The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12)(202)

Except this was not her birth plan. She was supposed to go into the human world, where there were people to take care of her and little Wrath, see to any problems he might have, be there for her and iAm if it was daylight, and big Wrath and John if it was night.

Little Wrath, she thought.

Guessed she’d just named their son.

As she arrived in the clinic, she just kept thinking she was not supposed to be here. Especially as she looked up at that massive operating chandelier in the main OR.

For some reason, she thought of all the times she had been down here, supporting a Brother injured in the field, or going to a checkup with Layla, or— Doc Jane put her face in the way. Her lips moved slowly.

“…eth? Can you hear me, Beth?”

Ah, good, someone had cranked up the volume on the world.

But her response didn’t register. She couldn’t hear her own voice.

“Okay, good.” Doc Jane enunciated everything clearly. “I want to do an ultrasound to rule out placenta previa—which is a complication where the placenta ends up in the lower part of the uterus. But I’m worried you have an abruption.”

“What … that?” Beth mumbled.

“Are you having pain?”

“Lower back.”

Doc Jane nodded and put her hands on Beth’s belly. “If I press—”

Beth moaned. “Just make sure Wrath is okay.”

They wheeled the ultrasound machine over and her nightgown was cut away. As that gel was squirted onto her stomach and the lights dimmed, she didn’t look at the monitor. She stared at her husband’s face.

That wonderful, masculine face was utterly terrified.

He wasn’t wearing his son glasses—sunglasses, rather. And his pale green, unfocused eyes were roaming around the room as if he were desperate to see something, anything.

“How did you know?” she whispered. “That I was in trouble…”

His eyes snapped in her direction. “My mother told me. In a dream.”

For some reason, that made her cry, that image of her husband growing wavy as the out-of-control nature of life came home to roost in the worst possible way: She cared about nothing except the baby, but there was not a single thing she could do to affect any outcome. Her body and the young were rolling those dice.

Her mind, her will, her soul? All her dreams and desires, hopes and follies?

Not even at the table.

Doc Jane’s face came back. “…eth? Beth? Are you with me?”

As she lifted her hand to get some hair out of her face, she realized they’d put a blood pressure cuff on her and run an IV. And that was not hair in the way; it was tears.

“Beth, the ultrasound is not showing me what I was hoping to see. The baby’s heart rate is slowing and you’re still bleeding heavily. We need to get him out, okay? I’m very sure you have an abruption and you’re in danger as well as him. Okay?”

All she could do was look at Wrath. “What do we do?”

In a voice that was so cracked it was barely understandable, he said, “Let her operate with Manny, okay?”

“All right.”

Doc Jane came back in view. “We’re going to have to put you asleep—I don’t want to do an epidural because we don’t have the time.”

“All right.”

“I love you,” she said to Wrath. “Oh, God … the baby…”




SEVENTY-FOUR


All Wrath had to go on was the smells in the room. Antiseptic in the air. Blood—that terrified him. Fear—from his Beth and the others all around him. Calm, cold reasoning on the parts of Doc Jane, Manny, and Ehlena.

Hopefully, that last one was going to be a lifesaver.

Abruptly, a new fragrance entered the mix. Astringent.

Then there was a squeak beside him, as if someone had pulled up a chair. After which a broad hand shoved him down so he was sitting, and took his own in a grip so hard the bones nearly crushed.

John Matthew.

“Hey, man,” he said, aware that time had ground to a halt. “Hey … man.”

In the end, all Wrath could do was squeeze her brother’s palm back—and so the two of them stayed side by side together, frozen as medical terms were traded back and forth and there were metal clanging sounds and hisses and suction noises.

Doc Jane’s voice was so even. Manny’s replies were the same.

They were like the inverse of the situation: As things got scarier, they became more focused and in control.

“Okay, I’ve got him—”

“Wait, is it happening already?” Wrath demanded.

The ascending whistle next to him was the only reply he got.

And then … the sound of a young’s first wail.

“Is he alive?” Wrath asked like a dumb-ass.

Another whistle.

And then he forgot about his son entirely. “Beth? What about Beth?”

No one answered.

“Beth?” he barked. “John, what the f*ck is going on?”

The scent of blood was thick in the air. So thick. Too thick.

He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t think. He wasn’t even alive.

“Beth…” he whispered into the darkness.

It was forever until Doc Jane came over to him. And by the closeness and direction of her voice, he knew she had knelt in front of him.