Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Nick
The world tilts and blurs as I pull Samantha in, her whole body shaking with another contraction.
There's magic in the air, enough to make my skin prickle, but all I can really hear is the small, hurt sound she makes against my neck.
Her fingers dig into my shoulders, like I'm the only thing keeping her from flying apart.
I would tear myself apart if it meant taking this pain from her.
"I've got you," I say against her hair, the words rough. "Just hold on, darlin'. We're almost there."
Her breathing is quick and shallow, her whole body tight.
Another contraction hits, and she buries her face in my shirt, trying to remember the breathing exercises we practiced.
Turns out, practice and the real thing aren't even close.
Watching her in pain makes something raw and desperate twist in my chest.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Everett wrestling with Ella, who's doing her best to break free of his grip.
"Let go of me, you sparkly weirdo!" she shouts, twisting in his arms.
"Listen, you annoying little brat," Everett snaps back, his voice strained. "If I don't hold onto you, you'll disintegrate. The only thing keeping your mortal body from exploding into a million pieces is my hold on you."
I glance over in time to see Ella's face shift. The stubborn fire in her eyes flickers, replaced by something raw and terrified. Her struggles stop. Then, in a movement that clearly shocks them both, she grabs onto Everett's shirt and presses herself against him, her knuckles white.
Everett's expression freezes, somewhere between bewildered and something that looks almost like concern. His arms tighten around her, protective now instead of restraining.
Huh. Didn't see that coming.
The magic lets go, and suddenly I'm standing on solid ground again. Snow crunches under my boots. Cold air hits my lungs, sharp and clean. Overhead, the aurora is doing its thing, green and purple streaks across the sky.
We're back. Home.
The moment we materialize in the town square, elves pour out of every doorway and street corner. Dozens of them, their ethereal features sharp with concern and curiosity. They crowd around us, voices overlapping in a dozen languages I haven't heard in weeks.
"He's back!"
"Is that her?"
"The child is coming!"
Ella's terror evaporates the second her feet touch solid ground. She yanks herself out of Everett's grip, her jaw set, and plants herself between the gathering crowd and us like a tiny, furious shield.
"Move!" she shouts, her voice cutting through the chaos. "Lady with a baby here! Get out of the way!"
And, to my surprise, they actually listen.
Millennia-old elves, beings who've seen empires rise and crumble, actually step aside for this five-foot-nothing human woman. A few of them look genuinely chastised.
I'd probably laugh if Samantha wasn't about to rip my shirt in half.
Her head lifts from my shoulder, and despite the pain etched across her features, her eyes go wide. She's looking at everything. The buildings that seem to grow from ice and starlight. The aurora overhead. The elves with their impossible beauty. The magic that hums through every atom of this place.
"It's even more beautiful in person," she whispers, breathless.
Her words hit me right in the chest. I want to tell her this is her home now, that she belongs here with me, that I'll do whatever it takes to make sure she never regrets it. But I can't say any of that. Not yet. She has to decide for herself, in her own time.
For now, I just need to get her somewhere safe.
I move fast, carrying her through streets I've walked for centuries, past the workshop that never sleeps, past the stables where the reindeer are already stirring, sensing something momentous in the air.
Elves trail behind us at a respectful distance, their voices a soft chorus of well-wishes and blessings.
My residence looms ahead, all warm light and solid stone, built into the side of a mountain that glitters with ice. The door swings open before I reach it, responding to my presence, my need.
Inside, it's warm. There's a fire going, furs on the furniture.
I carry Samantha straight to the bedroom, where the bed is massive and covered in blankets that smell like pine and winter. I set her down as gently as I can, and she immediately curls onto her side, breathing hard.
Ella's there instantly, brushing hair back from Samantha's face. "You're doing great, honey. Just keep breathing."
Everett appears in the doorway, then disappears just as quickly. "I'll find a midwife," he calls over his shoulder.
I kneel next to the bed and find her hand. She squeezes so hard I swear I feel something pop, but I don't care. If breaking my hand would help, I'd let her.
"Tell me what you need," I say.
"I need this to stop hurting," she gasps, then lets out a shaky laugh. "But I don't think that's an option."
Another contraction is coming. I can see it in the way she tenses up, the way her breathing goes shallow. I move closer, pressing my hand to her lower back and rubbing slow circles, just like she likes.
"Breathe," I coach, keeping my voice steady. "In through your nose. That's it. Now, out through your mouth. You're doing perfect, darlin'. Just like that."
She follows my lead, her breath evening out even as pain radiates through her. When the contraction finally releases, she goes limp against the pillows, exhausted.
Ella moves fast, getting Samantha settled, fixing the pillows, wiping her brow. She's got this fierce, no-nonsense way about her, and I'm suddenly really glad Samantha has her here.
The contractions don't let up. Each one is worse than the last. I stay right next to her, helping her breathe, whispering whatever encouragement I can think of. Magic shifts around us. Tiny gold lights drifting, settling on everything like slow-motion snow.
Ella notices. "Is that..." She reaches out, and one of the lights lands on her palm. "That's actual magic."
"Yes," I say simply.
She stares at it for a long moment, wonder breaking through her worry. Then she shakes herself and refocuses on Samantha. Priorities.
Time becomes elastic. Minutes stretch into hours or compress into seconds. All I know is Samantha's hand in mine, the sound of her breathing, the way she fights through each wave of pain with a strength that humbles me.
Then Everett returns.
One look at his face, and my stomach drops.
He's pale. Really pale, which is saying something for Everett. There's fear in his eyes, real fear. In all the years I've known him, I can count on one hand the times I've seen him look like that.
"Boss," he says, his voice tight. "We have a problem."
"What problem?" Ella demands before I can.
Everett's jaw works. "It seems that, since it's been quite some time since we've needed a midwife, there isn't one around anymore."
The words hang in the air.
No midwife.
Panic hits me, cold and sharp. We're out here with all the magic in the world, but not a single person who actually knows how to deliver a baby. Samantha needs someone who knows what they're doing, and right now, that's nobody.
My brain goes into overdrive, running through every possible backup plan. None of them exist.
Then I look at Samantha.
She's staring at Everett, her face gone white, fear clouding her features. Her hand tightens on mine, trembling.
No.
I can't let her be afraid. Not now. She needs to believe this will be okay, even if I'm not sure myself.
I move so she's looking at me. I cup her face, trying to anchor her. "Hey. Look at me."
Her eyes meet mine, wide and scared.
"Everything is okay," I tell her, pouring every ounce of certainty I can muster into the words. "We're going to meet our daughter soon. You and me. Together."
"But Nick—"
"I've got you," I say. "I've delivered foals. I've helped bring all kinds of creatures into the world. I know what I'm doing. And I know you. You're the toughest person I know. We can do this."
She searches my face, looking for doubt, for hesitation. I don't let her find any.
"Okay," she finally whispers. "Okay."
Another contraction, even worse than before. She cries out. I help her breathe, counting, coaching, trying to sound calm even though my heart is pounding.
When it passes, I look at Ella. "I need you to stay with her. Keep her focused. Talk to her. Anything she needs."
Ella nods, her expression set with determination. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Everett," I call out, turning to him momentarily.
My old friend straightens. "Yes, boss."
"Stay at the door. No one comes in unless I say so. Understood?"
"Understood."
He takes up position, a sentinel. Exactly what we need.
I turn back to Samantha, hands moving on autopilot, checking, trying to keep my own nerves in check. The contractions are right on top of each other now. Her body is doing what it needs to, even if her mind is somewhere else.
"I need to see how far along you are," I tell her gently. "Is that okay?"
She nods, breathless.
I work carefully, checking her progress. My heart skips a beat when I realize how close we are. "You're almost there, darlin'. Almost ready to push."
"I don't know if I'm going to be able to do this, Nick," she says, coming off one particularly brutal contraction. Her voice breaks. "It hurts so much."
Her words cut right through me. I wish I could take this from her, carry it myself. But I can't. All I can do is stay here and be strong when she can't.
"I know you can do this, darlin'," I tell her, my voice steady even as everything inside me shakes. "You've already come this far. And I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. You and me, we're going to bring our daughter into this world together."
She looks at me, tears streaming down her face, and nods.
The next contraction starts, and I can feel it. Something's different. It's time.
"Samantha, listen to me," I say, positioning myself. "With the next contraction, I need you to push. Can you do that?"
"Yes." The word comes out fierce, determined.
Magic swirls harder around us, responding to the moment. The air crackles with it, gold and silver light dancing across the ceiling. Ella's eyes go wide, but she doesn't falter, her hand gripping Samantha's shoulder.
"You've got this, Sam," Ella says. "I'm right here."
The contraction hits.
"Push," I tell her. "Push now. That's it. That's perfect."
Samantha bears down, her face contorting with effort. I can see the baby's head, dark hair slicked with fluid. My hands are steady, guiding, supporting.
"Good," I say, barely breathing. "That's it. Rest. Breathe."
She collapses back, gasping. Ella wipes her forehead with a cool cloth, whispering encouragement.
Another contraction. Another push.
"I can see her," I say, my voice thick. "I can see her head. You're doing it, Samantha. Keep going."
She pushes again, a sound ripping from her throat that's pure determination and pain and strength. The baby's head emerges fully, and I'm there, my hands cradling it, supporting the tiny skull.
"One more," I tell her. "One more big push, and she's here."
Samantha nods, sweat pouring down her face, every muscle in her body straining. Ella's talking to her, a steady stream of words I can't quite hear over the roar of blood in my ears.
The next contraction comes.
Samantha pushes with everything she has left.
And then she's here.
Our daughter slips into my hands, tiny, perfect, slippery. For a second, I can't move. The whole world just stops. I instinctively clean her face, her nose, her mouth, my hands somehow working while my brain has gone on vacation.
Then she screams.
She screams, loud and angry, filling the whole room. Something in my chest cracks open. I don't even have words for what I'm feeling. Joy. Fear. Love. All of it, all at once.
My daughter.
My hands shake as I lift her and set her on Samantha's chest. Samantha's arms go around her right away, and the look on her face just about undoes me.
"Hi," Samantha whispers, her voice choked with tears. "Hi, baby girl."
The baby quiets down, like she recognizes Samantha's voice. Her eyes are squeezed shut, fists waving, face all scrunched up and mad at the world.
I can't look away.
Samantha looks at me, tears running down her face. In that look, I see it all. Past, present, future. Her and our daughter. That's it. That's my whole world now.
"She's perfect," I say, my voice rough.
"She is," Samantha agrees. Then she smiles, tired and radiant. "Aurora."
The name settles over us. Aurora. Like the lights outside. Like the start of something new.
I lean down, pressing my forehead to Samantha's, one hand on our daughter's tiny back. "Aurora," I repeat. "It's perfect."
Behind me, I hear Ella sniffle. When I glance back, she's wiping her eyes, trying to look tough and failing spectacularly.
Everett's still at the door, but when I catch his eye, he's smiling. A real, genuine smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes.
The magic in the room pulses, bright and warm, wrapping around the three of us like a cocoon. Outside, I can hear voices rising in celebration. The whole North Pole knows. They can feel it, the shift, the arrival of something precious and powerful.
But in this room, it's just us.
Samantha, tired and beautiful, holding our daughter. Aurora, tiny and loud, already making herself known. And me, kneeling next to them, heart about to burst.
"Welcome home, little one," I whisper, my finger brushing against Aurora's impossibly soft cheek. "Welcome home."