I stood at the window now, the night stretching out in silver and shadow. The weight of my belly pressed forward, pulling my spine, making me shift. I sighed softly, pressing my hand against the curve of it.
Warmth slid around me a second later. Lucien. His hand curved over mine, his body caging me, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of my neck.
“You should be resting,” he murmured, his voice a low command laced with tenderness.
Before I could argue, he moved me gently, turning me until he could kneel in front of me. His hands spread over my belly, his head bent, lips brushing over the swell.
“Little one,” he said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it, “your mother is tired. Behave for her.” He kissed again, murmuring, “Don’t wear her out. I’ll deal with you when you’re here. Until then, let her rest.”
My throat tightened, watching the most dangerous man I’d ever known speaking to our child like a prayer.
His eyes flicked up to mine. “You’re pale again. You need more of my blood.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he was right. The bigger the baby grew, the more energy it pulled from me. What had started as once every few weeks had become weekly now, sometimes even sooner. My body simply couldn’t keep up with the strain without him.
“I’m fine,” I said softly.
“No, you’re not.” His thumb brushed along my hip, his gaze fierce. “I can see it. You’re drained so don’t argue because we’ll do it later.”
Before I could answer, a sharp jolt rippled through me. My breath hitched as the baby kicked hard against my ribs. Lucien froze, his hands tightening protectively. “Too strong,” he growled, already on edge. “It’s taking too much from you.”
I cupped his face, forcing him to look at me. “It’s not. It’s just… alive. It’s strong. That’s good, Lucien. Don’t worry.”
His jaw flexed, his eyes still storm-dark, but he leaned into my touch. “I’ll always worry,” he muttered. “About both of you.”
And yet, when the baby moved again beneath his hands, even he couldn’t hide the flicker of awe in his gaze. The baby rolled again, and I winced slightly. Lucien was up in a heartbeat, his arm bracing around me, his stare locked on my face.
“That’s it. No more waiting.” His voice left no room for argument, and this time, I didn’t try.
He guided me to the bed, lowering me onto the edge like I was glass that might shatter. Kneeling in front of me again, his hands smoothed up my thighs, anchoring me. His eyes burned into mine, hunger and devotion tangled together.
“Relax,” he murmured.
I let out a shaky breath. I trusted him now in ways that terrified me. Trusted him with my body, my heart, my child. Trusted that when his fangs sank into me, it wasn’t to take, but to give.
Lucien brushed my hair back from my shoulder, his lips grazing the sensitive skin there before he looked up again. “Say it,” he said softly, his voice rough. “Tell me you trust me.”
“I trust you,” I whispered, the words pulling free easier than I expected.
His expression softened, a rare vulnerability flashing in his eyes before the predator returned. Then his mouth lowered, his fangs piercing gently into my skin.
The sting was sharp, but fleeting. Heat followed, spreading like fire through my veins, the bond between us thrumming alive. I gasped, my hand clutching at his shoulder, not from fear but from the surge of energy, the rush of strength flowing back into me.
Lucien growled low against my skin, not a sound of hunger but of restraint, of control. He drank just enough, just what he needed, and then pulled back, his tongue sweeping over the wound in a tender seal. He then bit deep into his wrist and placed it over my lips, “Drink baby, take as much as you need.”
“Beautiful,” he murmured, his lips pressing over the bite. “You’re so goddamn strong. My perfect girl.”
I exhaled slowly, my pulse steadying as the warmth of his blood spread further, easing the ache in my limbs, chasing away the exhaustion that had dragged at me all day. My body hummed with life again, renewed.
He didn’t move away. He kissed my shoulder, then my collarbone, then higher, his hands cupping my face. His forehead pressed against mine, his breath uneven.
“Every time I do this, I’m reminded,” he whispered, “that you are mine. Not in chains. Not in fear. But in this. In blood. In bone and in love.”
I touched his jaw, feeling the fierce tremor there. “And you’re mine,” I answered softly. “Even when you scare the hell out of me.”
His laugh was low, broken, raw. He kissed me then, slow and deep, and when he finally pulled back, he laid me down, curling around me protectively. One hand splayed over my stomach, the other cupping the back of my head.
“Rest now, Sorcha,” he murmured. “I’ll keep watch. Always.”
