard I thought it might split me open. Pregnant. The word didn’t feel real, it was too big, too heavy, too impossible.
Lucien froze. Completely, utterly still, like a predator sighting prey. His fists clenched at his sides, bloodless, and when he spoke, his voice was raw. “What did you just say?”
