Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Samantha
It's two days before Christmas, and I have officially achieved the grace and mobility of a penguin that's been knocked flat on its back.
I stop halfway between the kitchen and the couch, one hand on the wall, the other pressed to my lower back like I'm trying to keep my spine from escaping.
The baby's dropped. I felt it yesterday morning.
A sudden shift that made breathing easier, but turned walking into something that should probably earn me a medal.
"You okay?" Nick's voice comes from behind me, warm and concerned.
I wave him off, even though I'm not entirely sure I'm okay. "Just need a second."
He's there anyway, his hand replacing mine on my back, rubbing slow circles that make me want to puddle right into the floorboards. The man's been stuck to me like a shadow for two weeks now. Not that I'm complaining. Well, maybe a little.
"Let me help you."
"I can waddle on my own, thanks." I say it, but I still lean into him, because pride only gets you so far when you're hauling around what feels like a bowling ball duct-taped to your stomach.
The baby does a slow roll, and I press a hand to the spot where I'm pretty sure her foot is wedged under my ribs. She's been restless all day, more than usual. Like she knows something's brewing.
I can feel it too. There's a tightness in my chest that has nothing to do with the baby and everything to do with the fact that we're almost out of time. Any day now, she'll be here. Any day now, I'll be holding her instead of just counting her kicks.
The thought leaves me breathless. Excited. Terrified. Maybe a little of both, if that's possible.
Nick steers me to the couch, and I lower myself down with all the grace of a beached whale who’s given up on dignity. He kneels in front of me, hands on my knees, those silver eyes searching my face like he's waiting for me to crack.
"I'm fine," I tell him. "Really. She's just heavy."
"You should rest."
"I've been resting. I rest so much, I'm about two naps away from sprouting roots right here on the couch."
A smile tugs at his mouth, soft and indulgent. The kind that makes my stomach do a little flip, even with a tiny human currently practicing her floor routine in there.
He's been like this since he came back. Attentive to the point of hovering, watching me like I might break if he so much as looks away. His hands keep finding my belly, like he needs the reminder that we're both still here.
And at night, he holds me like I'm something precious. His arm wrapped around my stomach, his breath warm against my neck. Sometimes I wake to find him whispering to the baby, promises and reassurances in a voice so tender it makes my eyes sting.
I'm in so deep with this man, it's almost embarrassing. Not that I'd admit it out loud.
The bakery bell chimes downstairs, and I recognize the pattern of footsteps on the stairs. Ella.
She lets herself in without knocking, because that's what best friends do. She's carrying a bag from the Thai place down the street, and her eyes go straight to Nick, who's still kneeling in front of me like he's guarding a treasure.
"Hey," she says, cautious but friendly. Friendlier than three weeks ago, at least.
"Hey, yourself." I gesture to the bag. "Please tell me you brought pad thai."
"And spring rolls." She sets the bag on the coffee table, her gaze flicking between Nick and me. "You two need anything else?"
Nick stands, his hand lingering on my shoulder. "We're good. Thank you."
Ella's been coming around more since Nick reappeared.
She doesn't know what he is. I haven't exactly sat her down for the 'so, my boyfriend is Santa' talk.
Mostly because I'm still wrapping my own head around it.
But she sees the way he looks at me. The way he touches me.
The way he'd probably set the world on fire if someone so much as gave me a dirty look.
She's softening. I can tell because she doesn't glare at him quite as hard these days. But there's still that edge, the wariness of someone who watched me ugly-cry for months and isn't about to let him off the hook just because he finally showed up again.
"You left," she told him last week, cornering him in the bakery while I was in the bathroom. "You left her alone and pregnant, and I don't care what your reasons were. If you do it again, I'll make you regret it."
I didn't catch what he said, but when I came back, Ella looked slightly less like she was plotting his demise. Progress, I guess.
Now, she unpacks the food, chatting about her day, about the holiday rush at her business. Nick listens, polite and engaged, but I can feel his attention on me. Always on me.
The baby shifts again, delivering a jab to my ribs that makes me wince. Future kickboxer, apparently.
"You sure you're okay?" Ella asks, pausing mid-sentence.
"Yeah. She's just active today."
Nick's hand finds my belly immediately, his palm warm through my shirt. The baby responds with a kick, and I watch his expression soften.
"She knows you're here," I say quietly.
"She knows we both are." His thumb strokes a gentle arc over where the baby's pressing. "She's safe."
The way he says it, like a promise carved in stone, makes my throat go tight.
Ella watches us for a moment, something unreadable in her eyes. Then she clears her throat. "Right. Well, I'll leave you two to your dinner. Call me if you need anything, okay?"
"I will."
She gives Nick one last look, the kind that says I'm watching you, then heads for the door. "Lock up behind me," she calls over her shoulder.
Nick's already moving to do exactly that, flipping the deadbolt and checking the wards I can't see but know are there. He's been reinforcing them daily, layering protection over protection until the apartment practically hums with magic.
"She's protective of you," he says, coming back to the couch.
"We knew we were kindreds the moment I showed up in Caraway Cove. She's seen me through a lot."
"Including my mess."
I reach for his hand, lacing our fingers together. "You're fixing your mess. That's what matters."
He lifts my hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. The gesture is so sweet that it makes my chest ache.
We eat dinner curled up on the couch, Nick watching me like a hawk to make sure I finish every bite, even though there's barely room left in my stomach for air. The baby's settled a little, but there's still that restless energy, like the air before a thunderstorm.
By the time we head to bed, I'm exhausted. The kind of tired that settles in your bones and refuses to budge. Nick helps me into my nightgown, his hands gentle, then tucks me in like I'm made of spun sugar.
He slides in behind me, warm and solid, his arm coming around my belly, hand splayed wide over where the baby is camped out.
"Sleep," he whispers, his breath a gentle caress against my neck.
"Bossy."
"You love it."
I do. God help me, I really, really do.
I close my eyes, letting his steady breathing lull me toward sleep. The baby gives one last little flutter, then settles.
Everything goes quiet.
Everything feels safe.
Until it isn't.
I wake up to cold sheets and the absence of warmth.
Nick's arm is gone from around my belly, and when I blink my eyes open, he's sitting up beside me, every line of his body tense.
"Nick?"
"Stay in bed." His voice is low, too calm. The kind of calm that makes my stomach drop straight through the mattress.
The baby explodes into motion, kicking and rolling like she's trying to claw her way out. I press both hands to my belly, whispering nonsense, but she won't settle.
"What's wrong?"
"They're here."
My blood goes cold. "Who's here?"
He doesn't answer. Just gets out of bed, moving toward the bedroom door. The wards I can't normally see suddenly flare to life, brilliant blue lines of magic crackling along the walls, the ceiling, the floor.
And then I feel it. The air goes thick and wrong, pressing in on me. Like the moment before a storm breaks.
Something hits the wards.
The whole apartment shudders, like it's bracing for impact.
I struggle to sit up, my heart hammering. "Nick!"
"Stay. There." He doesn't look at me. His focus is on the door, on whatever's trying to get in.
Another hit. Harder this time. The wards hold, but barely.
I watch, frozen, as shapes start to crawl out of the shadows on the other side of the magic. Some are dark and writhing, the kind that make your eyes water if you look too long. Others are too bright, burning with a light that feels all wrong. Twisted.
Demons. Angels.
They're all here.
The wards crack.
Nick's hand shoots out, and the magic shifts and reinforces, but I can see the strain on his face. There are too many of them. Too much power pressing against his defenses.
"You can't have her," he says, his voice ringing with an authority that makes the air vibrate. "You can't have either of them."
Something laughs. The sound scrapes against my ears like nails on a chalkboard.
"The child belongs to us, Kringle. You cannot protect her forever."
The baby's going wild. I can barely breathe through the barrage of kicks and rolls. She's terrified. So am I.
Nick's whole body goes still. Then he turns his head slightly, just enough to meet my eyes.
"No matter what happens," he says quietly, "stay behind me."
The wards shatter, the sound sharp as breaking glass.
Everything goes sideways at once.
The entities pour into the bedroom, a nightmare made real. Demons with too many limbs and eyes that burn red. Angels with faces too perfect, too cold, their wings edged in silver that cuts the air like blades.
Nick moves.
I've never seen anything like it.
This isn't the gentle, devoted man who holds me at night. This is something else. Something ancient, powerful, and honestly, terrifying.
Magic explodes from his hands, bright and cold as winter. It slams into the first demon, and the creature screams, its body freezing solid before shattering into a thousand pieces.