by Keary Taylor
Lexington is here. His expression reflects agony, terror—but relief.
My eyes trail over him, searching to signs of damage. There aren’t any, but there’s a hint of dried blood under his jaw, smeared, like he tried to wipe it away and missed the spot.
There are drops of it splashed all over his blue t-shirt, but he tried to hide it beneath a long-sleeved black button up shirt.
There is dried blood on the backs of his knuckles.
I look around.
In a hospital.
I’m in a hospital room.
My hands instantly fly to my stomach, and to my relief, it’s still huge and rounded.
Too many emotions are trying to rip through me at the same time. Adrenaline. Fear. Relief. Anger.
A breath rips from my chest. And another as the tears spring to my eyes.
I drop back against my pillow, and the sobs rip from my chest.
My husband crawls into the bed, tucking himself into my side, holding me close, as all the terror and anger finally washes over me. Here at the end, when I know it’s finally, finally over.
Lexington’s hands cup my stomach, avoiding the strap around it, monitoring the baby’s heartbeat. He leans forward, pressing his lips to my skin, his eyes closed in reverence.
And the relief in me is tremendous.
Everyone always promised that Charles wouldn’t live to see this child born. But there was always that shred of doubt in me. And it grew bigger and bigger the longer it took to track him down.
I was afraid that maybe, just maybe, he’d somehow get his hands on her.
But he’s dead. I killed him. Michael killed him.
He’ll never see my daughter.
He’ll never have any influence over her.
I slide my fingers into Lexington’s hair. It’s extra wild, all over the place, pulled over and over throughout the stress of the day. And tears once more spring into my eyes.
He’s going to be a father. He’ll kiss this child’s cheeks. Cradle her in his arms. Rock her to sleep.
Lexington is the father.
He looks up at me, and I’m sure I’m going to crack, trying to hold in all this emotion racing through me.
He slides up, pressing a kiss to my lips, wrapping a hand behind my head.
“I was so scared, Elle,” he breathes against my lips. “I was so scared Charles was going to win, and I was going to lose you and the baby. I’m so sorry.”
His voice cracks with emotion.
My heart breaks for him.
For me.
For all the fear I just experienced.
“What happened?” I whisper.
He takes a shuttering breath and bites his lower lip for a moment.
This is hard for him.
Incredibly so.
He sits back in his chair beside the bed.
“While you were changing, about thirty people stormed into the building,” he begins. “It was crazy. Like, like army ants, just swarming out of the stairs and the elevator. They must have been watching us. Following us.”
He takes my hand in his, holding it up against his mouth, speaking with his lips brushing my skin. “Cyrus and I were overwhelmed. They dragged us out of there. Took Dr. Dahl. Just as they hauled us to this van, I saw Charles.”
The breath catches in his throat. He looks down at the floor, pressing our hands against his forehead. He’s trembling.
“He just gave me that smile of his,” Lexington says through gritted teeth. “And then he slipped in the door. I’ve never been more terrified than I was in that moment, Elle.”
“Was he working with Jonathan?” I ask breathily.
Lexington shakes his head and looks back up. “I don’t believe so. But I’m certain he’s been monitoring the situation, and he took advantage. He knew he could work the timing of it, let Jonathan distract us, and wait for just the right moment.”
I nod.
That sounds like him. Never one to get his hands dirty, always one to wait for the right moment to strike.
“Jonathan’s people hauled us back to the House of Martials,” Lexington moves on. “I got word to those who were following us to the delivery site. They’d been attacked already. So the House… Smith and Valentina were the only ones there.”
He stops talking, for a long moment. His blue eyes stare vacantly at a blank space of wall. And I know before he even says it.
“The mob killed them.” He grips my hand a little tighter. He sits a little straighter. “They must have gotten word out to the rest of the House though, because just then, everyone was back. About fifty humans, Jonathan included, against twelve Born.”
I shake my head, because I know the outcome of that battle.
“I don’t know what Jonathan was thinking,” Lexington says, snapping out of his trance, looking back at me. “He’d been a Bitten. He’d seen Born in action. I don’t know how he thought they stood a chance in taking the House out.”
I swallow. I try not to picture all the bodies. All the blood. But I can too easily imagine it. Because I’ve walked across a battlefield before, a much bigger, much more devastating one.
“Are you sure Jonathan was there?” I ask quietly. “Is it really over?”
Lexington nods. “After it was all over, Duncan texted a picture of him to Kai. He confirmed it really was Jonathan this time.”
A breath of relief escapes my lips, and I nod my head as I look up at the ceiling.
This just further shows the true power of vampires. Those humans, those cured Bitten tried to create a change in the world. They weren’t few in number.
But in just a matter of minutes, the Born crushed them. Easily.
Very little good can be said about King Cyrus. But this… It reminds me that he has done the greatest thing he can in controlling his creations. He has instilled the value of secrecy in every one of them. And it’s the only thing that has saved the world from being taken over by Born. Because they all too easily could if they ever tried—like Cyrus’ son did.
This little revolt has been squashed.
Put out before it ever got any real traction.
It’s over.
The door suddenly opens, and a doctor wearing a white lab coat steps inside, holding a clipboard.
“Glad to see you awake, Mrs. Dawes,” he says, giving me a cheerful smile. He stops at the foot of the bed. “You gave us all quite the scare. Though nothing like the scare I’m sure you suffered.”
I try to mask my confusion, but I don’t think I do it very well.
“Next time wait for me to come home before you try rearranging the master bedroom furniture,” Lexington immediately comes up with the lie. “And I promise we’ll get a new security system. The next low life looking for drug money will think twice before walking in and giving you such a scare.”
Lies. Lies. Lies.
Ones that add up.
Physical stress. Emotional stress. Enough to put me into labor.
“Your blood pressure went sky high,” the doctor begins explaining. “This put stress on the baby, and made your body think it needed to go into labor to give the baby the best chance of surviving.”
“Is she okay now?” I ask with shaking hands.
“She’s just fine,” the doctor says with a smile. “Though I really do need you to take it easy. I want you on bed rest for the next three days. No more than eight hours of activity a day after that for three weeks. You can meet with Dr. Dahl after that to determine what is needed through the rest of the pregnancy.”
I look to Lexington, and I doubt I’m masking my shock very well.
For some reason, I assumed she was dead.
He gives me a little nod, and the look in his eyes makes me think she probably didn’t make it out completely unscathed, but she is, in fact, alive.
“We would like to monitor you overnight, just to make sure you don’t start having any more contractions,” the doctor continues, ignoring my strange reaction. “But I believe you’ll be fine to
go home in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Lexington says, shaking the doctor’s hand before he exits the room.
The door still open, a knock sounds from it. I look over to see Ian, Alivia and Michael.
“Hi,” I breathe, utterly happy to see the three of them.
Tears immediately streak down Alivia’s face. She’s instantly at my side, hugging me gently to her. Ian stops at my side, taking my hand in his. Michael just stands back a little bit, crossing his arms over his chest, giving me this proud smile.
“I’m so glad y’all are okay,” I say, so relieved that what I did didn’t lead to me losing them.
Lexington suddenly laughs. It grows, and I look over at him in confusion.
“You said ‘y’all’,” he laughs, beaming at me. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to my temple. “You can take the girl out of the South, but you can’t take the South out of the girl.”
He laughs, and so does Ian, and so does Alivia.
And so do I.
And I know everything is going to be okay.
Lexington has to hold a hand out for me and pull me from the car. With this giant belly, it’s hard to do anything these days.
I balance myself as I get to my feet, and hand in hand, we follow Cyrus and Fredrick across the concrete to the side of the waiting jet.
The silent assistant goes into the belly of the jet without a word. The King stops at the bottom of the stairs, looking back at the two of us.
Just the two of us. No one else came to see the king off.
Everyone else was too scared or too smart.
Those from the House of Conrath returned home six days ago.
Those from the House of Martials are back home, or off doing their jobs.
“I hope this is goodbye,” Cyrus says, a little mischievous glint twinkling in his eye in the dark night. “For a good long while.”
I smile. “I’m sure this trip wasn’t quite what you expected it to be,” I say. “But thank you. For all your help. There would have been some very different outcomes if it weren’t for you.”
Cyrus smiles and looks from me to Lexington and back again. “Actually, this trip was nearly exactly what I expected. I never go into the territory of a House without anticipating some kind of dramatics.”
I shake my head, even as a chuckle huffs from my chest.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” Cyrus says, turning to Lexington, shaking his hand. “You’re a good man, Lexington Dawes. I don’t say that about individuals very often. But there is something inherently good about you. Take care of this little family of yours.”
“I promise,” Lexington says with a nod and a smile. His eyes are serious though, and I can tell he means it from his toes to the tips of his hair.
Cyrus turns back to me, and a little smile pulls on his lips. He lifts his arms and rests his hands on my shoulders, looking straight into my eyes.
“I can say without a doubt that you are my very favorite human, Elle Ward Dawes,” he says. And he’s not mocking. He’s dead serious. “I wish all other humans were like you. It’s a pity it was your brother who was Born, and not you.”
There it is. The little bitter jab I was anticipating.
“Thank you,” I say, instead of making a big deal of his last statement.
He gives a tiny nod of his head and takes a step back, releasing me. “I enjoyed colluding with you on the game. You’re quite the master secret keeper.” He gives a rueful smile, his eyes sliding over to my husband.
And Lexington looks over at me, confused. But I just shake my head. “I’ll explain later.”
Cyrus smiles once more. “Well, I suppose I shall see you again, in about eighteen years or so. Take care of that baby girl.”
My throat tightens, but I nod. Lexington and I step back, watching as Cyrus walks up those steps. When he reaches the top, he turns and winks, just as the stairs close up, sealing him inside.
“Eighteen years,” Lexington breathes. “That’s going to go by in a heart beat.”
I don’t say anything, and here is the stark difference between the Born and humans. To me, eighteen years sounds like an eternity.
My husband wraps an arm over my shoulders and I hug myself into his side, one hand on my thirty-two week pregnant stomach, as we watch the King of vampire’s private jet taxi onto the runway, and then take off, back to a land far, far away.
We’re both holding our breath, but neither realizes it. Praying that the door doesn’t squeak, Lexington reaches for the knob, twists, and pushes it open.
We both stare at her tiny face as we step into the nursery, in so much awe and shock that she’s finally, finally here.
Cradled in my arms, we carry the tiny babe into her very own room, finally home.
She sleeps peacefully, her squishy cheeks framing tiny, perfect lips. With Lexington right at my side, we cross the room, and ever so gently so as not to wake her, I lie her in the crib.
Aster Lu Dawes.
We both stare at the perfect, tiny baby, marveling at this little human.
At thirty-eight weeks, both the baby and I were perfectly healthy. At thirty-eight weeks, I was absolutely miserable. I was huge. Uncomfortable. My back was hurting so bad. I was ready to have her out.
We tried every trick in the book. Spicy food. Long walks. Sex. Red raspberry leaf tea. Anything to induce labor.
And miracle of miracles, at exactly the thirty-nine week mark, I woke Lexington up in the middle of the night when the contractions hit.
A frantic drive across the city to the hospital, a call to Dr. Dahl, and then four hours later, there she was, in my arms. Perfectly healthy. Perfectly perfect.
“She’s amazing,” Lexington says. He leans down, resting a hand and his chin on the crib rail, reaching out to curl her tiny hand around his finger.
“Yeah,” I say as tears spring into my eyes. “She is.”
We both stand there, surrounded by an amazingly stuffed nursery, filled to the brim with gifts from people who love her, but haven’t even met her yet. Her extended family. Her blood family. Those who will be eternally fated to her future immortal life.
But I don’t think about those things in that moment.
I study her little ears. I marvel at her button nose. I smile at her double chin. And I feel relief at her blonde hair.
Just like her mommy and daddy’s.
Nothing like Charles’.
“She looks just like you already,” Lexington says quietly. He leans into me, resting his head on my shoulder.
I nod my head, smiling.
My heart swells, taking in the little bracelet that still wraps around her tiny ankle. The hospital one with her brand-new given name.
Aster Lu Dawes.
Aster, a genus of the asteraceae family, is incredibly diverse. There are over 180 species, each with a different purpose and capability. Able to heal. Able to poison. Able to create. As diverse as my daughter will one day be, as a leader. Someone who will be kind and capable and powerful.
Lu, for Lula, the woman who raised me. The one who was so rough around the edges, but the strongest woman I knew as a child. The one who sheltered me, who protected and guided me.
And Dawes. For a new beginning. For this family. For the man who loves us fiercely, despite everything.
I pull myself into Lexington’s arms, resting my cheek against his chest, unable to look away from our daughter.
“I love you, Lexington,” I whisper into the silent room. “I love us.”
“I love you too, Elle Dawes,” he says. “I love our little family.”
I cap off the ether, putting it into its cupboard and locking it up, safe and sound. I collect the dozen tiny vapor bottles and take them to the wall behind the door leading into the lab. I swing back the picture of my family and place my hand on the scanner. A blue light scans up and down, and then there’s a click. The hidden cabinet pops open.
I swing it fully open, revealing the three foot wide, one foot deep hidde
n cabinet, stocked full of toxins, acids, stakes, guns, UV lights, and now my newly created vapor inhalant that will knock out any human, Bitten, or Born.
I smile as I set the bottles on the shelf.
I may look small and weak, but I am deadly in my own human way.
The bell above the front door opens and before I can even step out into the shop, a figure appears in the doorway.
“Rose,” I say as the breath catches in my throat.
“Hello, Elle,” she says with that smile of hers. She takes a step forward, looking around the lab, and her eyes fix on Kai, sleeping on the cot, moved up from the basement.
“Looks like there’s some interesting research going on here,” she says, standing above him. She studies him, and the look in her eyes grows appreciative as she takes in his tattooed, muscled arms, and beautiful tan skin.
“Something like that,” I say, biting my lower lip.
My research is private. I don’t appreciate having an audience. Especially when one of my best friends is involved and in such a vulnerable position.
“I won’t ask questions,” Rose says. She glances up at me with a look in her eyes. “We both know better than to ask one another too many of them.”
She straightens and goes to lean against a counter. “How’s that daughter of yours?”
“Fine,” I reply, my answer quipped.
She smiles. She enjoys making me uncomfortable.
I might owe her my life, Aster’s life, as well. But she still sets me on edge like no one else ever has.
“I’m calling in that favor you promised me,” she says, reaching into her pocket. She produces a scrap of paper and hands it over.
The paper is old, worn. Ancient. The handwriting is barely legible, the ink is so faded.
“Is a week enough time?” Rose asks as she heads back for the door. She looks back over her shoulder.
My eyes scan the page once more, and cold tingles through my blood.
“Yes,” I say with a nod. I want to tell her that this is the very last time I’ll make one of her odd concoctions. But I can’t guarantee that I will never have need of her help again. I can’t burn bridges. “I can get it done.”