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“Oh, come on,” Merle said, getting up and following Rhun out of the living room. “You have to admit—”
Sudden pain made her break off mid-sentence and double over. Searing fire shot along her nerves, and she cried out, falling to her knees, the pain of hitting the hardwood floors just a blip compared to the agony wracking her whole body.
Dammit, not now.
Rhun was at her side in an instant, his hands warm on her clammy skin. “Merle? What is it?”
“The…balance…” Had it been this long already? Hadn’t she just paid back recently?
Rhun cursed. “All right, little witch. I’ve got you.”
He lifted her, his arms under her knees and behind her back, cuddling her close while he carried her back into the living room to set her gently on the couch. She barely noticed. Her back was bowed, her skin on fire, explosive pressure building in her core. The Powers That Be were merciless in demanding she pay back for the magic she’d used, the energy she'd drawn from the layers of the world to supplement her own brand of witch powers. It was the responsibility and curse of all the heads of witch families—the greater the gift, the greater the cost.
Her skin split. One by one, gashes opened up all over her, and she was bleeding magic. Her power-drenched blood dissolved in the air on a sigh of the Powers That Be, those forces holding the world together. She cried out. Sweat slicked her skin, her stomach turned, her jaw locked, and she dug her fingers into the fabric of the couch.
“I’m right here, little witch. I’ve got you. It’ll be over soon.” Rhun’s voice was steady, his tone infused with reassuring confidence, but his hands—they shook while they stroked her, as he cradled her head with the utmost care.
Merle had her eyes closed, couldn’t see Rhun’s expression, could barely feel his presence at the other end of their mating bond, her entire consciousness dominated by the pain wracking her. She could only hope and pray that this time upholding the balance wouldn’t take long.
“It’s okay, Merle mine. You’ll be okay, you’re strong—” Rhun’s voice broke off, and something in it, an echo along the mating bond, made Merle snap to attention, even in the midst of the agony razing her body and mind.
She opened her eyes, focused on Rhun, and her heart skipped a beat as she saw his expression. He was white as a sheet, horror in his eyes.
“Rhun…” she ground out past the pain that was so debilitating she all but wanted to lose consciousness. “What…is it?”
She followed his look to the cushion underneath her hips—and the bright red stain spreading across the beige fabric.
Her heart stopped. Her stomach—already in turmoil—made a dive for the ground. She felt it now, through the pain and the magic leaving her body…the wet warmth between her thighs…
The baby…
* * *
Rhun stared at the pool of blood spreading underneath Merle’s hips. She was wearing black jeans, so he hadn’t noticed, had thought the blood he smelled was from the gashes on her body, her payback to the Powers That Be. He hadn’t noticed she was bleeding somewhere else…
“Rhun…” Merle cried out again, and then she sagged against the cushions, her mind lost to darkness.
Through their mating bond, Rhun could see, feel, sense her slipping into unconsciousness. And just before the link to her went numb as she fainted, he felt a weakening which promised to break everything inside him—the spark of life in Merle’s belly flickered, dimmed.
No.
Heart hammering a thousand beats a minute, he shot to his feet. It was day, his demon powers muted, but even at night he wouldn’t have the magic to heal her. His demon species’ powers weren’t of the healing kind. There was nothing he could do for her, or their baby. He jumped to pick up his phone from the table. Browsed through the contacts, dialed the number, and waited, with bated breath, his soul shattering into a million pieces.
“Hello?”
He’d never been so relieved to hear that voice. “Hazel, you need to come here ASAP.”
“What’s going—”
“Get the fuck over here right now.”
He hung up, crammed the phone in his pocket, and rushed over to Merle’s side again. As he did not so long ago—and yet it seemed like a lifetime had passed—he closed his eyes, his hand wrapped tightly around Merle’s, and prayed to the Powers That Be, to those gods he’d shunned all his life, and who had nevertheless heard his fervent pleas when he had begged them to take pain and magic from him instead. They’d done it once, they could do it again.
So he prayed, and prayed, and fucking prayed. Take it from me… Take my blood, take my magic… Spare her. Take it from me instead…
Nothing happened. Nothing but more gashes opening up all over Merle’s body, more of her blood, her magic, pouring out, widening the pool of angry red on the couch cushion.
No! No, you fuckers. Take it from me.
