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Her pleading.
Her ravaged shouts.
Then the worst hit. Her desperate sobs that sent me to my knees beside the bed, begging her to stop.
But she didn’t.
The child was gone. The baby lost. To her. To me. To us.
My fingers gripped the roots of my hair, nails digging into my scalp. My insides hacksawed and strewn in every direction.
I was a fuckin’ Scar, and yet this I couldn’t handle.
I ran my hand down my ragged face. “Fuck this. Fuck it.” I kicked the leg of the small coffee table. It collapsed under the jarring pressure and magazines slipped to the floor.
“Damn it!” I kicked the offensive table again.
I’d been on the phone with Anstice half the night. Then resorted to threats if she didn’t come and help me. That was when Keir got on the phone and threatened me. He refused to allow Anstice anywhere near Abby. Shit, it wasn’t safe for anyone near Abby.
The blood.
The image would haunt me for a lifetime, and since I was immortal, that was a fuck of a long time. I was good with blood. I killed. I slit men’s throats and watched them bleed out.
But it was Abbs and it was our baby.
When she miscarried I’d run into the bathroom and threw up. Then I took out my cell and tapped in Anstice’s number, shouting.
Abby was dying. It was over.
Anstice remained quiet until I stopped ranting. Then she calmly gave me instructions on what to do. I had no choice. I wanted to get the fuck out of there, but leaving Abbs chained to the bedpost bleeding…Fuck, I couldn’t.
So, I did what I had to do and, eventually, the horror ended. But I knew what happened last night would never really end. It was engraved in me.
Abby finally lay dazed and confused, her eyes glassy, her skin pale. So fuckin’ pale. I had no idea if she knew what happened—that she’d lost the baby—because often the next morning she had no recollection of the night before.
Fuck, I couldn’t tell her. Don’t make me tell her.
I’d sat beside the bed and watched Abby for hours after that. Making certain the bleeding had stopped. Then while she slept I performed the grueling task of washing her body and changing the sheets.
Balen had just left. He’d driven here to take the baby.
I never wanted a child. But I never wanted her to lose it. And not like this. Never like this.
There was grief for the loss I never expected. Could we have had a chance?
No. The child never had a chance. We didn’t.
“Christ.” I squeezed my eyes shut, attempting to get rid of the images from last night, but they continually tormented me.
Abbs. Fuck.
She was slipping through my fingers.
Six goddamn months of this and my sanity was questionable. I was losing the battle. She was losing the battle. I knew it. My body knew it, and soon Abby would know it when I left her here to die.
Because I couldn’t do this anymore.
I couldn’t stop the emotional pain that wracked my body any longer. It was too much. Watching. Being the one who could end her suffering by offering my blood, but unable to let her become something I detested more than anything in this world.
