Chapter 6 #3
The certainty arrived before reason could argue against it.
Her knees buckled.
Cole caught her before she struck the floor, one arm securing her carefully against his side despite the wound beneath his shirt. Dax moved to her other side while Malakai stepped into position facing the doorway, guarding the room as he watched her closely.
They moved with the coordinated precision of males who had protected one another through centuries of war.
“Leena?” Cole’s voice cut through the haze. “What is happening?”
She clenched her jaw and breathed through the pain, her fingers gripping his forearm. Cold sweat broke over her skin.
For several brutal seconds, it felt as though her body were being wrenched apart from within.
Then the contraction released.
Her vision cleared.
The pulse in her ears faded.
Leena drew one shaky breath and forced a smile onto her face.
“It was a cramp.”
Cole’s jaw tightened.
“That was not a cramp.”
“The baby is close, but it is not time yet.”
“You sure about that?” Dax asked.
“Yes.”
The answer came too quickly.
Dax placed one steadying hand against her shoulder.
“You should be resting. Where is Sule?”
“At the council meeting.”
“Do you want me to get him?”
“No.”
Malakai’s gaze narrowed as he tracked every change in her posture.
Cole did not release her arm.
“Dax is right. Let us deal with Rhen. You have done enough.”
Leena gently pulled away once she was certain her legs would support her.
“Sule is already carrying the weight of the council and everything happening inside this house. He does not need to be dragged out over one contraction.”
“One?” Cole repeated.
Leena ignored the question and took the blood bag from Dax.
“Rhen needs this.”
“So do you,” Dax said, gesturing toward the nearest chair.
“I need rest. He needs blood. Those are not equally urgent.”
Dax crossed his arms.
“You’re too damn stubborn for your own good.”
Leena’s mouth curved faintly.
“I’ve heard that before.”
Malakai pulled out his phone, his thumb moving across the screen with practiced ease.
Leena turned toward the hallway.
The child’s weight pressed more heavily with each careful step, her spine protesting as she forced her breathing to remain even.
The compound held too many crises beneath one roof: an unknown woman burning through a transition, an unborn heir testing the boundaries of his mother’s body, and a clan held together by loyalty sharpened through violence.
Still, Leena trusted the brothers behind her.
They were restless, brutal, and difficult.
They were also hers.
They would stand between the clan and whatever darkness came through the gates.
Dax watched her retreat down the hallway.
“Why are women so damn stubborn?”
Malakai continued typing.
Dax tapped the edge of the table to catch his attention.
Malakai looked up.
“What are you doing?” Dax asked.
A faint smirk touched Malakai’s mouth as his hands moved.
Getting Sule. She is not walking that off.
Dax looked toward the hallway Leena had disappeared down.
“Good.”
* * *
Back in the guest room, Rhen stood rigid beside the washstand, his gaze fixed on the woman as she shifted beneath the sweat-drenched sheets.
The fever had not broken.
Her breathing remained shallow. Her skin was too hot, her pulse too fast.
Every tortured sound pulled against the tether.
The door opened.
Leena stepped back into the room carrying a warmed blood bag.
Rhen tracked her immediately. She carried the heir and had already concealed one bout of pain from him.
“You should be sitting down.”
“And you should be feeding.”
She held out the bag.
He took it, avoiding the question in her eyes.
“You need it,” Leena said. “You gave too much of yourself, and the tether is feeding on what remains. You will need control when she wakes.”
Rhen glanced toward the bed.
The woman’s lashes were wet, her skin shining with sweat, her pulse fluttering visibly at her throat.
Still trapped in the worst of the transition.
Still alive.
Leena had recognized his depleted state before he admitted it.
He disliked being read that easily.
“Thanks,” he muttered.
The word came out rough enough to sound almost hostile.
Leena accepted it without comment.
Rhen gave one sharp nod and entered the small bathroom adjoining the suite, shutting and locking the door behind him.
He refused to feed beneath anyone’s scrutiny.
Hunger was private, and the Charon did not perform weakness for an audience.
Alone, he tore the blood bag open with his teeth and dragged it to his mouth.
The first swallow hit like a blow to the gut—metallic, thick, and copper-hot. Warmth spread through his veins, cutting into the hunger that had been tearing at him for hours.
For one brief, brutal moment, there was relief.
His breathing steadied.
His vision sharpened.
Even the tether’s pressure eased enough to stop screaming through his nerves.
When the bag was empty, he crushed it in his fist and flung it into the bin. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, waited until control locked firmly back into place, then opened the door and returned to the room.
What the fuck—