Ryan
Spring
I try to flatten my back against the wall of the impossibly narrow corridor in the depths of the castle in Moonrise. It’s nearly street level, and dim, with witch nurses in starched white uniforms darting from door to door tending mother’s and new babies.
I’ve been here all morning long. Since last night, actually, when I woke up to Aviva clutching the dresser on the far side of the bedroom in our Moonrise suite, screaming in pain, and then the sound of water hitting the floor.
She’s two weeks overdue. For a while, we considered just having the baby in Silverhide. During the course of her pregnancy, when her morning-sickness waned, things had been… fine. Amazing, actually. I’ve never seen my mate look more beautiful than she does now…. Well, maybe not right now.
I edge into her delivery room as silently as I can, not that it matters. Aviva screams, her face dripping with sweat. Her eyes are bright, however, and set with determination as I walk to her side, smoothing her hair away from her face.
“Am I allowed to come back in?” I whisper.
She grits her teeth, damn near arching off the bed, before hissing, “If you make another fucking joke, you’re done. I’ll kill you–for real.”
“Okay,” I breathe. It’s my own damn fault. I tried and failed to break the tension when her contractions started ramping up by asking the nurses if they had a come-along, which is what we sometimes have to use when delivering cattle. Aviva screamed at me to get out if I wanted my balls to remain intact, so I got lost and spent the last ten minutes in the hallway listening to my wife go through wave after wave of contractions.
But I can tell she’s tired. She’s been at this since last night–labor came on fast. One moment, she was asleep beside me, the next, she was panting, bellowing in pain, and that pain hasn’t let up.
Kenna rushes into the room followed by two assistants. “All right, Aviva.” She checks her watch before donning gloves, snapping them against her wrists. “This is what we can do. I can relieve the pain pretty easily, but the potions might slow your labor, which in my professional opinion, isn’t a good idea. You’re already two weeks past your due date and this baby is…”
“She’s giant!” Aviva hisses, baring her teeth and huffing in pain. Her eyes slide to mine full of rage. “It’s your fault! You big-headed brute of a man! You did this to me!” She moans in pain, squeezing my hand so hard I feel my bones scrape together.
“I’m sorry,” I say, wincing at her tone. I continue smoothing her hair back because it’s the only thing she seems to want from me right now.
“We have other options, Aviva, if this fails to progress. You’ve been pushing for over two hours now, and I can tell you’re getting tired,” Kenna says.
“I just need her out. I need her out–safely. Both of us–need to get this over with!” Aviva’s voice shutters as she gasps for breath and roars through a contraction. Kenna reaches between Aviva’s legs in a practiced fashion, her eyes holding on the far wall. I don’t like the look on her face right now. My body goes rigid with worry as Kenna withdraws her hand from my wife’s body and takes off her gloves.
Kenna glances at me then tilts her head toward the door.
A nurse takes over for me, trying her best to comfort my wife. I follow Kenna into the hallway, my heartbeat booming through my ears.
“I’m not certain she’s going to manage this,” Kenna says in all seriousness. “I guarantee this baby is ten pounds, maybe more. I’m worried about the baby’s positioning, as well. Her shoulder is tucked in a way that’s making it hard for me to help her out.”
“What are you saying?”
“Aviva might need a more invasive procedure–”
“You want to cut my mate open?” I ask, trying to bite back the fear in my voice.
“She’s losing strength. The more potions I give her to dull her pain, the more she needs, and the more her body relaxes which… she needs to push hard, Ryan, if she’s going to do this, and she’s tired. Right now, the baby is doing well, but the more stress we put on the mother, the more likely it is that the baby will have complications.”
I promised Aviva this would be okay. She lost her own mother in childbirth. She’d been in the room when her little sister, Lora, came into the world and stayed in that same room when her mother died before even holding the last of the four sisters.
My heart wretches. “It’s up to her in the end.”
“I understand, but if it comes to the point that she, or the baby, are in danger, I will ensure they’re both safe, even if surgery is the answer. I just need you to be prepared for that.”
I close my eyes as Kenna walks back into the room, talking in low, calming tones to Aviva. I follow her inside and take my place by Aviva’s head. She grips my hand, her arm trembling. “I have to get her out!”
“We’re going to try a different position, okay?” Kenna says with remarkable calm. She motions to the nurses, who start fluttering around the room, pushing carts and chairs out of the way. “Let’s get you on your feet–”
“I can’t–I can’t stand–” Aviva screams, but it’s lost the edge of determination. The fear and pain in her cry makes my body thrum with sudden power. I’m her mate. I’m supposed to be the one protecting her, caring for her.
Instead, my genetics took over this baby and turned her into a giant that’s now trying to exit my petite wife’s body.
Kenna looks at the other nurses, saying, “I need to try to slide the baby’s shoulder free, so we’re going to stand her up, have her squat–”
Aviva turns beet red and lets go of my hand. I watch her grab the back of her thighs as if in slow motion. Through our bond, I can feel the emotions spiraling through her. Fear for her life and our child’s. Pain she’s never experienced at this level before. A grim determination to end this before things get even worse.
I grab her shoulders. “Push. You can do it. She’s almost here.”
Kenna notices the change in Aviva’s demeanor. Aviva has decided she’s not going to stand up and be prodded. She’s doing this her way.
There’s a flurry of movement before Kenna’s back between her legs with fresh gloves and an expression of icy decisiveness that sends a jolt of relief through my body. She is why we came here last week to deliver the baby in Moonrise instead of the Deadlands. Kenna is the best midwife around, and she’s not going to let either of them die.
“Good job, Aviva,” she says. “Keep pushing–pushing–okay, relax and breathe.” She doesn’t even look at the nurses when she says, “Get some blankets ready for the baby.”
Aviva pants with pain, her face turning a deep red once again. She’s soaked with sweat and trembling as she curls into herself, screaming as another contraction rips through her body. I lean down, pressing a kiss to her temple, breathing, “You’re amazing. You’re doing it. You’re bringing our daughter into the world. I love you,” over and over. She leans her head against mine as the contract ebbs away, panting, trying hard to catch her breath.
But Kenna shakes her head, muttering something under her breath as she shifts in her swivel stool and looks up at Aviva. “She has red hair.”
Aviva smiles blearily, but my focus is on the way Kenna’s brows pinch together with unease.
“I’m going to try to adjust her position a bit. This will hurt, but once her shoulders are out, it’s done. You’re a contraction away from this being all over, Aviva.”
“O-Okay,” Aviva breathes.
My back is on fire from bending over behind Aviva, keeping her steady while she bears down with all her strength, but feeling a pinch in my spine is nothing compared to the pain she’s going through right now. I can handle it. I can take it for her. I don’t have a choice.
Her body tightens with another contraction. Kenna grimaces with determination, and Aviva groans in pain when Kenna guides our daughter’s shoulders into the world. “Push, now!”
I can readily admit that I’m obsessed with my mate. I love her more every day. It shouldn’t be possible, honestly. She shouldn’t be possible. Someone so strong, so perfect, so meant for me.
Watching Aviva bring our daughter into the world, both of them screaming…
It’s the greatest moment of my life.
Kenna grunts under the weight of the baby slipping into her waiting arms, then holds her up for Aviva to see, smiling broadly in triumph.
Aviva shudders a gasp, leaning back as her body trembles from exertion.
I watch as our daughter is quickly dried and laid on Aviva’s chest. She doesn’t feel Kenna working between her knees, murmuring soft commands about her recovery. Our focus is on the baby blinking up at us–wrinkly and perfectly pink.
“Oh, my Goddess,” I whisper, cupping the baby’s head. I smooth my thumb through her fine, golden-red hair.
Aviva’s beyond words. Tears spill down her cheeks as she presses kisses to the baby’s forehead, whispering gentle blessings in the old Firestone tongue against her skin.
I’m in actual shock. My hand shakes as I stroke the baby’s head. She lifts a tiny fist and catches one of my fingers, gripping it.
“Look at you, little one,” I breathe in awe. “So strong already.”
Aviva giggles, tears still streaming down her cheeks. I look at my beautiful, tough, brave mate and kiss her tenderly, ignoring the activity in the room around us.
Eventually, Kenna comes to take the baby to weigh her and check her vitals. I help the nurses tend to Aviva–getting her changed in a soft recovery gown, fluffing her pillows and sitting her up in the bed. Kenna returns with the baby a few minutes later, having expertly swaddled her. “Newborns are very sleepy, just so you know. You should try to let her root around on your chest for a while. She’ll be hungry and already knows exactly what to do,” she says to Aviva, laying the baby in her arms. “I’ll have some food sent down from the castle kitchen for you and Ryan.”
“Thank you,” Aviva whispers. She’s still in shock. I think, deep down, part of her didn’t believe she’d make it through this.
But I always knew. She’s the most capable woman I’ve ever met.
Kenna smiles at us, saying in parting, “She wins biggest baby on the floor today. Eleven pounds. That’s significant, Aviva.”
Kenna leaves, and we’re alone. Aviva looks up at me, shaking her head in disbelief. “Eleven pounds? Ryan–that’s insane!”
“She’ll be tall, I’m sure,” I murmur, wincing a bit as I look down at them. Aviva is a small woman, especially in the height department. This pregnancy took a toll on her body, and I can tell she’s exhausted right now. “You should rest.”
“I just want to look at her for a while,” she says softly, smoothing her finger over the baby’s cheek. She’s asleep, nestled against Aviva’s chest, making little suckling motions with her lips.
A month ago, Mercy and Jacob welcomed their son, Reuben, into the world. He was born without a hitch in Silverhide–a swift, nearly painless labor. Freya and Andrew had their son within a few days of Mercy’s delivery, a golden-haired boy they named Samuel.
Aviva patiently waited for her turn.
My wife pats the bed. “Come sit with us.”
“There’s barely any room and you need–”
“Come here,” she coaxes, sensing my hesitation. “I want you to hold her, Ryan.”
I climb onto the bed and sit beside them, but my body locks up the second Aviva places our daughter in my arms for the first time.
Even for eleven pounds, which I think is probably very big for a newborn, she’s… tiny. She looks up at me, surprised, before slumping into sleep again with a soft sigh.
“She looks like you,” I say to Aviva, my eyes watering.
“I think she’ll have your eyes,” she replies, resting her head on my shoulder. “What are we going to name her?”
“I have no idea. She’ll be stuck with it forever.” We had a list, but over the past weeks, waiting for her arrival, we crossed out every single name. Juniper was a front runner for a while, then Thea, then Penelope. Aviva loved the name Zaila, which is a common name for women in the tribal packs, but it just didn’t settle with me. I liked the name Chloe, but again, we’d come to an impasse.
“Lexa,” I say.
Aviva looks up at me, smiling. “Lexa?”
“There’s a little girl in Teshka named Lexa. I heard it during the festival last year. What does the name mean?”
“It’s uh–It’s Firestone, the old tongue. It means the dawn after a storm.”
We look down at our daughter then at each other. I’m not sure why the name popped into my head, but I… like it. I think Aviva does, too.
“We can call her Lex for short. It’s cute and not too frilly.”
“I like it. I think that’s her name.”
“We’ll sleep on it and decide tomorrow.”
A few hours later, Aviva’s moved to our private suite in the castle to rest and recover. I watch her sleep soundly against the patter of rain hitting the windows, unable to stop looking at her. I’m not sure what I did for the Goddess to give me the blessing of Aviva, but I’m grateful for it. When Lexa begins to whimper, trying to burst out of her swaddle, I decide to give my mate some peace and quiet and visit the family members desperately waiting to meet her.