My Maddie (Hades Hangmen #8)(15)

“No,” I countered as sternly as I could manage. “I am sad because I want your touch. I want you to hold me.”

Flame’s jaw clenched, indecision played out on his face—a cheek twitch, the widening of eyes, his tongue licking his pierced lips. “The baby,” he whispered.

“Is safe.” I took in a deep breath. “Our child is safe within me. Nothing will hurt him or her, baby. Especially not you.” I smiled through my sadness, a ray of warm sun through a storm cloud. “You are its papa.” Flame’s breathing sped up, his chest rising and falling in quick movements. “He or she already loves you.”

Flame completely stilled. “How do you know?” His voice shook with uncertainty.

I swallowed back the lump in my throat. “I feel it, Flame. Since the moment I realized I was with child, I’ve felt an abundance of love.”

Slowly, Flame’s hand moved toward my stomach. Palm on the floor, he lifted his index finger and, as gently as could be, ran it over my nightgown. I could not remove my eyes from him as he waited, breath held, for something to happen. When nothing did, when he saw I was still breathing, still retained color in my face, he gently touched my nightgown that covered my stomach. It was not his hand cradling my naked bump, but it was a start. Flicking his gaze to mine, he said, “I heard my mama when she had Isaiah. She screamed. It hurt her.” Flame shook his head. “I can’t hear you in that much pain.”

“It will be worth it,” I said. “After the pain, comes our baby. Our baby, Flame. Ours. A miracle we never knew we would be blessed with.”

Flame was silent, and I knew he was absorbing those words. “I need you,” I repeated, but this time failed to hold back the tears that threatened to consume me.

“Maddie.” Flame reached for my hand. The moment our hands met, I felt a rush of warmth infuse my body. With Flame’s touch I breathed easier. I felt complete in a way I never had until I let my heart open to this man. “Don’t cry,” he begged.

I held on to his hand like a lifeline. Shifting closer, I absorbed his warmth and the smell of leather that always stuck to his skin. It was as comforting to me as the sound of a crackling fire on a cold night. “I am scared too,” I confessed. Flame searched my face. I knew he needed more. “You fear you will not be a good father. I fear I will not be a good mother.”

“You will,” he said, and I knew he believed it with all that he was.

“I had no parents that raised me. I was hurt from childhood, just like you.” I sniffed back my wrought emotions. “Some days I feel as though I will never be normal. Some days the memories of the past, of Brother Moses and how he hurt me, are so heavy that they consume me.” Flame shifted from sorrow to rage in a second. Just the mention of Brother Moses brought him so much anger he found it hard to contain. I pressed my palm to his cheek, and his erratic breathing calmed. “I do not say this to incite anger or to gain pity.” I pushed Flame’s hair back from his forehead. His eyes closed at my touch. It still floored me. Still overwhelmed me how much he trusted me. How much he loved me. Only I saw this Flame—my perfectly broken boy. “I wanted to tell you this, so you know that you are not alone.” I smiled as his hand squeezed mine in solidarity. “We are one and the same, you and I. Two halves of one soul. What you fear, I fear too. But I know, together, we can achieve whatever we wish… and I wish us to be the parents we never had.”

“I never want you to be scared.”

I pressed my forehead against his. “With you beside me, fear will never triumph.”

“I feel the flames again, Maddie. They’ve woken up. They get stronger every day.” Flame released my hand and, never taking his eyes off mine, placed his nails on his arm. “Every day, they tell me you will die. Now they tell me that the baby will die too. They tell me I will kill you. The flames I have in my blood will try to kill you.” Flame’s jaw clenched, and he dug his nails into his flesh, hissing and rolling his head back in pleasure. And it broke my heart. I had thought it shattered as I watched him on this hatch, reliving his brother dying in his arms. But this, seeing him back in this place… He fought this every day, I knew that. Right now, I could not stand watching him in such distress. With our bodies so close, I felt his arousal against my leg. The bloodletting caused this. Flame cut himself again, blood forming in small drops on his tattooed skin. He hissed and groaned, but his brow was pulled down and filled with tension. I knew why.

He needed me.

Moving my hand south, I took his length in my hand. Flame’s loud groan filled the room. Tears swam in my eyes as I began moving my hand back and forth, giving him the relief, I knew he craved. I would not let him be consumed by the flames he believed ran through his body. I would not see him in pain. Flame’s scratches became harder and more violent the faster I worked my hand. But I kept going. Took care of him until he threw his head back and roared out a guttural, agonized cry, as he spilled his release onto the ground between us. I bit my lip to keep from sobbing. His skin was slick with sweat, his arms bloodied from the pain he had forced upon himself. But in the aftermath, in mere minutes, Flame became sleepy. His hand remained in mine. I had held on to his hand throughout it all. He had held on to me.

“I’m sorry,” Flame apologized, his broken voice cutting through the silence.

“No,” I whispered.