Chapter 16
Damon
The scent of lavender and chamomile hung in the air, contrasting with the usual musk and leather that permeated our smaller home. It was Elliot's choice, he said it helped soothe his nerves—a constant state these days. He'd always had an affinity for calming scents, a gentle counterpoint to my own inherent intensity.
I stood by the window of our cozy living room, watching the rain lash against the glass. Nine months. Nine months since the day I'd felt him surge into me, that burning connection that cemented our fate. Nine months since we'd confirmed we were expecting a son—a son we named Stellan—a name imbued with strength and resilience, much like his father.
The house was smaller than the Nightshade HQ, far less opulent, but it suited us. It felt… domestic. Safe. A place for Elliot and Stellan to thrive. Though, if I were honest, the 'domesticity' felt more like a gilded cage lately. My responsibilities within the Nightshade pack had intensified over these past months. The recent power struggle with another faction left me stretched thin, constantly pulled in multiple directions. I was dealing with trade routes, managing territories, and mediating disputes—all while trying to be a present partner and expectant father.
It really was a bit too much sometimes.
Elliot sat on the plush, cream-colored sofa, his pregnant belly a prominent bulge beneath a loose-fitting sweater. He was meticulously folding laundry, each crease crisp and precise.
I never thought I would see him doing something like that one day. It was a small, mundane task, but he performed it with a quiet concentration that both charmed and worried me.
He looked small. Not physically, though his frame had certainly softened under the weight of pregnancy. No, it was something deeper—a shrinking of his spirit, an almost palpable dimming of that bright hazel light in his eyes. He'd withdrawn, become quieter than usual, his sharp wit dulled by a weary sadness I couldn't quite decipher. It drove me wild sometimes.
I cleared my throat, trying to break the silence without startling him. "Everything alright, love?"
He looked up, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Just fine, Damon. Just… folding laundry." He gestured weakly towards the neatly stacked pile of clothes.
"You've been folding a lot of laundry lately," I commented, walking over to sit beside him on the sofa. I gently placed my hand over his, feeling the warmth radiating from his skin. "Are you bored?"
He shrugged, avoiding eye contact. "Not really. It's… therapeutic."
I frowned slightly. Therapeutic? Folding laundry wasn't usually therapeutic. He used to find solace in reading ancient texts and exploring forgotten languages—things that ignited his mind and lit up his eyes. Now, he seemed content with the quiet repetition of mundane tasks.
"You haven't touched your books in weeks," I pointed out softly. "And you barely eat anything anymore."
He sighed, a weary sound that seemed to carry the weight of the world. "I just… haven't felt like it."
My heart clenched with a familiar pang of guilt. I knew I hadn't been as present as he deserved. The pack demanded my attention, and I'd prioritized my responsibilities over our relationship, telling myself I was doing it for us, for Stellan's future. A terrible excuse.
"I'm sorry, Elliot," I murmured, squeezing his hand gently. "I know I haven't been around much. Things have been… complicated."
He finally met my gaze, and I saw a flicker of something raw and vulnerable in his eyes. "It's more than that, Damon," he said softly, his voice trembling slightly. "It feels like we're drifting apart. Like… like we're just going through the motions."
My blood ran cold. That was the last thing I wanted. The thought of losing him—of losing what we had built together—was unbearable. I wasn't going to let it happen. I couldn't.
"That's not true," I insisted, leaning closer and brushing a stray curl away from his forehead. "We're just… adjusting. To the baby, to the new house, to everything."
He shook his head slowly, a sad smile playing on his lips. "It's deeper than that, Damon. It's like… you see me as your omega, as the vessel carrying our child. You don't really see me anymore. The Elliot Hayes who loved obscure languages and had a sarcastic wit?"
My throat tightened. He was right. Somewhere along the line, I'd allowed him to become defined by his omega status, by the life he carried within him. I'd been so focused on protecting him, on ensuring his well-being, that I'd forgotten to simply see him. To appreciate the unique and wonderful individual he was.
It was difficult to admit that I had let that happen. I should've been stronger.
"That's not fair," I protested weakly, knowing even as I said it that he was speaking the truth. He would never lie about something like that, after all.
He didn't respond, simply continued to gaze at me with those heartbreakingly sad hazel eyes. In that moment, I saw a reflection of my own failings—my ambition, my possessiveness, my inability to truly balance my responsibilities with the needs of those I loved.
"I need you to be present, Damon," he said finally. "Not just physically, but… emotionally. I need you to see me. To hear me. To remember that I'm more than just an omega carrying your child."
And I knew he was. I didn't have to prove that to him, but I knew that he was right about what he was saying.
The rain continued to fall against the windowpane, each drop a poignant reminder of the distance that had grown between us. The scent of lavender and chamomile, once so calming, now felt suffocating—a constant reminder of the peace that was slowly slipping away from our lives.
I reached out and pulled him close, burying my face in his soft hair. "I will," I promised. "I'll do better, Elliot. I promise. I'll make you see that I do."
The words were still hanging in the air, my promise a fragile thread against the backdrop of our strained silence, when a searing pain ripped through Elliot. He gasped, his body arching violently as he clutched at his abdomen, his knuckles white against the plush fabric of the sofa.
"Damon!" he cried out. "Something's… something's wrong!"
My heart lurched into my throat. Those were the words I'd dreaded. Labor. I wasn't ready for it, even though it was about the right time.
"Elliot! What is it? What's happening?" I scrambled to my feet, adrenaline coursing through my veins.
Another wave of pain convulsed through him, sharper, more insistent than the last. His face contorted in a grimace, sweat beading on his forehead.
"Contractions," he gasped, struggling to breathe. "They're coming… really fast."
I rushed to his side, kneeling before him and taking his trembling hands in mine. I was going to do whatever was possible to make him feel better and help him.
"Okay, okay, breathe with me. Slow, deep breaths." I tried to project a calm I certainly didn't feel, my mind racing as I calculated the distance to the nearest hospital. It was too far. We wouldn't make it in time.
Then, a frantic banging echoed from the front door. Loud, insistent. What the fuck was happening now?
"Who's that?" Elliot whimpered, his voice barely audible above the roaring in my ears.
Before I could answer, the door burst open, and Hunter, one of my enforcers, stood there, his face etched with urgency.
"Sir! We have a situation! There's been an attack on the perimeter! The Serpents are trying to breach our territory!"
My blood ran cold. An attack? Now? With Elliot in labor? This was beyond surreal.
"Can't it wait?" I barked, trying to keep my voice level. "My omega is going into labor!"
Hunter's expression softened, but his professional demeanor remained. "Sir, they're already inside the compound. They're targeting the research labs. We need every able body to defend our territory."
I cursed under my breath. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not like this.
Elliot let out a strangled cry, clutching his stomach even tighter. The contractions were coming relentlessly, each one stealing his breath.
"Damon…" He groaned, his eyes clouded with pain. "I… I don't think I can…"
Ignoring Hunter, I threw myself over Elliot, cradling him protectively. "We'll manage, love. We'll get through this."
Suddenly, the lights flickered, plunging the room into near darkness. A low hum filled the air, followed by a crackling sound.
"What the hell was that?" I muttered, my senses on high alert.
Before I could react, a voice crackled through the comm system implanted in my ear. It was Marcus, my second-in-command.
"Damon, we have a code red! The Serpents have deployed an electromagnetic pulse. All electronic devices are offline. Including… communications and medical equipment."
My stomach dropped. No phones. No internet. No contact with the outside world. And no monitoring equipment for Elliot's labor. We were completely on our own. The Serpents were going to pay.
Another contraction hit Elliot with brutal force, and I felt him stiffen beneath me. He started to murmur, a low, guttural sound escaping his lips.
"Push, Elliot," I urged, remembering snippets from the birthing classes we'd reluctantly attended. "Push with all your might."
He didn't respond, just continued to groan, his body wracked with pain. Then, a thin stream of blood trickled from between his legs.
"Elliot!" I yelled, panic rising in my throat. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"
He shook his head weakly, his face pale. "I… I don't know. The pain… it's overwhelming."
Just then, a deafening explosion rocked the house. The windows shattered, showering us with glass. The room plunged into complete darkness.
I instinctively shielded Elliot with my body, praying that none of the debris had struck him.
"Damon!" Elliot screamed. "I can't… I can't feel anything!"
My heart hammered against my ribs. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. He was losing consciousness, and I had to do something about it before it was too late.
With a surge of adrenaline, I fumbled for my lighter, the small flame filling the darkness. As the flickering light illuminated Elliot's face, I saw his eyes were unfocused, his skin clammy. This wasn't good at all.
"Stellan's coming," I whispered, more to myself than to him. "He's coming now." That was the most alarming thing about all this.
Another pain ripped through him, more intense than anything I'd witnessed before. And then, with a final, shuddering gasp, Elliot's body went limp in my arms.
"Elliot!" I cried, shaking him gently. But he didn't respond.