Her hand stops rubbing her stomach and it stiffens.
“It’s kicking,” she complains, like it’s a bad thing my child wants to strengthen its legs. “Why does it have to kick so fucking much?”
“My child is strong.”
She huffs again. “This is all your fault.”
I grin and know better than to remind her that it takes more than one person to make a child. Particularly this child. Adriana loves me as much as I apparently love her, and she shares equal responsibility for her current situation. More perhaps, given she agreed to be mine in the first place.
“I’m not sorry.” I twirl some strands of her hair around my finger. “You’re carrying my child, Adriana. Stop complaining about it.”
Perhaps I should be less harsh. Sound more understanding.
It might make this pregnancy easier for me.
“It’s not kicking you.”
I place my hand on her stomach and the child kicks harder. It knows its father and I’m as eager to meet it as they are to meet me. Adriana groans as the baby wriggles playfully and I rub her back, easing her ache with a little magic.
“Are you sure that won’t hurt the baby?”
Moments ago, she was cursing the damn thing. Now she’s worried my magic will harm it. There is no pleasing this woman and her doubts over my ability are becoming tiresome.
“I’m sure,” I whisper. “You know I wouldn’t do anything to harm either you or the baby.”
“Are you sure it’s going to be okay?”
Adriana worries excessively and her fingers dig into her stomach, telling me she’s winding herself up again.
“Of course it’s going to be okay,” I say through gritted teeth. For the thousandth fucking time. “The baby’s healthy. You’re healthy. We’re untouchable and the child will be, too.”
Unless it decides to join the fuckers on the other side.
And that is not going to happen. Not on my fucking watch.
“Are you sure?”
We’ve talked about this more times than I care to remember. Lucifer sent over the tomes from his personal collection and I read them to Adriana. Twice over. We’re as prepared for this child as we could be, and we’ll just have to make everything else up as we go along. This is what humans do, and I don’t understand why Adriana needs more reassurance.
No one quite knows what powers this child will possess, but I’m certain they’ll be strong. They’re a Nephilim but they’re also my child, and I’m a Prince of Hell. My child is going to be extraordinary and it’s going to change the world.
Maybe for the better. Probably for the worst.
I couldn’t be more excited.
Or happier.
I’ve grown accustomed to this feeling and even started to like it. It’s still sickly sweet and disgustingly warm. Its softness still rubs against my harshness, but there’s something nice about it. I like the way it brings me closer to Adriana. I like that she likes it too.
I particularly enjoy the way my heart races when she smiles or sighs contentedly because of something I’ve done. Her little moans and mews drive me crazy and I can’t get enough of them. They’re becoming more frequent and I’ve finally realized they’re a sign she’s happy too.
And I want her to be happy. So fucking happy she can’t contain it and it bursts out of her.
“I’m sure, baby.”
“Do you know?” she asks, quietly. “If it’s a boy or a girl?”
I don’t.
