Logan
Several Months Later
Moonrise is washed in rain as I pace the upper hallways of the grand palace. My muscles are impossibly tight as moans echo toward me and away again. I pace in the opposite direction of the cries of agony that cut me to the core.
It’s been like this for hours now. We’d arrived in Moonrise last night with plans to visit for a few days before leaving for Veiled Valley for the next month or so, returning to Emberfyll in time for the birth of our child with time to spare, but things went awry.
A nurse–a witch–rushes in my direction, her face pale and washed in concern. “Alpha King Logan? It’s time.”
“Is she all right?”
“She’s okay,” she lies, her eyes giving away her worry.
I brush past her, the hallway blurring as my vision hones in on the door behind which my mate is writhing, begging for relief, but also more time.
Our son is months early. Eight weeks early, to be exact. The witches have been trying to stop the labor for hours, but Brie’s in so much pain, and the baby is coming whether she’s ready or not.
I step back into the room preparing for the worst, and the sight of Brie–pale and sweating on the bed–is my undoing.
I’d been asked an hour ago to leave the room because I was being… I wasn’t being very nice to the nurses and midwives trying to tend to her. To put it plainly, I’d threatened to kill all of them, feeling the same kind of gut-wrenching, overwhelming emotional pain Brie was going through like it was my own, and they were hurting her. I removed myself from the room before I did anything I’d regret later.
“Logan,” she whimpers as I kneel by her side. Her hand shakes as it wraps around mine. “It’s too early. He’s coming too early.”
“I know,” I breathe, fear mingling with the emotional distress threatening to split me into pieces. I’ve never felt as… worthless as I do right now. I can’t help her. I can’t stop the pain. I can’t stop our son from making his early entrance into the world.
“We wanted him to be born in Emberfyll,” she whispers painfully, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks.
“It doesn’t matter. He’ll be born here, like you were.”
“I’m scared.”
“I am too,” I admit, brushing her sweat-damp hair away from her face.
The door opens with a jerk, and several people rush inside. Misty’s pale gold hair comes into view as she reaches up, placing a hand on Brie’s thigh. “We’re here now, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be fine.” She looks at one of the nurses as Cole, her mate, and a physician in Crescent Falls, enters the room and takes stock of the situation, but hangs back in the doorway. I meet his eyes, and he gives me a short, knowing nod and smile, but his eyes are dark as Misty says, “Is Kenna still conferring with the other midwives downstairs, in the infirmary?”
The nurse nods.
Misty licks her lips, her eyes distant as she smooths a hand over Brie’s stomach, leaving a trail of glimmering blueish white power behind. “Everything’s going to be fine, Brie. He’ll be okay. You both will.”
Brie shakes her head and cries out as another contraction rips through her. They’re so intense. Her body bows and trembles as she rides through it, and all I can do is watch, praying that it ends soon.
Cole says, “Everyone needs to leave, except for you and you,” he points at the lead midwife and her assistant as he steps into the room.
Everyone obeys, and soon the air feels less stuffy, and the chaos that’d been brewing starts to lessen, but I’m still on edge.
He leans in to whisper something to Misty, who nods, her eyes locked on Brie’s face. Misty leaves in a hurry while Brie whimpers, shaking her head and pleading with Cole to stop the labor, but he gently lays a hand on her shoulder then mine.
I don’t know Cole all that well. I remember him from his time in Silverhide when I was child. I liked him then. He’s an easy-going man, easy to be friends with, but seeing him work as a doctor is like watching him put on a mask. His personality shifts, turning to steel.
“This baby is going to come–and soon. Within the next half hour,” he tells her, his eyes not leaving her face. “Misty is going to stay with you for the labor, heal you, and then she’s going to take him to be tended to. He’s going to be small, Brie.” He looks at me to make sure I’m listening. “He’s going to be very small, but he’s going to be fine. You probably don’t remember when Briar and Celeste were born, but they were also very early, and they’re okay. Sarah was okay. Your mother was born so early she shouldn’t have survived, but she did, and that was without the kind of help we have available here at the castle.” He hesitates before asking, “Do you want me to stay?”
She nods, sniffling.
“Do you want me to help your mother deliver him, or do you want me to stay here, by your side?”
“Help her.”
“Okay,” he says gently, nodding. He squeezes my shoulder. “Are you ready?”
I shake my head, but the tension my chest eases. The door opens, revealing Kenna and Misty.
I feel like I’m watching the scene from the corner of the room, watching myself clutching my mate while she cries through each increasing contraction, watching me pray to the Goddess, willing to give up everything for their safety and welfare.
Brie is… strong and fierce as she brings our son into the world with a roar that shatters the remaining walls I’ve built around my heart. And he’s… small. So small and quiet.
“Take him,” Cole rasps, his face cold and serious as he rises with my son in his arms and hands him to Misty, who wraps him in a warm blanket, her fingers glowing as her healing powers set to work.
Brie is exhausted, but she watches them leave the room with tears in her eyes before turning to look up at me. “Is he okay? Logan?”
“He’s okay,” I lie, and her lower lip trembles.
“Go–go with him. Please go with him!”
“Go,” Kenna echoes as she tends to her daughter. “She’s okay, Logan. I’ve got her. Your mate is okay.”
My vision blurs as I press a kiss to Brie’s forehead, murmuring something akin to a prayer of thanks that comes out as a garbled, “I fucking love you, Brie. You’re amazing.” I tear myself from the room before I lose my nerve, chasing Misty down a staircase while she rushes to the infirmary.
Her face is pale and set in determination. Neither of us speak until we reach the sweeping, high-tech hospital–even for Moonrise, which keeps to their traditional, magic ways when it comes to healing. We’re within the lower levels of the castle. It’s the only area with public access, situated along the backside of the palace. It’s not ornate. There’s no glint of gold in the marble walls here. It’s sterile, and thankfully, quiet.
Misty rushes us around a corner, and that quiet stillness snaps. Activity erupts as Misty hands my son to an unfamiliar witch who tenderly carries him to a little crib with warming lights all around it and places him inside.
Misty holds my hand and squeezes as we watch the nurses tend to the baby.
“We named him Kieran,” I say, not sure if the words left my tongue.
“That’s a beautiful name. A strong name, for a strong boy.”
“It was the traveling,” I whisper. “I knew it was a bad idea.”
“Addy came early, too. Not this early, but still. Some babies are just ready. It’s not your fault, nor hers.”
We watch the nurses flutter around the baby for what feels like an eternity, but Kieran is… he’s fine. He starts to whimper, writhing in the blanket, his tiny fist poking through the folds of fabric, trying to grasp thin air.
My feet move on impulse, cutting through the group of nurses working quietly, taking his vitals, scanning screens and taking notes. I reach into the crib, smoothing my hand over his light brown hair–which he has so much of already. He blinks, wrinkling his nose as he whimpers, his eyes open to slits. It’ll be a while before we know for sure what color of eyes he has, but I hope they’re Brie’s eyes. I hope he takes after her in every way. I feel on the verge of tears all of the sudden. I hate that they’re separated, that she didn’t even have a chance to hold him.
“Cry,” I command. “Clear your lungs. Let us hear you.”
He gurgles a soft cry before it erupts, loud and clear as a bell, the same bells ringing through Moonrise to announce the birth of a new royal–the first of his generation.
A prince.
I could fall to my knees right now in thanks.
Eventually, I’m given a chair. A nurse unbuttons my shirt, pulling the fabric to the side before placing Kieran against my bare chest. I sit there with him, absently rocking, my eyes locked on the far side of the room. I’m not sure how long this goes on, but people filter in and out. Misty leaves then returns to check on me some time later, but doesn’t say a word. Nurses move around us, checking Kieran, asking if I need anything, but my mind is on Brie, levels above us, alone without her mate and child.
“He’ll stay here for a while,” Kenna says. I don’t remember her even coming into the room. Her voice is hazy and distant as she explains, “Until he gains a little bit of weight and his color gets better. A few weeks, at least. It could be less. It really just depends on him.”
A shadow passes over me. I ignore it, still locked on the far wall as my mind wonders, but Ryatt smooths his hand over Kieran’s head, his thumb brushes over the baby’s cheek, then higher, over his ear, where he stops and drops his hand.
“What is that?” Ryatt asks, and Kenna moves to his side, officially breaking me from the trance I’ve been stuck in for well over an hour.
“What is what?” I mumble, having to clear my throat between the words.
Kieran winces when Ryatt smooths his thumb over his ear again, letting out a soft, breathy whine.
I look up at them–father and daughter… Great-Grandfather, and Grandmother of my son–and notice the lines of concern and confusion casting shadow’s across their faces.
I look down at the baby and notice his pointed ears.
“What is that?” Ryatt asks again with unease wrapping through every syllable.
Kenna’s at a loss for words for a moment before saying, “I’ve never seen that before.”
“It’s nothing,” I tell them testily. “He’s not deformed, if that’s what you’re getting at.” I shift my position to try to ease the knot in my back. “It’s uncommon, but some people in Emberfyll are born with it–” Ryatt grabs my ear, pinching along the faded, hairline scar on the back of my ears. I yank of his grasp, glaring up at him. “It’s also common to have an infant's ears shaved down.”
“What the fuck,” Ryatt rasps, “Why–”
“I don’t know. I never thought that deeply into it. I haven’t thought about that custom until now.”
But Ryatt looks at Kenna, and Kenna looks at me. “Do you have powers, Logan?”
“No,” I answer without hesitation.
“Are you positive?” he asks.
“I’m sure. You had me tested as a child, Ryatt, if you care to remember. Now please, I need to focus on him, my son. My wife.” I look at Kenna. “Is she all right?”
“She’s going to come down soon. Cole wants her to rest for a bit, but she’s–she’s dying to meet him.”
I’m still watching Ryatt’s face, however, as he stares at me and my son. He looks uneasy and slightly confused, like he’s remembering something but can’t place it, can’t find a way to make the memory fit.
He turns abruptly on his heel, asking a nurse if she’s seen Misty.
I exhale, watching him go, feeling a ripple of unease pass through me before Kenna places her hand on my shoulder. “Happy birthday, Kieran,” she whispers with tears in her eyes as she strokes her knuckle across his perfect cheek.