Chapter 17 #2
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?”
The doctor didn’t flinch. “Pregnant. Early, perhaps four to five weeks. Her body is already fragile from malnourishment and trauma. This means she needs extra care. More food, more rest. No stress, no strain. If either of you neglect that, the risk is significant.”
I couldn’t breathe. My hand pressed instinctively to my stomach, my mind fracturing between shock and a rising, trembling fear. A child. Lucien’s child. In me.
Lucien turned slowly, his eyes locking on me. They glowed, molten, a storm of possession and disbelief and something deeper, something almost reverent. His voice cracked, hoarse but unrelenting. “Mine?”
I managed a nod, my lips parting but no words escaping.
His jaw tightened until it looked carved from stone.
He moved closer, sitting at the edge of the bed, his palm pressing over mine where it rested against my stomach.
His chest rose and fell like he was breathing through a hurricane.
“She carries my child.” It wasn’t a question.
It was a vow, a claim, a vow etched into air and bone.
The doctor nodded. “Yes. Which is why she needs you to be more than her shield. She needs you steady. Strong. And careful. Her body cannot withstand extremes right now.”
Lucien’s fists unclenched, only to grip my hand with crushing intensity, his voice rough and dangerous. “Then she will not lift a finger. She won’t worry about a damn thing. I’ll see to it.”
The doctor’s mouth curved faintly, like he saw too much. “You can’t control worry, Lucien. But you can ease it. She’ll need your steadiness as much as your strength.”
“I’ll give her both,” he growled, his eyes never leaving mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in stark contrast to the storm vibrating in him. “But if this sickness gets worse…”
“It won’t,” the doctor interrupted firmly. “Unless she denies herself food or tries to push against the bond. Trust me. She is safe. The child is safe. But only if she listens and you pay attention.”
Safe. The word felt fragile, too small for the enormity pressing down on me.
Lucien, though, was still a storm barely contained, his voice like steel dragged over stone. “She’d better be.”
The doctor packed his case, giving me one last look. “You will be fine. But only if you let him take care of you. And come to the clinic in the next week so we can do some tests.”
When the door closed, silence slammed into the room. Lucien exhaled like he’d been drowning, his hand sliding from mine to my stomach again, possessive and reverent all at once.
Then his eyes locked on mine, feral and unflinching. “You heard him. You need rest, and you need to eat more, I don’t want any more arguments.”
The word pregnant kept echoing in my head, sharp, deafening, unreal. My fingers pressed harder against my stomach as though I could feel something, someone, already there. But all I felt was hollow panic.
A baby. His baby.
I wasn’t ready. How could I be? My body still carried the trauma of the past. My nights still bled with nightmares. What kind of mother could I possibly be when I still woke up shaking, when I still couldn’t look at myself in the mirror without remembering the girl I had been before I was taken?
My chest tightened, my breath stuttering in and out. “I can’t…” I whispered, but the words cracked before they could form.
Lucien was on me instantly. One hand gripping my chin, turning my face up to his.
His eyes burned, fire and fury and something unbearably tender.
“Don’t you dare say you can’t.” His voice was rough, guttural, but not cruel.
He pressed my hand flat against my stomach, covering it with his own.
“You already are. You’re carrying us. Our blood, our bond. Our miracle.”
Tears stung my eyes, but not just from fear. From the way he said it. From the absolute certainty that radiated off him like heat, like there was no universe where he doubted me or the life inside me.
“Lucien…” My voice broke on his name. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“You can.” His thumb swept over my cheek, rough but gentle.
“You survived what was meant to break you. You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever seen.
And now you’re carrying my heir.” His jaw clenched, eyes flashing with something primal.
“I’ll kill every fucking shadow before I let anything touch you. Or him.”
“Him?” My laugh was shaky, wet with tears. “You don’t even know.”
“I know,” he said with terrifying certainty. “It’s a son. My son.”
I stared at him, my heart a chaotic mess of fear and warmth and disbelief. He already believed in something I was still struggling to process. He already saw a future I was too afraid to picture.
Lucien leaned in, his forehead pressing against mine, his voice softer now, though no less fierce. “You don’t have to be ready. That’s my job. I’ll carry every burden, fight every war. All you have to do is rest, eat, and let me take care of you.”
The weight of his words pressed down on me until the only thing I could do was nod, even as my heart raced with panic.
The thought of a child inside me, half mine, half his, was terrifying.
But the thought of him holding me like this, unyielding, unbreakable, was the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely.
“I’ll protect you both,” he whispered, lips brushing my temple. “Even from yourself if I have to.”
And in that moment, I knew his obsession had doubled, deepened, taken root so far inside him that there was no tearing it out. It wasn’t just me anymore. It was the life inside me. His heir. His legacy. His reason to be even more dangerous than he already was.
That night, he didn’t let me out of his arms. Not once.
Every time I shifted, his grip tightened. Every time I breathed too shallow, his lips brushed my temple like he was checking that I was still there.
It wasn’t just possession anymore. It was obsession carved into every muscle of his body.
I lay stiff at first, staring at the ceiling while his chest rose and fell against my back. His arm was a solid band across my stomach, his palm splayed over my belly like he could shield what was inside with the weight of his hand alone.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured against my hair, his voice low, too raw.
“I’m not,” I lied, though my heart was hammering hard enough that he had to feel it.
His lips brushed the shell of my ear. “I hear your pulse. Don’t hide it from me.”
I swallowed hard, tears burning behind my eyes again. “I’m scared.”
“I know.” His hand pressed firmer against me, his body caging mine even more.
“But I’m not. I don’t get scared, Sorcha.
Not of demons, not of men. But this…” His voice broke, almost imperceptibly, like a crack in stone.
“Losing you. Losing him. That terrifies me. So, I’ll keep you here, where nothing can touch you. Not even your fear.”
The weight of him was almost suffocating, but at the same time, it was the only thing keeping me tethered. His warmth, his strength, his vow wrapped around me like chains I couldn’t decide if I hated or craved.
I wanted to protest. To tell him he couldn’t protect me from everything, that this baby wasn’t just his to claim, but mine to carry, to endure. But the words never came.
Because even through my panic, even though the storm of doubt, I felt it, I felt the bond. The way it hummed low under my skin, pulling me toward him, binding me tighter every time he touched me, every time he whispered that vow like it was carved in blood.
“Sleep,” he whispered, lips pressing against my temple again. “I’ll keep watch.”
I almost laughed. “You’ll be dead to the world when the sun rises.”
“I’ll still be here,” he growled softly. “And they’ll guard you. But tonight, you’re mine. Every breath. Every dream is mine.”
His words sank into me as the exhaustion finally pulled me under. The last thing I felt before sleep claimed me was the press of his hand over my stomach, his heartbeat thrumming like a war drum against my back.
And for all my fear, for all the panic curling tight in my chest, I couldn’t stop the thought that echoed through me as I drifted off. If anyone could keep me safe, if anyone could keep us safe… it was him.