Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
brIGID
Less than ten years ago, I'd considered myself a weak woman. I'd blamed myself for Malcolm's interest in others, hated myself for accepting his disloyalty and remaining with him, resented my lifetime of going along with my father and Malcolm's orders.
But I couldn't be a weak woman, not with the way I kept my spine straight and my smile fastened on for the betas and for Torion too.
When my hands shook at dinner, I hid them under my napkin until I could gain control of them again.
When I thought I wouldn't be able to take another breath, I ducked my chin and pretended to listen to whatever someone was saying to me as I counted slowly in my mind and nodded to the rhythm of their words.
When the evening finally wound to a close, the meal taken away and the requests for drink slowing, I wondered if I was relieved or terrified to be retiring to bed with Torion.
I'd managed a full day of keeping my panic at bay, or at least hidden from others, but I wasn't sure I could hide it from him if we were alone again.
Torion, as usual, didn't give me the chance to brace.
"Do you know how proud you make me?"
We'd barely made it through the door of our bedroom when he spoke, low and earnest, voice rough with feeling and gaze hot with desire.
I tried to catch my breath, to slip away, but I was too weary and the air hiccuped in my throat as Torion's arms circled my waist. It was as if he'd tailored the words to strike me perfectly, to shatter the lock on the fragile cage where I'd stuffed my worries away.
When I tried to step closer to hide my face against his chest, his thumbs curled around my ribs, holding me just far enough away to look down at me, eyes glittering warmly, smile soft.
And then a tense V formed between his eyes, and I knew my mask was slipping.
"Please, Torion, let me—" I gasped out, the words faltering for air.
His shoulders fell in disappointment, gaze shuttering, and something soft in my chest tore as he sighed.
"Brigid—"
Was it worse to drown in guilt as I basked in Torion's sweetness, or face the reality of him pulling away and knowing it was my fault? For the first time, I refused both options, reaching out to cling to his shirt.
"I'm so—I'm sor—" I couldn't catch my breath, and my vision was blurring, hot tracks rolling down my cheeks until salt pooled in the corners of my mouth.
"Brigid?" I couldn't make out Torion's features, but I swallowed down lungfuls of his scent as he enclosed me into his chest and then surrounded us with his wings. "Brigid, love, what is it? What's wrong? Did someone say something?"
My spine bowed at the word 'love,' and the shaking in my hands spread upward into my arms and shoulders and all through my body, unraveling all of my control once and for all.
I was babbling a nonsensical apology, tears flavoring the panicked words. Sorry for pulling away, for pushing him back, for not being able to trust him when I was realizing Torion was a man a woman could trust.
Torion's hands cupped my elbows, pushing my arms around his neck.
I tightened them on my own as my feet left the floor, squeezed him tight until I thought I might be strangling him.
His hands cradled me gently, my feet swaying, and I wasn't sure how he managed it, but I felt the softness of the bed beneath me without him ever pulling me off his chest.
"There now, let me hold you. I have you, love."
His voice was low and slow, spilling out comforting words without ever hushing me.
His heartbeat drummed steadily under my ear, counting the seconds and minutes as my speech fell apart into simple wounded sounds.
I'd never been held like this, not since I was a little girl, and that only made me sob harder until there was no breath for sound at all, just a lifetime's worth of weeping as Torion stroked my back and let me soak his shirt.
When my breaths grew uneven and sparse, he rolled me to my back, leaning back just enough to press his hand over my chest in a slow rhythm, coaxing my lungs back into the right pattern.
"I'm here, love," he whispered, the words landing softly as he kissed away tears on my cheeks.
He didn't offer false promises, I realized. Didn't tell me it would be all right. Dragon's fire, he didn't even know what was wrong, poor man.
A hysterical laugh came out with a sob, and my eyes were sore as I opened them to gaze up at him. The furrow in his brow had grown deeper, and his own eyes were wet, like he'd been crying for me, with me. The sight untied my tongue at last.
"I-I th-think I'm p-pregnant," I said, the words thick with tears, almost unintelligible with how hard I had to work to force them out.
But Torion stilled and searched my face, eyes widening with confusion.
"It's not—not the first time," I said, covering his hand on my chest, pressing there to anchor us both, to stamp down the hope that tried to fly out of me every time I thought about the queasiness I'd been suffering in the morning or how long it had been since I'd had my courses.
"Not the first time?" he echoed.
For a moment, I thought I might get up from the bed, run from the room, the keep, back to the cottage, rather than tell Torion the story.
But then I met his dark eyes and knew that this time, he would follow me.
He might let me run if he thought it was what I needed, but not after I'd been sobbing in his arms. I was grateful for the space he'd given me, and I would be grateful if he chased me down and held me close.
It was time to start letting this man in.
"The last rut. With Malcolm. I wasn't...I wasn't even showing yet when—when I—lost—"
Tears welled up in my eyes once more, all the traps and walls I'd built to keep them back now broken, Torion's shelter too tempting to resist.
"No," Torion murmured as a strangled wail choked and remained locked in my throat. "Oh, Brigid. No. I'm so sorry."
My sobs were softer now, tired, and Torion bundled me close, lifting me and moving me to his lap to rock us back and forth on the bed, a kind of comfort I'd never been offered, so patient, as if he'd hold me like this forever.
I would let him. The idea sounded wonderful.
I was too tired to lie to myself about how much I wanted Torion's affection now.
It could've been hours that passed. The candlelight grew dimmer in the room, or my eyes were simply too tired, lids swollen. When I settled once more, my breaths coming deeper and steadier, Torion still kept me to his chest, his hand at the back of my head cradling me gently.
"Barr doesn't know," Torion said eventually.
I had to clear my throat twice to speak, and my voice was hoarse. "No. I don't want him to. The babe is mine to mourn."
Torion brushed his mouth to the crown of my head, breathed there against me, and I realized that he had joined me in my mourning. I opened my fist to feel his heartbeat against my palm.
"I'm so scared," I whispered.
Torion nodded, the bristles of his cheek scratching through my hair. "You want this child."
"More than anything," I managed through new tears and thin breaths. One large hand slid to rest over mine on my belly, warm and strong.
"Share with me," he murmured.
I tipped my head back, frowning. I had shared more tonight than I had with any other person in my life.
"Share this fear with me. And your joy. Don't carry this alone, Brigid. Not when I'm here and all I want is to help you bear it." His eyes searched my face, waited for me to accept what he offered.
"You're the alpha, Torion, you have a duty—"
He shook his head, and his tear wet lashes were thick and spiky. "I'm your alpha, Brigid. I'm yours. Please. Let me help. Let me care for you and for our child."
He's so serious, I thought numbly. I forgot sometimes, in all of Torion's playfulness, how big and earnest his heart really was.
He kept showing me the proof, and here it was again.
His hand was warm over mine. His heart beneath my other hand was steady, beating against my palm.
Torion was the alpha, and while he made vows easily—offering me the position as omega, promising to keep me in his house, promising me children and respect—he didn't make vows lightly. What he offered, he meant to stand by.
He sighed, softening around me, cuddling me gently into his side, shifting down the bed. "Let me try," he said, and I found myself nodding.
"I'll try too," I said, wondering at myself, wondering at Torion's tired smile. "Aren't you afraid that I might fail again?"
"Fail?"
"To carry the child to term."
His smile turned to a scowl fast as lightning. "It's not failing, Brigid. Don't speak that way."
"But—"
"Any worries I have are for your sake now," he said firmly. And then he was quiet for a moment, a frown slowly deepening and taking over his face. "That's not true. I want this child too. I don't want to lose them, and I don't want to lose you. I'm scared too."
It shouldn't have been comforting, but it was. I stretched and kissed Torion's brow.
"Tell me more," he said, settling us deeper into the bed, one of my legs remaining draped over his, the both of us fully dressed, our hands joined over my stomach.
I told him about the evidence of the pregnancy so far, answered his questions about how I was managing my morning sickness, how I made meals out of the porridge I suddenly found myself craving too often, and the pickled wild ramps I snacked on.
I paused as I started to describe my first pregnancy, but Torion held my gaze, my hand, and I found my tongue growing loose and eager.
I told him about discovering Malcolm with another woman just after I'd started to suspect I was with child, the depression that had followed, how much I'd loathed myself for accepting Malcolm back in my bed.
And I told him the very worst of the truth.
"There were days I regretted getting pregnant.
Where I was frightened that a child would force me to remain with a man who didn't love or respect me.
Some days I was ecstatic, and some days I thought the child would transform Malcolm into the man I wanted him to be, and some days I wished I wasn't pregnant at all. So when—"
Torion cut the words off with a swift, hard kiss and a simple, "No."
I blinked, the tears that had been gathering slipping away. "But—"
"You're not at fault, Brigid. Don't argue," he said, lifting his hand from mine just long enough to pinch my lips shut before I could speak.
"Every time that thought rises, I want you to throw it out.
It's not true. If women could control their own pregnancies simply by wishing they weren't pregnant, we would have significantly fewer dragons. So don't take that route, my love."
My love. He kept saying those words. It terrified me how much I liked to hear them, but the terror was muffled tonight.
I was far too exhausted now to give it any energy to grow.
I poured out every secret and every fear I possessed into the lap of this man I'd known just a few months.
And he'd taken them into his care, just as he had me.
As we settled, clinging to one another, I slipped my hand on my belly out from under his to reach up and stroke his face, the rough stubble over his strong jaw tickling my fingers.
His palm rested over my stomach, warm and weighty, promising protection.
For the night, for a few hours, just to help me fall asleep, I would believe the promise.