by Anna Carven
Abbey
I’m floating in and out of consciousness, doped up on something called Neuranol, which Nick has injected into an intravenous drip. It’s not an anesthesia, but it’s the next best thing. Lorelei has set up makeshift drapes all around me, and I’m hooked up to various monitors. One of them shows my baby.
She’s gone completely still.
“Hurry up,” I slur, as Lorelei prepares her equipment. “Get her out of there.”
Please be alive, my precious little darling.
The doctor meets my gaze, her face hidden behind a surgical mask. “I’m going to go ahead and make the incision now. There will be pain. You need to hold on.”
I clench my teeth and nod, bracing for it.
This is about to get messy.
“Here we go.” Lorelei fires up the laser scalpel. The next thing I know, searing pain is cutting through the Neuranol fog.
I scream.
The pain is worse than anything I’ve experienced before, even worse than when I was lying mangled on the floor in Fortuna Tau with my legs smashed to bits.
I close my eyes as Nick gives me a thick wad of gauze to bite on.
That’s when the music comes back, filling my mind with sweet relief. It’s that same piano music; ancient and ethereal. It takes me into its comforting embrace.
A tear slips down my cheek.
Tarak, I need you.
There’s pressure now, along with the pain. A tearing sensation rips through my lower belly.
I clamp my teeth around the wad of fabric.
That’s when all hell breaks loose.
The pressure becomes worse and worse, the pain almost unbearable. I scream into the gauze, and just when I think I’m about to pass out, there’s a popping sensation, and something breaks free.
“She’s out,” Lorelei cries. “Nick, get over here. Bring the resus kit.”
The medical people rush about, taking my baby away from me. I look around wildly, but I can’t see what they’re doing. I haven’t heard a cry yet.
Please, sweet baby girl, please survive.
That’s when the doors slide open and death walks into the room.
I turn my head, my consciousness fading. I can’t move. I open my mouth to speak, and everything slows down.
Tarak is here.
I don’t know how this is possible, but I can feel his presence. His anger seethes like a malevolent vortex; a black hole of rage and despair. He’s covered in glistening blood. He’s a dark, terrifying nightmare, his obsidian exo-armor concealing his features.
He raises his twin blades, turning towards Lorelei and Nick, going for the killing stroke.
I cry out, but nothing comes out of my mouth. I try again, summoning all of my willpower to produce two simple words.
“Tarak, no!”
He moves forward. Death is inevitable.
Time slows to a halt.
Then, something pure and sweet and miraculous breaks the terrible spell.
The baby cries. And cries again.
Tears are sliding down my cheeks.
And as quickly as it came, that terrible, oppressive feeling is gone, sucked back into the depths of hell, and once again I can breathe.
But I’m fading.
The baby cries again, the sound lusty and strong, and a wonderful sense of relief washes over me.
She’s alive.
Slowly, Tarak turns, his helm peeling back from his face. He takes one look at me, then turns to his child, his expression a tortured mixture of grief and anger and wonder and fury.
But that terrible, pervading killing aura is gone.
He lowers his swords.
Lorelei is holding my baby, her gloved hands covered in blood. Most of the blood is mine. My head begins to swim.
Slowly, wordlessly, she walks over to me and lowers the child onto my chest. Tarak appears at my side, his warm, ungloved hands touching my face, threading through my hair as he reaches over and cradles our child.
His dark red eyes are a complex swirl of emotions, but one thing surfaces above all others.
Love.
I return it with all my heart, basking in his warmth as I see my child for the first time. She’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.
She’s alive.
And I’m dying. I close my eyes, and everything turns to black.
Distant shouting is all I hear. The music is gone. I don’t question it anymore. I just accept it and embrace it.
My baby is soft and warm against my skin, and oh, so tiny.
Tarak’s hands are warm as they stroke my hair.
“Stay with me,” he whispers, as I slip away. “Please stay with me, my love.”
Tarak
She’s dying. There is blood all around, and her eyes have closed. Her skin is pale, and her lips are turning blue.
“Do something!” I roar, turning to the Humans, who are staring at us in shock. “I will not allow her to die!”
They spring into action, grabbing equipment, hooking her up to a bag of blood.
My child; our child is curling up to her mother, searching for a response, but Abbey is cold and still and for the first time in my life, I am helpless and terrified.
I grasp her small, pale hand. She is so cold.
She is slipping away from me as we speak.
With one arm, I take my baby daughter against my chest, cradling her there as I hold her mother’s hand.
A sudden sound makes me turn.
Zyara stands in the doorway, dressed in a waterproof skinsuit, an oxygen concentrator strapped to her back. There’s a bloodied dagger in her hand, and her lavender hair is wet and disheveled. Her chest is heaving from exertion. She doesn’t waste time, rushing to Abbey’s side, placing her hand on her forehead, checking the pulse at her neck, looking across at the Humans and the blood-soaked mess below.
They are applying something to her lower abdomen, trying to stem the bleeding.
“That’s not going to work,” Zyara whispers in Kordolian. “She needs a miracle.”
“What needs to be done?” I ask, as the little one nestles into me, making soft, mewling infant sounds.
Zyara’s expression is grim. “She needs a nanograft, right now.” The look she gives me is loaded with meaning.
“You’re not suggesting…” My heart grows heavy. “The virus will kill her.”
“She’s on the precipice of death. Those Humans can’t save her. It is the only possible chance she has of survival. You must take the risk, or lose her forever.”
I look down at my child. She stares back at me with a pure violet gaze. Her skin is light silver; a perfect blend of mine and Abbey’s. Her hair is pale like mine, but in everything else, she resembles her mother.
She is a true child of the stars.
With one tiny hand, she reaches for Abbey.
A strangled cry of desperation escapes me as I hand the child to Zyara. “Hold her,” I say.
The medic takes my child in her hands, holding her reverently as I stride over to Abbey’s side. The Human called Asher is yelling at her assistant in their language, and they are pressing something into Abbey’s wounded flesh.
Blood is everywhere.
“Move,” I snarl, pushing them out of the way. The Humans look up at me in disbelief.
“We need to resus her,” the medic protests. “I’m not getting a heartbeat. Let us do our job, or she will die.”
I trust my combat field medic over these Humans. Zyara has pulled countless lives from the brink of death. If she says my mate needs a nanograft to survive, then she needs a nanograft.
“Get your hands off her,” I growl, my glare promising swift death to any who gets in my way. I stand over my mate, baring my forearm. I pull my dagger from its sheath and slash across my inner arm. The nanites react, starting to draw the flesh together as soon as it has been cut. I slice my flesh again, deeper this time, going for the thick artery in the crook of my arm.
Finally, I start to bleed
. The black liquid runs down my arm, dripping from my fingers. I press my hand against her wounded belly. There’s so much blood surrounding her; I didn’t think it was possible for my tiny mate to hold so much blood in her body.
The fact that she’s lost this much sends a chill through me.
The nanites swarm into her torn flesh, drawn to the wound. They are programmed to recognize tissue injury and inflammation and instantly repair it.
I watch them knit together muscle and blood vessels and skin.
So far, it’s working. I pray to the Goddess that the virus that makes these particles semi-sentient will not turn on her and kill her.
I reach out and place a hand on her cold forehead, trying to will some of my strength into her. Zyara appears at my side, with my child now swaddled in white cloth.
She places the child at Abbey’s breast, and I curl my other arm around my daughter, breathing in her pure scent, surrounding her with my warmth. I kneel, placing my ear against Abbey’s chest, listening for any trace of life.
She walks the precipice between life and the cold void of death.
I turn my head and look into my child’s eyes. Her luminous gaze captures me, throwing out tiny hooks that enter my heart.
This tiny creature owns me, just as her mother owns me; in mind, body and soul.
I can’t afford to lose Abbey now.
Please live, amina.
My universe is falling away. Nothing else matters. I need these two precious females as much as I need the air that I breathe.
The little one, ami, is watching me quietly, as if she knows some profound truth. With my head on Abbey’s chest, I stare at my baby.
She is exquisite.
I am full of joy, yet at the same time, despair grips me. My child must know the love of her mother. For once in its wretched existence, the symbiotic black curse that dwells in my veins must do some good.
I place my hand on my daughter’s tiny head and close my eyes.
For a while, there’s nothing but silence.
Then, I hear it. At first, it’s so faint that I think I’m imagining things.
I hear it again.
Thudthud.
It’s the beat of my mate’s fragile Human heart.
It’s rapid and fluttering at first, but then it steadies, becoming strong and regular. I stand, picking up Ami and holding her to my chest as I put my hand on Abbey’s cheek, caressing her soft, delicate skin with my thumb, hoping against hope.
Then, she takes a huge, gasping breath, and it’s the sweetest sound I have ever heard.
Her eyes flutter open, and I find myself staring into depthless swirls of green and brown.
My universe shifts, and everything becomes right again.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Abbey
At first, everything’s blurry. I feel as if I’m floating on a cloud. My memory is hazy. There’s a dull ache in my lower belly. I can barely move. Where am I? What am I doing here?
Then, the face of my mate snaps into focus.
The color has drained from his face, turning his skin a pale shade of grey. His eyes are wide and dark, more black than red, even though the lights all around us are bright. Worry is etched into his hard features, but as our eyes meet, his expression softens.
He’s kneeling beside me, holding something in the crook of his arm. It’s a tiny bundle, and as he leans in, it moves.
“She is yours,” he whispers, gently unwrapping the cloths that bind her and placing her on my chest. She’s warm, and she wriggles against me. I motion to Tarak to bring me some pillows so I can prop myself up.
A pleasant shiver courses through me.
My arms feel like lead, but that doesn’t stop me from tugging down the top half of my gown. The reaction is instinctive and automatic. I need to feel her bare skin against mine. I haven’t seen her properly yet, but that doesn’t matter. Touch is enough. She is small and soft and she feels perfect. She sounds perfect, emitting soft little baby sounds. She moves around, exploring me, getting to know my feel and my smell.
As Tarak covers us with the swaddling cloths, her mouth finds my nipple. She latches on and begins to suckle.
Holy moly; is she breastfeeding? Am I even ready for this? I’d noticed a small amount of what I’d assumed was colostrum leaking from my nipples over the past week, but I hadn’t planned for all of this to happen so soon.
“You’re early, Little Monster,” I whisper, as I gently press my hand against her tiny back. I look up to see Tarak watching us. He wears an expression of fierce pride.
I open my mouth to say something, but he leans in and captures my mouth with his, running his hands through my hair, kissing me again and again, moving up to kiss my forehead, my cheeks, whispering sweet, unintelligible Kordolian things in my ear.
“I thought I had lost you,” he says softly.
I shake my head slowly, wordlessly, bringing my other hand up to his cheek. “I knew you would come.”
“Always.” His voice is tinged with regret and anger. “I am sorry, my love. This is all my fault. I was careless.”
“Don’t be silly.”
He opens his mouth to protest, but I put a finger to his lips, silencing him. “Now is not the time for you to go on a broody male guilt-trip over things that are totally not your fault.”
“But-”
“No buts,” I growl, as my baby’s suckling grows weaker, then stops. She lets out a happy little gurgling newborn sound, before promptly falling asleep. “You’re not responsible for everything that goes wrong in the Universe, General.”
“Hm.” His gaze keeps drifting towards our little one. “I will reap vengeance on any who have dared to lay a finger on you.”
“No more killing,” I say hastily, as the shadow of death crosses his face.
The sound of soft voices draws my attention, and I look beyond Tarak to see Zyara squaring off with Lorelei and her assistant. Zyara is blocking the doorway, looking every inch the fierce Kordolian as she brandishes a mean looking Callidum dagger. Her damp hair is plastered against her skull, and she’s wearing a black wetsuit type outfit.
It’s as if she’s a different person. The calm, unflappable medic has turned into a warrior.
Tarak turns and pins the Humans under his gaze, singling out Lorelei. “You are responsible for this, Human?” His voice is soft and full of menace.
I curl my fingers around his wrist. “Tarak, no.”
“They harmed you,” he says, his tone low and dangerous.
“They saved our child. Their actions were stupid and misguided, but they saved our child. I don’t want her first moments to be clouded by death and suffering. Please.”
He’s silent for a moment, his face hard like stone. But as he looks back at me and the little one, his features soften.
He remains like that for what seems like ages, contemplating us with incredible tenderness, before rising to his feet. As he leaves my side, he brushes his fingers against mine.
Lorelei and Nick are standing warily in the corner. Tarak nods at Zyara. “Go and check on my females,” he orders. The good doctor nods, sheathing her dagger.
He moves across the room, looming over the two Humans like a dark, towering thundercloud.
“Tarak,” I warn. My voice comes out sounding weak and croaky as exhaustion finally overtakes me.
Zyara appears at my side, a pair of sterile gloves on her hands. She starts to check me and the baby in turn, making soft cooing sounds as the little one yawns, her delicate face a picture of contentment.
“You’re both remarkably fine,” Zyara whispers. “She’s a little bit premature, so she has some growing to do, but she’s healthy. And for some reason, the nano-virus hasn’t attacked your system.”
I have no idea what that last bit means, but it sounds like good news, so I’m happy.
With bub snuggled up against me, I’m very happy.
“You are fortunate that my mate is merciful and kind, because I am none of those things
.” Tarak’s deep voice interrupts us. “Understand that she has saved your lives today, even though you imprisoned her. Now get out of my sight, before I lose patience and change my mind.”
Lorelei awkwardly moves across to the exit, catching my eye. Her scrubs are stained with drying blood. My blood.
We exchange a look. She’s obviously shaken. Her eyes are slightly wide, and her too-perfect hair and make-up have been messed up.
I don’t really understand what the hell these SynCorp people are trying to achieve through their experiments, and the look on Lorelei’s face tells me she’s not exactly one-hundred-percent repentant, but to her credit, she did save my baby.
I return her stare with a little shrug, as if to say I-told-you-so. I did warn her about what she was getting into.
She’s really lucky to be getting out of here alive. Being in daddy-mode has just softened Tarak’s anger. I shudder to think of what might have happened if his precious little girl hadn’t arrived.
He hovers back to my side, wary and watchful and protective, fussing with the blanket, brushing hair out of my eyes, stroking the white, downy hair of our baby, stroking me all over, murmuring soft Kordolian nothings to us.
“She is Ami,” he tells me. “In Aikun language, it means ‘little loved one’.”
“That’s a beautiful name,” I reply, my fingers twining with his as we both stroke her head gently.
“It’s not her name; it’s just a term of endearment. Similar to how I call you amina.”
“It’s her name,” I insist. “It fits her.”
“Ami,” he says slowly, the name rolling off his tongue, his eyes widening in realization.
“Ami,” I agree.
It’s funny how these things sometimes fall into place so naturally.
That’s when I look down at the floor and see water. “Ta-rak,” I say, trepidation creeping into my voice. “Why is it flooding in here?”
The Kordolian swear-words that pour out of him sound so vicious that I instinctively cover Ami’s ears.
Tarak
“Jeral, Nythian, I need a status report, now.” I open up the neuro-comm, speaking in Kordolian as a thin film of water covers the floor.