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When they attack me, they do it together.
The first, I’m able to grab ahold of its throat, but at the same moment its companion barrels into my side, knocking the wind from my lungs.
My back hits the ground, the second beast rearing up in front of me. It swipes at me with its paw, but I grab onto it and twist. The beast lets out a shriek. Unable to support its weight, it comes falling atop me.
As soon as it gets close enough, I sink my fangs into the fleshy portion of its neck and shred its throat with my teeth.
Ichor sprays into my mouth, coating my tongue like bile. I spit out the mass of cartilage, shoving the weight of the creature’s carcass off of me.
The last of the group whimpers before fleeing.
I allow myself a single glance at the battlefield.
Evander has gained some ground. Vines burst from the soil, tangling the feet of several of the Others, but Evander’s face is strained with concentration. He has to keep producing the vines as the Others hack through them with their teeth and claws.
My heart aches to help him, but for now, Ellie’s the one in the most danger, so I tear my gaze away from Andy and turn back to my friend.
Amity has her outer tunic wadded up. She’s pressing it into Ellie’s wound.
Sweat beads on Ellie’s forehead, and her breathing has become labored.
Labor.
No. No, no, no, no.
I watch in horror as Ellie’s slender fingers creep toward her swollen belly.
It’s like she’s having to fight just to move her hand.
The Others’ bite contains paralytic venom.
I try not to imagine what that will do to Ellie’s baby.
No, no, no, no, no.
“We need to get her to safety,” says a strained voice. Marcus. He’s backed his way to the three of us, firing arrows at the Others approaching. “I’ll cover you while you move her. Amity, help Blaise get Ellie to safety, okay?”
Amity turns to me. “I can keep pressure applied to the wound if you can carry her.”
I nod and make to lift Ellie, but Ellie grits her teeth and shakes her head. “No. No, save the baby.”
Amity and I exchange concerned looks.
“We have to get you to safety first. The baby needs you living to survive,” I explain.
Tears soak Ellie’s warm brown cheeks. Moonlight reflects in her pupils. “I think…I think my baby is already coming.”
I look toward Amity, hoping the little encyclopedia of medicine will have an argument for why that’s not the case. But Amity only looks up at me with those big brown eyes of hers and nods.
Fates, no. No, no, no, no.
It’s too early, much too early in Ellie’s pregnancy. Even in her delirium, Ellie must realize too, because she lets out a strangled sob.
“Is there a way to stop the labor?” she asks, practically begs. “Please, please. Please make it stop.”
It takes me a moment to realize Ellie isn’t talking to us.
She’s talking to the Fates.
