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“Think about your child.” The berserker recoiled and I collapsed back against the table. Dragan kept working.

“There.” He pressed something into the wound, black fluid mixed with blood spilled into the tray.

Lucien stared. “Is that the venom?”

“Yes.”

“Get every fucking drop.”

“I intend to.”

Roman pushed his wrist against my mouth again. “Drink.” I drank, again, and again until Roman's skin started looking pale and then I pushed him away. “Enough.” I whispered

“No.”

“Roman.”

“I said no.”

“Layla will kill me if you collapse.”

“She can fucking wait her turn.” Despite the pain, I smiled but it hurt like hell. Then Dragan suddenly sat back and everyone froze.

“What?” Draugr demanded.

Dragan didn't answer. “What the fuck?” Volken roared.

Dragan wiped the wound as we all watched. One second, two, three, the torn flesh twitched. Then slowly, impossibly, the edges began pulling together.

Lucien exhaled. “Fuck.”

Volken closed his eyes as if praying. Draugr's grip on my shoulder loosened as Roman sagged slightly against the table. Healing. Finally, fucking healing.

Dragan nodded. “It's working.”

The relief in the room was almost physical. Roman grabbed the back of my head and pressed his forehead against mine. “You stupid fucking bastard.”

I closed my eyes. “Love you too.”

His grip tightened. “Don't ever do that again.”

“Wasn't planning on it.”

“You nearly fucking died.”

“I noticed.”

Volken leaned against the wall, his hands were shaking. I'd never seen Volken's hands shake. Lucien dropped into a chair and covered his face. Draugr simply stood beside me his hand remained on my shoulder. None of them wanted to move away. My brothers, fucking idiots. My family.

I opened my mouth to say something insulting enough to break the tension but then I felt her. Bryn. She was close, too close. My eyes flew open. “No.”

Roman straightened. “What?”

“She's coming.” Footsteps sounded outside. Fast. “Roman.”

He moved toward the door. “Bryn, wait!” It was too late as the door opened and my entire fucking world shattered. Bryn stood there, barefoot, hair loose around her shoulders. One hand wrapped protectively across her stomach. Her face was already pale.

Then she saw the room. The blood on the floor, the blood on Volken, on Lucien. Roman's torn wrist. The ruined shirt, the instruments and finally her eyes landed on me.