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“In the Kitchen.”

“Why was she in the kitchen?”

I nearly turned around. “DON'T FUCKING START.” Volken shut up, smart man. We reached the clinic to see that Dragan was already there, so were two assistants. They had equipment ready, bed, monitors, everything we'd prepared months ago. It still didn't feel like enough. Nothing could ever be enough.

“Put her down,” Dragan ordered.

“No.”

Bryn looked up at me. “Viking.”

“No.”

Dragan stared. “I cannot examine her while you're holding her.”

“Figure it out.”

Bryn slapped my chest again. “Put me down.”

I looked at her; her face was pale, sweat had started gathering at her hairline. Fear moved through the bond, not much, but enough. That broke me, I lowered her onto the bed, slowly, carefully. My hands stayed on her as Dragan started asking questions.

“How long have the contractions been going?”

Bryn frowned. “I don't know.”

“When did they start?”

“Maybe an hour ago?”

My head snapped toward her. “What?”

She winced. “I thought it was Braxton Hicks.”

“You were in pain for an hour and didn't tell me?”

“It wasn't this bad.”

“Bryn.”

“Do not yell at me while I am giving birth!” I shut my mouth immediately. Dragan hid a smile but I glared at him.

“Move,” he said.

“No.”

“Viking.”

“I am not leaving.”

“You need to move away from the bed.”

“No.”

Bryn reached for my hand. I gave it instantly. She squeezed it hard, pain shot through my fingers. Good. Break them, I didn't care. “Stay.”

“I am.”

Dragan examined her, his expression changed. He tried not to show but I saw it. “What?” I asked but he didn't answer.