And with the steady sound of his voice and the echo of his blood still singing through me, I drifted into sleep.
When I stirred again, the room was darker, the air cooler. Lucien wasn’t beside me, but I could still feel him close. His voice carried low through the slightly open door, a deep rumble that made the walls seem to vibrate. Another voice answered, sharper, steadier. I recognised Volken’s voice.
I lay still, listening, my heart tightening.
“…the Irish don’t move like this on their own,” Lucien was saying, his tone clipped, dangerous. “They’re sloppy when left to their own devices. But this…these coordinated strikes, the timing, the precision, this is something else.”
Volken’s reply came calm and exact, as always. “They’ve been in bed with the demons longer than we first thought. There is atrail of supplies, information even safe houses. But even demons don’t have this kind of foresight. Malakai is brutal, yes. Cunning, sometimes. But this?” A pause. “This feels orchestrated.”
Lucien growled low. “Then who’s pulling the strings?”
“We don’t know yet. It’s fucking frustrating but we’ll find out,” Volken answered. His words carried that sharp certainty of his, but beneath it, I heard the same unease that had lived in Lucien’s voice for weeks now. “What matters for now is keeping your mate safe. And the child. They’re the weakness that the enemy will exploit if they can.”
A silence fell, heavier than their words. I pressed a hand over my belly, rubbing gently as if to soothe the restless life inside me.
“Don’t worry, little one,” I whispered softly, my voice low so they wouldn’t hear. “Daddy will protect us. He always does.”
The baby kicked lightly beneath my palm, and I smiled faintly through the knot in my chest.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” I went on in a hushed murmur, tracing circles over the curve of my stomach. “He’s strong enough for all of us. Even when he scares me, even when he goes dark… he’s ours. And he won’t let anyone take us.”
Outside, Lucien’s voice rose again, a snarl edged with steel. “I’ll tear through every Irish bastard and every demon they crawl to before I let them touch Sorcha or my baby.”
I closed my eyes, breathing deep. Somehow, even with the storm gathering just outside the door, I felt safe. Because he was mine, and I was his.
Chapter 22
The first thing I felt was wrongness. Not the pull of the bond, not the usual awareness that kept me tethered to Sorcha even in sleep. This was sharper, colder like an alarm that shot through me before I even opened my eyes.
Then I heard it. Sorcha groaning, it was low, pained. Coming from the bathroom.
My eyes snapped open. The daylight was a weight pressing down on me, every nerve dragging against gravity, but nothing in hell was going to keep me in that bed while my mate suffered. I forced my body to move, my bare feet hitting the cold floor as I stumbled toward the sound, every step tearing through the haze of lethargy that daylight cursed me with.
The sight stopped me cold. Sorcha sat on the bathroom floor, her back braced against the wall, both arms wrapped around her swollen belly. Her face was pale, damp with sweat, her lips drawn tight as another groan slipped out.
My chest clenched so violently it felt like something inside me cracked.
“Baby…” The word rasped out of me as I dropped to my knees beside her, my hands trembling as I reached for her. “What’s wrong? Tell me what’s wrong.”
Her eyes flicked up to mine, wide and terrified. “It hurts, Lucien. I…something’s wrong with the baby.”
No. No, no, no.
Rage at myself surged hot in my veins. I should’ve felt it sooner, should’ve sensed it. I was her mate. Her protector. And here she was, hurting, and I hadn’t even known. I tore my gaze from her just long enough to shout, my voice carrying through the house like a whip crack. “Layla! Ivan!”
The words echoed, but all I saw was Sorcha. My hands cradled her face, brushing damp hair from her forehead as I tried to soften my voice, to keep her tethered to me instead of the fear. “It’s alright, sweetheart. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
She winced again, clutching her stomach tighter, and it felt like knives tearing through me. I slid an arm under her knees and another around her back, lifting her gently. She felt too light in my arms, fragile in a way that made my fury double.
I carried her to the bed, laying her down as carefully as I would something sacred. The sheets were cool against her damp skin, her breathing ragged, her hand clutching mine like a lifeline. My grip never wavered, I wouldn’t let it. My whole body leaned toward her even as my voice dropped to a growl that shook through the walls.
“Ivan!”
The sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hall before Ivan appeared in the doorway. His broad frame filled it, his hair mussed from sleep, weapon still strapped across his chest. His eyes flicked from Sorcha’s pale, sweating face to me, and then, in the same breath, took in the state I was in.
Naked. I hadn’t thought twice about it when I bolted from the bed. I was still stripped down to nothing but my skin, the evidence of sleep clinging to me, but I didn’t care. Modesty wasn’t a thought that could exist when my mate was hurting.
Ivan’s eyes sharpened, but he didn’t comment. “Ivan, call the doctor. Now.”
