And suddenly, in that moment, it didn’t matter anymore.
What he had done. That it was so wrong.
Here, inside of me, we were making a new beginning. A new future.
From that moment forward, this was what mattered.
Our little family.
“We’re going to have a family, Cyrus,” I breathed. And for the first time in so long, happiness rushed through me. I smiled. A breathy laugh came through my lips. “We’re…we’re going to have a family.”
Tears filled Cyrus eyes. But joy, real joy spread on his face.
It was a mirrored motion as we each reached for one another. We both held on tightly in an embrace. And in the moment, everything was right once more.
There in my husband’s arms, I felt it again.
How much I loved him.
How I’d walked away from everything to start this life with him.
It had taken a turn for the dark.
But here we were.
Together.
* * *
We lived like animals for months.
The woods were our protection. Out in the wild the scent of human blood did not drift our way. There was little temptation. We separated ourselves. We built a hut to protect ourselves, somewhere to get away from the sun that burned our eyes.
When the burn became too much to handle, we took the day journey to the closest village.
Slowly, we began to learn control.
We could drink without taking it all.
We took only what we needed to survive.
But that meant leaving survivors. That meant witnesses.
So eventually, deeper and deeper into the forests we moved.
My belly grew. I could feel the tiny life growing within me. During the day as we hid from the sun, Cyrus would place his hand on my stomach. Quietly he would talk to the baby. We’d smile and laugh and plan for our future.
We knew we needed to get away. We needed to escape the country we had been born in and travel to somewhere far and remote.
But I was large with pregnancy. Even with my new abilities, my enhanced body, it felt dangerous and difficult.
“Cyrus,” I said one night. I reached over, searching for the warmth of him in the bed. “I need to feed.”
I rolled over, a difficult task. My belly was huge. The baby constantly squirmed, kicking against my insides.
It had to come any day now.
“Come, then,” Cyrus said. He helped me to my feet, and hand in hand, we stepped outside our hovel. Through the dark of the fall night, we stepped over branches and leaves.
“We’re going to need a name for the child,” I said as I walked beside my husband. His hand tightened around mine, steadying me, even though I had no trouble. “Have you thought about what we should call him or her?”
Cyrus looked over at me, and my heart swelled just a little.
A part of me would always hate Cyrus for what he did.
But I also knew he hated himself for it. He regretted it every second.
I had to recognize that he’d done it out of love.
I’d chosen this man. And looking into his face right now, I’d choose him again, a million times over.
“I think I need to see him first to know his name,” Cyrus said, giving my hand a squeeze.
“And what if it’s a daughter?” I teased him.
“Then I shall be the luckiest man in the world,” he said as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to my temple.
A sound in the woods whipped both of our heads back forward. Instantly, we both dropped into a crouch.
Flames flickered into view a long way ahead.
Voices floated to our ears.
Monsters. Demons. Soul eaters.
The words pierced through the night.
“Cyrus,” I whispered. “They’re coming for us.”
I’d spoken so quietly, but suddenly, the mob went quiet.
And then a bellow, and the sound of pounding feet tromping through the trees.
“Run!” Cyrus yelled. Instantly, his hand wrapped around mine, and through the dark, we ran once again.
Chapter 25
I pressed a hand over my mouth, stifling the scream. I stalled in the middle of the road, hunched over in pain. My stomach contracted, all of my insides screaming under the pressure.
“Just a few more steps, my love,” Cyrus promised, looking up and down the street in panic and fear. “Come, we just have to get inside.”
We’d run for our lives. For hours we’d dashed through the woods.
The contractions had started. Only one every so often.
But long before the scent of humans hinted in the air they took control of me, coming every few minutes.
Finally, there was a town. Small homes and the village opened up.
I could barely move as we dashed through the streets, searching, looking for anywhere safe.
Cyrus aimed us for a seamstress shop, dark and empty.
I couldn’t even stand straight as the contractions came after me, one on top of the other. Cyrus scooped me into his arms, carrying me to the door, and breaking the wood as he shoved it open.
A cry finally ripped from my lips as the pain grew to be too much. Cyrus laid me on the floor, among a pile of fabrics. He closed the door, pressing some of the strips into the cracks to seal in the noise.
I swore I was going to die. The baby was going to die.
Surely neither of us could survive so much pain.
“The head is crowning,” Cyrus said as he pulled up my dress and looked.
I reached out, gripping his hand hard. And I told myself that everything was going to be okay.
We were here, together.
Cyrus was the father.
And he had helped women deliver babies before.
“It’s time to push now, Sevan,” he said. And I knew this time was different, because there was fear in his eyes.
But I just screamed, gritting my teeth together.
And I pushed.
I pushed.
I squeezed my husband’s hand with everything I had.
And I pushed.
In a sudden rush of relief, the baby was out, sliding into Cyrus’ arms.
So happy. Cyrus’ face was so happy. He let out a startled, happy little laugh as he wrapped the child in the cloth that surrounded us.
“A boy,” he said with the world’s biggest smile. “It’s a boy.”
I smiled and I cried. Cyrus crawled up to my side, gently placing our son in my arms.
Little pink cheeks and little pink hands. Perfect lips and tiny toes.
“He’s beautiful,” I breathed pressing my lips into the wet mess of his dark hair.
Cyrus cried. Happy tears. He wrapped his arms around the both of us, pressing his lips into my hair.
“I love you so much, Sevan,” he said quietly.
“Family,” I breathed, rocking all of us gently.
We were a family.
Chapter 26
We fled. With a newborn son, no possessions whatsoever, and nothing at all to our names, we fled.
Across the country. We took a boat for several days. We stole a wagon and a horse.
They were very long days and nights.
Our son grew ill and recovered. We had no choice but to steal the food we needed. We snuck into places to escape the light of day.
We were much more diligent in being careful when we needed to feed.
But we never felt safe. So we kept moving.
But winter arrived, and with no home, surely our son would die.
He cried. He’d been crying for hours and neither of us could provide the warmth to warm him enough.
We crested the small hill, and before us stretched a lake. Partially frozen over, but glittering and beautiful in the sunlight.
Beyond it, the shape of a village rose. But it was dark. Crumbled. Piles of rubble and ash.
And there, rising high above the abandoned village, great stone spires rose from the side of the mountain.
It was silent. So quiet. So still.
“There,” Cyrus said, pointing to the long forgotten castle. “We will go there.”
With a shiver, I tucked our son more tightly into my cloak, and we stepped forward.
I felt it then.
Peace. A sense of safety.
Home.
I felt it.
We were finally home.
* * *
We were happy.
Me. Cyrus. Our son.