Shadow's End (Elder Races, #9)(93)

“Snap out of it, my love,” she told him, gripping his arm as he sat on the edge of the bed with his head buried in his hands. “It was an accident, nothing more. You couldn’t hurt me if you tried. Trust me. The demon of regret that haunts you now will fade.”

He did trust her, with his life, but it was still a struggle to accept what she was saying. His breath shuddered in his throat. He whispered, “I don’t know how it can. If I had only done something, anything different—”

She came up behind him and leaned against his back, putting her arms around him. Like him, she chose to sleep naked, and the soft press of her breasts against his back was at once soothing and erotic.

“Believe me when I say this,” she whispered in his hair. “You can second-guess yourself for the rest of your very long life, and none of it will bring him back. It was battle. Things happen in battle. People we love die in battle. While it’s terrible, that’s all it is. I may not have been there, but I know this one thing is true—you fought with everything you had. And there was nothing you could have done.”

“How can you know for sure?” He turned his head to one side toward the sound of her voice, and she pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“I know it, because I know you,” she said. “Because you couldn’t have done any differently.”

With that, he was able to let go of that particular nightmare. He turned toward her and made love to her with the all-consuming ferocity that gripped him every time they were together.

Dr. Shaw cleared him for active duty and flight. He went back to work, and for some nights afterward, Bel joined the gryphon as he took long, luxurious flights. That place at his shoulders, the place that had been empty for so long, would never feel empty again.

After a few days, Bel turned inexplicably tense and preoccupied. She became such a nervous wreck, and it was so unlike her, she frankly terrified the shit out of him.

Simple tasks eluded her. She dropped things. Once, she burned a batch of Elven wayfarer bread he had asked her to bake as a special treat. Pulling the pan out of the oven, she burst into tears.

Beside himself, he leaped from the supper table and grabbed her by the arms. “You’re a basket case,” he told her. “Please, tell me what I can do to help!”

Later he had to admit to himself, it was not his finest, most diplomatic moment.

She cried out, “I know I’m a basket case! I’m a complete wreck, and I can’t help myself. Oh gods, Graydon, I think I might be pregnant.”

What?

Realizing he had frozen and nothing had actually come out of his mouth, he made a concerted effort to speak.

So he said aloud, stupidly, “What?”

She took him by the ears and enunciated, “I. Think. I’m. Preg. Nant.”

“That’s impossible,” he whispered. His heart hammered in his newly healed chest.

“Well, clearly it’s not impossible,” she replied. “Just highly—highly—improbable.”

“Oh, dear gods,” he stammered. “Why are you even on your feet? Here, sit down.”

Her pretty mouth fell open. She stared at him as he shoved her into a dining chair, and she sat with a plop.

He told her, “We’ve got to get you to a healer. No, wait.” Even though she hadn’t moved from the chair, he threw out both hands. “You stay put right there. We’ll get a healer to come to you. Have you eaten enough today? Don’t you need vitamins?”

Halfway through his disconnected babble, she started to smile. Remarkably, she seemed to calm down. “You’re moving a little too fast there, darling.”

“What?” He stared at her wildly, kneeling beside her chair. “What about a birthing class? Do you know how to breathe? I’ve never been in labor before. I don’t know anything about breathing.”

“GRAYDON, SHUT UP,” she shouted.

His flow of words stopped. He snapped his mouth shut and stared at her.

She stroked his hair. “I’m not even sure I’m p-pregnant. I’ve never been pregnant before, either, so I’m not sure how it would feel. I can just sense something. Something’s changed in my energy, and I’ve been too scared to say anything, in case it might not be true, and oh gods, I want it so badly.”

She started to shake again. That pulled him together like nothing else had.

Taking her into his arms, he told her gently, “Ssh, it’s all right, Bel. Whatever the answer is, it’s going to be okay. We’ll get through it together.”

She buried her face in his neck. “Promise?”

Cupping the back of her head, he told her in a calm, steady voice, “I swear it.”

With his free hand, he pulled out his cell phone. Behind her back, he scrolled through his contacts until he reached the number for the healer on call that evening at the Tower. With one thumb, he typed out a text:

EMERGENCY, MY APT NOW.

Not five minutes later, he heard running footsteps in the hall. Someone pounded on his door. He distinctly heard Aryal say, “Kick it in.”

So much for his calm and soothing act.

Don’t kick it in! he shouted telepathically.

He was too late. The door splintered. Aryal, Quentin, and the on-call healer—Peter—rushed in.

At the crash, Bel startled violently. She lifted her face from Graydon’s neck to stare at the three intruders. When she spoke, she was back to enunciating again. “What. On. Earth.”