And gods help me, I believed her.
And then the night unravelled into a blur of groans, shouts, and whispered promises. Sorcha’s cries cut me in ways no blade ever had, every sound tearing into me until I thought I’d lose my fucking mind. I held her through each wave, whispering her name like it was the only word I’d ever known.
When the doctor finally told her to push, my entire world shrank to her hand in mine, to her gasps, to the life we’d made fighting its way into the world too soon. My fear was a storm, but my voice stayed low, steady, for her. Always for her.
And when her scream broke the air, and another cry followed, thin but fierce, filling the mansion with its sound, I thought my chest would split open from the force of it.
For a second, the world went still. Silent. Even my brothers outside froze, I felt it, the collective stillness through the walls, like the entire Blood Mafia was holding its breath.
Then the wail grew stronger, angry and alive, and the room seemed to pulse with it. My knees nearly buckled as the doctor lifted the tiny, writhing form, blood-streaked and perfect, and announced in a voice that carried through me like a thunderclap.
“A girl.”
The words cut me open. My girl.
The doctor moved quickly, efficient hands cleaning her, wrapping her in white linens, while I stood rooted to the spot, trembling in a way I hadn’t since I’d been a boy. Layla’s eyes glistened as she steadied Sorcha’s damp hair back from her face, whispering soft reassurances that she’d done it, that it was over.
But for me, it had only just begun.
When they placed the bundle in Sorcha’s arms, I felt myself fall, utterly and completely, to my knees beside the bed. Sorcha was pale, exhausted, but the glow in her eyes when she looked down at our daughter could have lit the darkest cavern. My throat burned as I leaned in, brushing a kiss to her temple before daring to look at the child.
Small. Fragile. But her cry carried the fire of our blood.
Sorcha’s lips trembled as she murmured, “She’s ours, Lucien.”
The doctor glanced at me, giving the faintest nod. He knew what came next.
With reverence, I slid my arms beneath her, lifting her out of Sorcha’s hold, though my chest screamed with the instinct to keep them both together. The baby’s tiny fists curled, her face scrunching as she gave another defiant cry. I bowed my head, fangs piercing my tongue, and pressed a drop of my blood to herlips. Her cries softened, her body stilling as though some ancient recognition had sparked.
Then I drew a single bead of hers with the smallest prick of my fang, pressing it to my tongue, sealing her blood into mine. The ritual wasn’t for faith; it was for truth, it was to build the bond between me and my child, for eternity.
My voice, hoarse but steady, carried the words in the old tongue, a vow carved from my very marrow. “Blood of my blood. Flesh of my flesh. You are mine, as I am yours. No demon, no man, no power will ever claim you.”
When I finished, I pressed a kiss to her tiny forehead, then back to Sorcha’s damp skin. My world. My entire goddamn world. This wasn’t her naming ritual, which would only be in a couple of weeks, but this was to ensure that she was protected and that I had a link to her, ensuring that she was always safe.
Outside, I heard the faint sound of Viking swearing under his breath, Volken muttering something sharp, Draugr’s low rumble of approval. Even Roman’s voice, soft but proud:“Another Dragic.”
I looked back at Sorcha, her tired smile breaking me in ways nothing else could. “She’s perfect,” I rasped.
Sorcha’s fingers brushed over mine, over the baby’s head. “She’s ours.”
And for the first time in centuries, I felt something I hadn’t believed in anymore. Hope.
Epilogue
The night was quiet. For once, utterly quiet. No whispers of demons in the dark, no Irish gunfire splitting through the streets, no fresh war pressing in from the edges of our world. Just the steady hum of the mansion, the low murmur of voices, and the sound that anchored me to life itself…our daughter’s breathing.
She was in Sorcha’s arms, tiny fists curled, eyes closed in sleep, her chest rising and falling like a fragile promise. My mate’s hair spilled across her shoulder, her skin still pale but glowing in a way no light could fake. She was exhausted, still healing, but she was here. They both were. Mine.
I crouched at the side of the bed, pressing a kiss to Sorcha’s temple, then to the crown of my daughter’s head. “My legacy,” I murmured, my chest aching with something too big for words. “Both of you.”
Sorcha’s eyes opened, heavy with fatigue but bright with something I’d thought I’d never see in her again…peace. “You’re staring again,” she whispered, a small smile tugging her lips.
“Get used to it,” I answered simply, brushing my thumb along her cheek. “You’re never leaving my sight again.”
Before she could tease me back, the door opened. Roman stepped in first, Aleksander balanced easily on his hip. Layla athis side, her hand brushing his arm, eyes soft as she glanced at the bundle in Sorcha’s arms.
Behind them came Viking, grinning like the bastard always did, Volken with his calm, razor-sharp gaze, and Draugr, silent as always, looming, but the warmth in his eyes unmistakable. For once, none of them carried blood or fury with them. Tonight, they carried only peace.
