Lielit
Once I’d messaged Melissa to have the car ready, I let Dr Moore know how often the contractions were coming and that we’d be there shortly. Melissa was Guard Four—and thankfully, Blaidd had started using their names now.
I paused mid-waddle and stared down at my feet. Since I couldn’t see them properly, I slipped off one slipper to reveal pale blue, fluffy fur.
These would do.
He’s been a nervous wreck, Bouda said.
Who would’ve thought he’d knock me back for Friday night sex, I replied, quietly amused. He worries enough for both of us.
I heard the stairs creak and pasted a smile onto my face.
The door opened, and he stepped in holding the tray of food like an offering.
I could really freak him out, I murmured to Bouda, suddenly tempted to see him crack.
It would be fun to watch, she snickered.
“I forgot about an appointment with Dr Moore,” I said lightly. “I can eat when we get back.”
Chicken, Bouda whispered.
He frowned and set the tray on the armchair before checking his calendar.
“She emailed me. It’s nothing to worry about—just a routine check-up since we’re so close to the due date.”
He nodded.
“Have something to eat first. She can wait.”
“Just wrap it up and bring it with us,” I said, glancing at the perfectly cut grilled panini.
He nodded, picked up the tray, and left.
The moment I heard the stairs creak at the bottom, I started taking slow, measured breaths.
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As Melissa parked the car, I spotted a nurse waving us over, a wheelchair already waiting to cart me off. I placed a hand on Blaidd’s chest and smiled up at him.
“Don’t go nuts on me,” I murmured, patting his chest. “I need you.”
“What is it?” he asked, covering my hand with his.
His deep blue eyes locked onto mine as he waited.
“The bags are in the boot,” I said calmly, even as his pupils blew wide. “I’ve been having contractions.”
His head snapped toward the hospital doors—then back to me.
Then back to the doors.
Then to me again.
He repeated the motion a few more times before I slapped his shoulder.
“Focus on the breathing techniques we learned.”
He stared at me blankly—then bolted out of the car and grabbed both bags in one go.
Melissa met my eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Good luck,” she said. She didn’t add that I’d need it—but her look did.
“We should’ve taken my car,” Blaidd muttered as he helped me out. “You should’ve told me. I should’ve—”
And so it begins.
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By the time the doors slid open, I was already inside myself.
Hospitals had a particular smell—clean and sharp, layered with something human underneath. Fear, maybe. Anticipation. I barely registered the nurse guiding me into the wheelchair, or the way Blaidd hovered like he was deciding whether to fight her or thank her.
“Easy,” I murmured, tapping his arm as another contraction tightened low and deep. “I’m fine.”
He nodded too fast.
“I know. I know you are,” he said, then turned sharply when a trolley rattled past. “Where are they taking her?”
The nurse smiled with the kind of calm that came from doing this every day. “Labour ward.”
Fenrir paced inside him. I could feel it—sharp, restless energy snapping against the bond. Bouda, by contrast, settled in me like a warm coil.
Breathe, Bouda reminded gently.
I did.
They transferred me to the bed. Blaidd stood at my side, hands flexing, eyes darting from the monitors to my face to the door. He looked like a man preparing for battle, not childbirth.
A contraction crested, stronger than the last. I closed my eyes and rode it, breathing low and steady. When it passed, I opened them again to find him staring at me.
“You didn’t make a sound,” he said.
“I don’t need to,” I replied. “Not yet.”
His jaw tightened.
The hours blurred after that. Time became measured in waves—pressure, release, pressure again. Nurses came and went. Blaidd stayed. Always there. Sometimes too much in my face.
He tried to help at first. Counting breaths. Adjusting pillows. Asking questions, he didn’t wait to have them answered.
Finally, I grabbed his wrist mid-spiral.
“Blaidd.”
He froze.
“Stand still,” I said quietly. “Let me do this.”
Something shifted then. I felt it through the bond—the moment he stopped trying to control the room and started simply being in it.
Another contraction hit harder. I broke this time—not screaming, but gasping as the pain stole my breath. Fear flared, sharp and sudden.
I felt him then. Not his strength. His fear.
“I’m here,” he said, voice low, stripped bare. “I’m not leaving.”
It was the right thing. The only thing.
When they told me it was time, the room narrowed. The world reduced to effort and instinct and the deep, ancient work my body knew how to do. I gripped Blaidd’s forearms, claws biting into skin I didn’t bother apologising for.
Fenrir went still.
Bouda rose.
Push, she urged—not command, but trust.
The first cry shattered something open inside me.
I laughed and sobbed at the same time as they placed our daughter on my chest. She was warm and slippery and real, her tiny fist curling as if she already knew how to hold on.
Blaidd made a sound then—soft, broken. He didn’t move. Just stared.
The second labour came fast. Harder. My body protested, exhausted. I pushed again, teeth bared, growling through the pain.
Then our son cried too.
Silence fell in the wake of it. Heavy. Sacred.
They laid him against me, and the bond surged—bright, complete. Blaidd sat on the edge of the bed, one hand braced on the mattress, the other trembling as he reached out to touch the twins.
“I see them,” he whispered. “I see you.”
I leaned my head back against the pillow, breath shaky, heart full to breaking.
We were no longer becoming something.
We were already there.
“Together,” I whispered to him.
The word resonated through our bond.
Our eyes were glued to Owain and Anaya Prothero-Tolera.
Proof that every perceived monster had a weakness.
And everyone had the capacity to love.