Epilogue
Three months later…
The contraction caught Corinne mid-sentence, her hand freezing on the teacup. She had brought Mikoz for a playdate with Wendy’s daughter Lissanne and stayed for tea. The two women had become good friends over the past few months.
Wendy immediately noticed her reaction. “Was that—”
“False labor.” She breathed through it, counting seconds. “I’ve been having them for days.”
“How long did that one last?”
“I don’t know. Thirty seconds? A minute?” She set down the cup, waited for the tightness to pass. “They never follow a pattern. The midwife said it’s normal.”
Wendy’s expression suggested she wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t argue. She just watched silently as Corinne shifted in her chair, trying to find a comfortable position that didn’t exist anymore. Nine months pregnant on a water world during the humid season was its own special kind of torture.
“Lissanne, sweetheart, don’t pull Mikoz’s tail,” Wendy called across the room.
The two children were playing on the floor, building an elaborate structure out of blocks and shells.
Mikoz had grown in the past months, his vocabulary expanding daily, his green skin developing more defined patterns.
He looked more Cire every day, which had initially terrified her until Taranov pointed out that it actually supported their story—a hybrid child would favor one parent or the other.
Lissanne looked exactly like her mother except for the pale green tint of her skin and her small tail.
The fear never completely left, but it was no longer a constant worry.
“How’s the documentation holding up?” Wendy asked softly.
“Fine. No one’s questioned it.” She shifted again, her back aching. “No one at the clinic thinks it’s strange that I’m having Selik’s child.”
“Good. The Council’s been quiet lately. Taranov thinks they don’t want to call attention to the possibility of hybrid pregnancies.”
Another contraction hit, harder this time, and her breath caught.
Wendy was on her feet immediately. “That was less than five minutes.”
“It’s still false labor. I’m not due for another week.”
“Babies don’t read calendars.” Wendy moved to her side and crouched down to study her face. “How long since the last one?”
She tried to remember. She’d been talking about Anya’s progress in her studies, about how the girl had made friends with several local teenagers, about how she seemed finally, truly happy.
“I don’t know. Ten minutes? Fifteen?”
“And now another one at five minutes. That’s it,” Wendy said decisively. “We’re going to the medical center.”
“I’m not in labor.”
“You’re definitely in labor.”
She wanted to argue, but another contraction rolled through her, stronger than the others. She gripped the arm of her chair, breathing through it.
Oh.
“I’m in labor.”
“Yes.” Wendy was already moving, gathering up the children. “Lissanne, sweetheart, we need to go. Mikoz, come here.”
“But we’re not done building—”
“Now, Lissanne.”
The girl must have heard something in her mother’s voice because she abandoned the blocks without further protest. Mikoz followed, confused but obedient.
Wendy helped her to her feet, wrapped a supportive arm around her waist. “Where’s Selik?”
“Home. Working on the boat.” Another contraction, barely two minutes after the last. “Wendy, I can’t—I’m not ready—”
“You’re ready. And Selik will meet us there.” Wendy was already guiding her towards the door. “Lissanne, grab my comm and call your father. Mikoz, hold my hand.”
The walk to the medical center should have taken ten minutes. She made it in twenty, stopping four for contractions that left her gasping and gripping Wendy’s arm. The medical staff took one look at her and rushed her to a room.
She barely registered the activity around her—the staff asking questions, checking vitals, helping her into a medical gown.
All she could focus on was the pressure, rolling through her in waves that left no time to prepare, so much more intense and overwhelming than her pregnancy books had described.
“How far apart are the contractions?” a voice asked.
“Less than two minutes,” Wendy answered. “They started about thirty minutes ago.”
“First pregnancy?”
“Yes.” She managed to get the word out between contractions. “Is it supposed to be this fast?”
“Every labor is different.” The midwife—a kind-faced Dorani female—was examining her with gentle hands. “But yes, this is moving quickly. You’re already at seven centimeters.”
Seven. That meant—
Another contraction hit, stronger than before, and she couldn’t hold back the cry.
“Where’s Selik?” she gasped when it passed.
“On his way,” Wendy said, gripping her hand. “He’ll be here.”
“He needs to be here. I need—” The contraction cut off her words, and she squeezed Wendy’s hand hard enough to hurt.
Wendy didn’t complain, just breathed with her, coaching her through it.
“That’s good. You’re doing great. Just breathe.”
“I can’t do this without him.”
“You can. You’re strong. But he’ll be here soon.”
She wanted to believe her, but the contractions were coming faster now, each one more intense than the last, and she couldn’t think past the sensations.
Time became meaningless. She was aware of Wendy’s voice, the midwife’s calm instructions, and the feeling that her body was out of her control.
And then—
“Corinne.”
Selik’s voice, rough and urgent. His hand found hers, large and warm and solid. She opened her eyes, found him beside her, his face tight with barely controlled panic.
“I am here, s’kara,” he said. “I am not leaving.”
Relief flooded through her, stronger than the contractions. “You came.”
“Of course I came.” He pressed his forehead to hers, his tail wrapping around her shoulders in a protective coil. “I am here. You are not alone.”
She could feel him trembling and sense the fear rolling off him in waves. This was his nightmare—his mate in pain, in danger, and nothing he could do to stop it.
“I need you to be calm,” she managed between contractions. “I need you to not panic.”
“I am not panicking.”
“You’re vibrating.”
He took a breath, visibly pulling himself together. When he spoke again, his voice was steadier. “Tell me what you need.”
“Just… stay. Don’t leave.”
“Never.” He kissed her forehead, her cheek, her lips. “I am right here.”
Another contraction hit, and she gripped his hand hard enough that she felt something crack. He didn’t flinch, just held her through it, his other hand stroking her hair.
“You’re doing well,” the midwife said. “Almost ready to push.”
Almost. That meant soon. That meant—
“I can’t do this,” she gasped. “It’s too fast, I’m not ready, I don’t—”
“You can.” His voice was firm and certain. “You are the strongest person I know. You survived captivity, survived a crash, and crossed a desert with two children. This is nothing compared to that.”
“This is different.”
“This is harder,” he agreed. “But you are not alone this time. I am here. The midwife knows what she is doing.” He cupped her face, made her look at him. “You can do this.”
She did her best to believe him and draw strength from his certainty as another contraction rolled over her.
“That’s it,” the midwife said. “Next one, I need you to push.”
“I can’t—”
“You can,” he said. “Breathe with me. In… out… good. Again.”
She followed his breathing, focused on his voice. The next contraction built, and the midwife’s voice cut through the pain. “Now. Push.”
She pushed, bearing down with everything she had. Selik supported her, his arm around her shoulders, his voice in her ear.
“Good. Very good. Keep going.”
She pushed until the contraction passed, then collapsed back, gasping.
“Excellent,” the midwife said. “I can see the head. One or two more pushes.”
One or two more. She could do that.
The next contraction came faster than she expected, and she pushed without waiting for instruction, driven by instinct and desperation.
“Almost there,” the midwife encouraged. “One more. Big push this time.”
She gathered every ounce of strength she had left, gripped Selik’s hand, and pushed. The pressure, the pain, the overwhelming sensation of her body splitting apart—
And then release.
A cry filled the room. High, furious, alive.
“It’s a girl,” the midwife announced.
A girl. They had a daughter.
Her vision blurred with tears as the midwife cleaned the baby, wrapped her in soft cloth, and placed her in Corinne’s arms.
She was tiny. Perfect. Her skin was a pale green, lighter than Selik’s but darker than human. Her eyes were dark, her features a blend of both parents.
“She’s so beautiful,” she whispered.
Selik was frozen beside her, staring at the baby with an expression of absolute wonder. His hand hovered over her, trembling, as if he was afraid to touch her.
“It’s okay. You can touch her.”
He reached out slowly, his massive hand cradling the baby’s tiny head with infinite gentleness. A sound escaped him—half laugh, half sob.
“She is really here,” he said, his voice rough.
“She’s really here.” She leaned against him, exhausted and exhilarated. “We did it.”
“You did it.” He kissed her temple, her cheek, unable to look away from their daughter. “You were incredible.”
The midwife returned to help her with the first attempt at nursing, and Selik watched in awe as their daughter latched on and began to feed.
“She’s hungry,” she said, laughing through fresh tears.
“She is strong. Like her mother.”
“And stubborn like her father, probably.”
“Undoubtedly.” He brushed his fingers over the baby’s small head with infinite gentleness. “But she is ours. And she is safe. And that is everything.”
She leaned into her mate’s strength, exhaustion taking over now that the adrenaline was fading. But it was a good exhaustion. The kind that came from accomplishment rather than defeat.
“Can we let the others in?” she asked. “I know they’re waiting.”
Wendy immediately came to join them with Mikoz on her hip and tears in her eyes.
“She’s gorgeous,” Wendy said. “Congratulations.”