To Hell and Back by L.B. Gilbert

Chapter Seventeen

“Don’t scream,” Rhys ordered.

Valeria’s eyes were wide and dilated, her shock at the unexpected bundle in her arms unfeigned.

He didn’t need to look up to see that same shock reflected in the eyes of his men. His little witch had been keeping secrets. But exactly what those were would have to wait.

The babe’s claws dug into Valeria’s thighs. She whimpered, her head drawing back as the newborn snapped its head, trying to touch its muzzle to hers.

“If you scream, you will frighten the babe, possibly scarring it,” he told her. “These first hours after birth are critical to development.”

It was meant to be a moment of close bonding between mother and child. And father, he reminded himself.

He turned to the hall where Naveen had just exited.

“I explained the situation,” his second murmured to Rhys in the old language. “And assured them the little one is well enough for the moment.”

Sensing his man’s discomfort, Rhys clapped him on the back. “Relax, old friend. You did not lie to them. How is Sanaa?”

“Better now that Veda can close the wounds without trapping the babe. He continues to work on her. Thomas will not leave her side until she’s out of danger.”

He broke off, letting some of his naked bewilderment show.

“How did she do that?” he asked in their native tongue.

“I’m not sure she knows,” Rhys replied in the same language. “Let’s concern ourselves with that later, once everyone is out of danger.”

Sanaa’s chances were much improved now that the babe was out of her body, those sharp spines no longer complicating matters, but the healer still needed time to do his work.

In the meantime, some things needed to be done for the babe itself.

“You need to turn the babe upside down,” he told Valeria aloud.

“Please take it,” she whispered, craning her head away from the snuffling, hooting babe.

Another dragon might have been insulted at the way she kept trying to get away from a newborn of his kind, but he could understand her reticence under the circumstances.

She had probably been expecting a human-looking babe. Shifters from this world were usually born in these softer forms—the better to blend in with the human majority.

But his people had evolved on a much harsher terrain. Their first form was the hardier one.

“I can’t take her yet,” he murmured, his tone deep and as soothing as he could make it. The female babe reacted to his tone, cocking its head and jerking a little less. “It’s best that as few people as possible handle her until her mother can take her into her arms.”

“Her?”

“I can tell by her coloring just here,” he said, pointing just under the wing attachments. Those, he saw with some relief, were perfect. The first female born to the clan on this world had perfect conformation and a feisty spirit judging from her apparent curiosity.

Then the little one coughed. The sound was too wet. “Turn her upside down,” he urged.

Valeria handled the babe like it was a bomb. It didn’t want to cooperate, squirming in her grasp. Rhys tapped the little one’s back, his palm making a small thudding sound that made Valeria flinch.

“You have to be firm, to get all the residual albumin out of the lungs,” he explained as the child coughed up a viscous stream, making a pink-tinted puddle in Valeria’s lap.

The nutrient-rich liquid would have been re-absorbed on its own, but slowly. But the child was out now and was starting to breathe. Oxygen was more important than those last dregs of albumin. Besides, Eliana had spent some time teaching Thomas how to prepare meals appropriate for the earliest days. They would get sufficient nutrition from those.

Valeria’s breathing sped up as the baby wiggled and reoriented to bury its nose in her neck. “Are you sure you can’t hold her?”

Deciding the healer had enough time to do his work, he took her by the elbow, biding her to rise. “We’ll take her back to her parents now.”

They left the room, making their way to the master bedroom.

Thomas gave them a black look, snatching his baby girl from Valeria’s wet, sticky arms. Since he already held the male, it was a bit of a juggling act, but the father was determined.

“Be at ease,” Rhys murmured when the bear snapped at his witch, showing his teeth. “It was an accident that in all likelihood saved your mate’s life.”

His aggressive expression softening, Thomas pulled the little girl against him more securely. “You’re right. Thank you, Val.”

Rhys frowned at the shortening of Valeria’s name. Pet names were reserved for lovers among his kind, but Thomas did not share their ways, or so he told himself for the thousandth time.

The bear knelt by Sanaa’s side, placing the babes on either side of her.

The female gave Rhys a wan smile, shifting to include Valeria in her greeting. “Commander, it’s over. Aren’t they perfect?” she asked, admiring her babies with maternal delight.

The boy was quiet, already sleeping, but the little girl continued to snuffle, raising her wings precociously.

“Yes,” he agreed, resting his hand on her forehead in approval. “You’re done remarkably well, Sanaa. You should be very proud of them and yourself.”

He stroked her hair one final time, aware that Valeria was sniffling almost as loudly as the child—the cold weather taking its toll on her frailer constitution.

“Rest,” he told Sanaa and Thomas. “I will be by tomorrow to give your children my official blessing, once you’ve had a chance to welcome them to your home and family.”

Sanaa murmured her thanks, extending her hand to Valeria.

Stooping awkwardly, Valeria took the hand. “I hope you feel better soon.”

Sanaa cuddled the young ones to her breast. “I am perfectly well now, just tired. Thank you for that little trick.”

Noting how the little girl was straining toward Valeria, Thomas scowled again. Sensing her discomfort, Rhys said their goodbyes, guiding the witch out of the room before the bear took umbrage.

Things had just gotten more complicated.

He ushered her out the door and into one of the waiting vehicles. Driving slowly up the hill, he glanced over at the girl who consumed his thoughts, both awake and asleep.

“You seemed as surprised as the rest of us when you delivered the child.”

Valeria put her hands on her pants. The albumin had mostly dried on the cloth, so she’d eschewed her coat, which had stayed clean since she hadn’t been wearing it inside the warm house.

“I take it you mirrored a teleporter once?”

She glanced at him, studying him before nodding, sniffing. Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew a tissue, wiping at her nose.

“Was it one of the ones I burned?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the road because it seemed to make her nervous when he turned to watch her.

“No.” The word was strained. She wiped at her nose again. A sudden suspicion crept over him, injecting little drips of acid into his blood.

“How long ago was your confrontation with the teleporter?”

“I’m not sure anymore.”

Fear made his voice clipped. “Guess.”

Valeria scratched her head “I think it’s been over a year.”

“Did you always know you could do that? Reach into yourself to bring back earlier magicks you had copied?”

If so, good God. It was no wonder they were hunting her down like a dog. Every black witch on Earth would kill for power like that.

“It takes too much effort,” she said as the SUV made a sharp turn.

“So, you did know?”

“It’s happened that way before—on accident. It’s rough, and draining. Well, not always, but mostly.”

“So you never try to pull them back to the surface intentionally?”

“Mostly I can’t,” she said, the tiredness in her voice making him want to bundle her in his coat and carry her to bed in his arms. “They fade. I have to fight to keep anything longer than a few hours after contact. Keeping something for a day, or even a week, has been too difficult. The more time passes, the more I struggle to recapture it.”

She paused, a hand on her head that told him she had a headache.

“The only time I tried to recall a talent intentionally was after visiting a healer of some renown. My mother took me to see her, on the pretense of consulting with her.”

“She wanted you to have the ability to heal yourself should you be injured. And people don’t know you can copy their talent, so it can be done with stealth,” he finished.

When she had used his fire, he hadn’t felt a pull—nothing to indicate his magic had been taken from him because it hadn’t. She’d simply duplicated the flames, her ability elastic enough to encompass the ferocity of his fire.

And if she could copy his fire, then there were very few talents she couldn’t copy. But that didn’t mean she could use them all. Some magicks were never meant to exist, let alone be wielded without training.

Valeria dabbed her nose again. This time, the bright iron scent of blood filled the cabin. Rhys stopped the vehicle, slapping the overhead light on. “Turn around,” he growled.

She attempted to shift away. “What?”

He reached for her. Valeria’s delicate features hardened, and she pushed his hand back.

“I said look at me,” he said, his innate dominance naked in his voice. But he made sure to keep his hands gentle as he tilted her face up. “How long has your nose been bleeding?”

Shying away from his touch, Valeria pressed the tissue to her face. The red of her blood was stark against the white of the flimsy paper. “I’m not sure—I didn’t notice it until I stood and we went to take the baby to Sanaa and Thomas.”

Jaw tight, Rhys tore a clean corner of the tissue and balled it up. “Put this under your upper lip, underneath the side that is bleeding. The pressure will slow down the bleeding.”

“It’s both sides.”

Swearing in his native tongue, Rhys reached into the backseat, where he’d tossed her coat. Ransacking the pockets turned up a little package of tissues, no doubt provided by Aggie.

He rolled another quick ball and handed it to her. She tucked them under her lip, deforming her perfect features…but not enough. She was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

And there is a spot of blood in her right eye. A pinprick hemorrhage. How much effort had she expended teleporting the babe?

“Did it hurt?” Of course it hurt. She was bleeding, the looming threat of cerebral hemorrhage still hanging over her head. “Are you still in pain?” he amended, forcing his tone to sound even, almost calm.

It must have worked because she slumped in the seat. “I have a little headache,” she admitted in a small voice.

Marshaling the discipline honed from years upon years at the command of a militant clan, he cupped her chin with a firm but gentle hold. “You were already in a weakened condition from your earlier confrontation. Tomorrow, you must rest. I will call the healer to come and see you after he is done attending Sanaa.”

“No,” she protested as he resumed driving. “The man is exhausted.”

“You will do as I say.”

Anger, hot and sharp, filled the cabin. It made Rhys happy. He could work with anger.