Her body screamed. Everything below her navel was a single point of pressure, of too much, and she heard herself make a sound she didn’t recognise, half sob, half growl, as something shifted and gave way. The relief was immediate and enormous, a flood of sensation rushing out of her, and then.
"He’s here, it’s a boy."
Felicity closed her eyes, breathing out a long, controlled breath as her core muscles contracted perfectly under the influence of her fortification buffs.
She forced her eyes open, blinking sweat from her lashes, and found his face. Those sharp, calculating eyes were wet. Voss. His jaw worked, and he swallowed hard before looking down at what he held.
Felicity pushed herself up on trembling elbows, desperate to see. What Voss cradled in those massive, scarred hands was...
A coil. A tiny, perfect coil of purple scales, warm and glistening, no bigger than a can of soda. And above the coil, a little chest, a baby boy’s chest, chubby and pink and heaving with the effort of his first breaths. Little fists clenched and unclenched, grabbing at nothing, at everything. A scrunched-up face, red and furious, mouth open wide.
Then the cry came.
Not a whimper. Not a tentative sound. A full-throated, outraged wail that filled her space and bounced off the warm walls. And as the sound tore from him, those tiny eyes opened, and Felicity’s breath stopped.
Blue. Big, luminous, impossibly blue eyes, sparkling with tears and fury and life. Above them, a wild tuft of purple hair, damp and sticking up at odd angles. He screamed and screamed, those chubby fists reaching, grasping, demanding.
Something heavy hit the floor beside the bed. Felicity turned her head slowly, like everything was moving through honey and found Exile on his knees. His massive coils had loosened from their protective circle around the bed and transformed into his human form, and he was simply on the ground, one hand braced against the floor, his pale amber eyes locked on the screaming bundle in Voss’s hands.
His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"My son," he whispered, and the word sounded like it had been ripped from somewhere deep inside him, somewhere he’d kept locked and guarded for years. His scales trembled; she could see them shaking, the dark olive and black catching the golden light. "He’s beautiful." His throat worked. "Thank you, Fel."
The room was full of sniffling. She heard it from every direction: Ivan’s low, controlled exhale behind her, Damien’s sharp intake of breath somewhere to her left, Dimitri clearing his throat roughly near the foot of the bed. But she couldn’t look at any of them. Her eyes were fixed on Voss as he moved with impossible gentleness, turning the screaming bundle, supporting the tiny head, bringing him toward her chest.
"Easy," Voss murmured, though she wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or the baby. "Easy, little one. Go to your mama."
The moment the warm weight settled against her skin against the space between her breasts, over her hammering heart, the crying stopped.
Just stopped.
Like someone had flipped a switch. One second, the room was full of his furious wailing, and the next, there was only the sound of her own ragged breathing and the soft hum of her space. The cub went still against her chest. Completely, perfectly still.
Felicity looked down.
He was looking up.
Those enormous blue eyes, she realised with a jolt that travelled from her chest to her fingertips, were fixed on her face. No more tears. No more scrunched fury. Just wonder. Pure, unfiltered wonder, sparkling in the golden light like something precious held up to the sun. His little mouth had gone slack, forming a perfect O, and one tiny fist had found the edge of her collarbone and curled around it. Holding on. Holding on to her.
Something broke open inside her chest. Not paid
Fully the opposite. Like a door swinging wide after being shut too long, letting in light she hadn’t known was waiting.
Tears spilled down her cheeks. She didn’t try to stop them.
"Hello," she whispered, and her voice came out wrecked and shaking and so full of love it frightened her. "Hello, little one." Her hand moved without her telling it to, fingers finding the wild tuft of purple hair, smoothing it back from his damp forehead. The scales beneath her palm were warm and impossibly smooth, like silk over something alive and pulsing. "Welcome to the world."
He blinked up at her. Once. Twice. His tiny chest rose and fell against hers, and she could feel his heartbeat fast and fierce and his pressing into her skin through the thin barrier of scales and soft baby skin. His free hand opened and closed against her, those minuscule fingers spreading wide before curling into a fist again, gripping the edge of her skin like he was anchoring himself to her.
Mine, something primal in her whispered. This is mine. This is what I made.
She bent her head and pressed her lips to his forehead, right where the purple hair was. He smelled like warmth and something sweet like honey and lemon, something new. Brand new. Never been touched by anything cruel.
"Hi," she said again, because she couldn’t think of anything else, because the words in her head were too big and too small all at once. "Hi, baby. I’m your mummy."
His eyes tracked her voice. Those blue depths held hers, and for a moment, just a moment, she swore she saw something like recognition in them. Like he knew her. Like he’d been waiting.
Her fingers traced the curve of his cheek, the soft junction where scales met skin, the tiny shell of his ear. He made a sound, not a cry, not a word, but something between them. A soft, questioning coo that vibrated against her sternum.
"I know," she breathed, because she did. She understood exactly what he was asking, even if neither of them had the language for it. "I know. I’m here. I’m right here."
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