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“Dragan.”

“She's progressing quickly.”

“How quickly?”

He looked at me. “Very.”

My stomach dropped. “What does that mean?”

“It means the babies are coming.”

“I fucking know that.”

“Viking.”

Roman's voice from behind us. I turned to see he stood in the doorway. Layla behind him and everyone else too. Roman took one look at me, then Bryn. “How is she?”

“She's in fucking labour.”

“I can see that.”

“Then why did you ask?”

Roman ignored me as Dragan moved toward the monitors. “Both heartbeats are strong.”

Relief hit me so hard my knees nearly buckled. Bryn squeezed my hand again. “See?”

I looked at her. “See what?”

“They're okay.”

“You're okay?”

“For now.” Wrong answer, absolutely fucking wrong answer.

“Dragan.”

“She is stable.”

“For now?” He sighed.

“She is in labour, Viking. Her body is doing what it is supposed to do.” Every fucking thing I'd read came crashing back at once. I looked at Bryn, really looked. Her face was scrunched in pain, her stomach tense. The woman I'd put through this, my stomach turned. This was my fucking fault, all of it. The pain, the fear, I'd done this. I had put my children inside her. I had made her body carry them.

Another contraction hit, Bryn cried out and my entire fucking soul ripped open. “No.”

She grabbed me. “Viking.”

“No.”

“I'm fine.”

“You are not fucking fine.”

“I'm having babies.”

“Because of me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What?”