Betrayal's Shadow (36 page)

CHAPTER 19

Mia walked the perimeter of her property, checking the security markers that corresponded to the physical map Turen left her. The remote sensor had blanked out after last night’s storm cut the power. Downed limbs and trees added to the havoc. Her plan wasn’t to leave the house, but the sensor hadn’t reinstated after the power returned. This check was her assurance the perimeter was still active despite the lack of response from the remote component.

Alone, she couldn’t control her worry. Turen had monitored their security. However, keeping safeguards in place was a task she could absorb.

Each marker, hidden and active every twenty feet, bordered her property. Each was a twenty-five pound metal composition of wires and gizmos she had yet to make sense of, though she understood the concept. These lumps issued signals, and combined with some electronics Turen baked together, monitored and deflected the vibration of
folds
in their private space. This combined with a camouflage of frequencies and wavelengths to cover their personal signatures from remote scanning and detection. He’d walked her through the process and would have explained the mechanics to her if there’d been more time in the last few days.

Troubleshooting was easy. She could determine the stream’s activation from the light buzz at calf height as she walked along the line.

Two more to go at the far side of the driveway and she would head in to put up her feet.

Passing the next to last one, she looked ahead.

Shit
.

One of the younger trees lay on its side, ripped from the earth by the gale force winds, its roots, fingers thrust toward the sky. The final marker, previously nestled at the base of the tree, was half-buried beneath the trunk. Out of synch with the perimeter’s last segment, it left a large hole open and unshielded.

Mia did a quick timeline calculation. The storm hit its peak about six hours after Turen’s departure and passed through quickly. She’d still been awake when the final winds had died down and the power cut out—meaning maybe an hour or two of exposure. All she needed was to get the marker back in place and the circuit should close on its own.

She knelt gingerly, one hand to her belly, the other braced against the tree until she’d eased her bulk to the ground. With no tools and little time, she dug in the dirt under the tree trunk with her hands. Working for several minutes didn’t provide enough room to free the lump.

A donut-shaped hole capped each unit, the round slip protruding from the dirt and roots. Bracing her legs, she struggled into a squat and bit back a laugh. Hell, she couldn’t reach her shoes to tie them. How was she going to reach and pull on this bit of metal?

She brushed back the hair from her face, blew out a breath, and glanced around. No idea popped out of thin air. Drops of water shook from a limb nearby. The light breeze sprayed her. She slapped at the moisture on her jacket and paused at the germ of an idea.

Quickly shrugging off the jacket, she threaded a sleeve through the donut and resumed a modified crouch. A fistful of jacket held tight in each hand, she pulled as she rose from her squat. It made no difference. The marker didn’t budge, stuck righteously tight in the sodden soil.

After a deep breath, she tried again and managed a few bare inches of movement, not quite enough to reinstate the barrier. The gnarled base of the trunk pressed over the marker’s edge, keeping it in place. She contemplated how to move it when a sharp twinge jabbed in her side.

No.

She rubbed to ease the ache, quickly gauging the distance to the corresponding markers. A little more and it should complete the circuit. Then she would be back to the house.

With one more deep breath, she shuffled backward, her pulling enough for the buzz to tingle along her skin as the marker synchronized in line and closed the final section of the perimeter.

Thank goodness.

Another pain shot along the right side of her belly as she stood. Longer and sharper than the first, it left her hunched over and gasping for breath.

She shook her head. It didn’t work to dissipate the pain or will it away. “Not now.” She rubbed at her belly. The same location as the previous episodes, the same pain, but always before, she had some control—at least in the beginning.

Turning, she took two steps when the pain ripped through her again and brought her to her knees. “Come on, baby, can’t be now. Too soon. Dad’s not here. Remember, we have an agreement. Dad needs to be here.”

With slow shallow breaths, she waited, pushing back the dark reality that she’d never made it through one of these episodes without Turen. A hitch caught in her throat with the next onslaught. This pain level ratcheted above the previous ones.

Can’t. Give. In
.

Hands braced to push up, she clenched her teeth only to collapse on her back to the ground as she tried not to fight through the paralyzing sensation of the next assault, letting it roll over her. Her legs locked, refusing to respond to her commands to stretch and move. She grabbed her stomach to ease the torture, but there was no end. Searing fire bit beneath the surface of her flesh. She rolled to her side. Pinpoints of pain lashed through her body, whipping at her nerves without mercy. The fire that radiated from her side sapped her strength and immobilized her on the damp ground.

“No.” The words dragged from her mouth as she sucked needed air into her lungs. No time to move, no time for help, less time to think. She wrapped her memory around Turen’s heartbeat and screamed his name.

A whimper broke free. She squinted against the pain and tried to shimmy on her side toward the house. It stood fifty yards away. If she could only make her muscles stop seizing to cooperate in the effort. The next scream of his name burst from her lips only to end in another pitiful cry.

No response, no heartbeat, not a flutter and yet she screamed again only to be met by dead space, dead air.

“Damn it. Please, somebody help me.”

If she kept moving.
Move, Mia. You can do it. You’ve been through worse
.

Or perhaps not. The pain lanced again and robbed her of air.

Just move.

Her mind struggled through the haze. There was nothing natural about this pain. Nothing she’d read had prepared her for this. Fear percolated in her mind with the certainty that something was terribly wrong. This wasn’t labor. This wasn’t normal.

Dampness cooled the skin under her pants, and she felt fluid ooze between her legs.

“No.” Seven months was too early for her water to break. She reached down for confirmation and stared in horror at the blood coating her fingers. She cradled her belly as new pains radiated from her side.

“Not my baby. God, please, no. Turen.” Her tears garbled the words. Even speaking made the pain worse. If she held still, it was only white-hot blinding pain. If she moved, it was an explosive, angry sizzling monster. She needed help now. Turen wasn’t coming. Her fears weren’t worth risking her baby’s life. And she had promised.

“Grimm,” she whispered, the struggle harsh, her voice too hoarse with the effort to breathe to call out clearly. She focused on the memory of his heartbeat beneath her hand from the night of the battle. Part of her needed him to show. The other part was terrified he would do just that.

Her pain had a wonderful way of cutting through the conflict. “Grimm,” she screamed as she filled her mind with him. Sobs strangled her speech to a hush. “Grimm, please help me.”

***

Mia jerked and opened her eyes as a hand brushed the hair from her face, and fingers gently pressed the wrist of her blood-covered hand. The eyes above her had haunted her dreams for months. They stared at her now, so green under brows furrowed in deep concern. She bit back another scream as tears flowed. “Please.”

His fingers pressed along her temple, and the pain receded to a soft haze. Firm arms lifted her against a broad chest and cradled her, moving her the remaining yards into the house to settle her on the long chaise lounge in the sunroom off the kitchen. The man slung a leather backpack to the floor, shrugged off his jacket and turned to reach for her belly.

Alarm must have shown on her face, because he stopped, holding his hands away from her. “I’m not going to hurt you, but I need to touch you to perform my check.”

Mia nodded, keeping focused on him as she tried to breathe. Whatever he’d done had helped the pain, but she could still feel it pressing hard against her consciousness.

He pushed her top up, slid her pants down enough to expose her belly, and covered her skin with one hand. The other hand he moved to her face, his fingers splayed from her forehead to her chin. The pain moved farther back with his touch, as his action created a pillowed defense against the overwhelming onslaught to her system. Like taut strings cut suddenly, the tension released, and a modicum of control returned to her body. Such was the relief that she sighed into it and took her first full breath in many minutes. Perhaps she could muster the energy to speak.

“My name is Grimm. I gather you know that, since you called me.” He glanced at her as if he’d heard her thoughts, his expression encouraging. His hand swirled over her belly, leaving calm and peace in its wake.

“I’m Mia,” she said, her voice hoarse.

His hand lingered over the site of the initial pain. A frown marred his calm features.

“It’s too early, isn’t it? He’s only seven months.”

“No, your baby is full term.” His fingers moved from her face to the pulse at her throat. She let go of the last of her resistance, and he distanced the final threads of tension. “Gestation is shorter for our people than a typical human cycle. Your son is
going to be born now.”

“Tell me what’s wrong.” Nothing could keep the desperate fear from her voice.

He exhaled and met her gaze. “I need you to trust me. Can you do that, Mia?”

She nodded, but her heart raced, her mind flying through scenarios.

“You’ve developed a tear in the uterine wall. You can’t deliver normally. You will bleed too much and risk more damage. Your labor is also in full force, so I can’t stop it to repair the wall without putting the baby at risk.”

Did she have any options left?

“I’m going to open you up, take the baby out through the tear quickly, and then seal it once he’s out.”

Her hands trembled despite his attempts to keep her calm. “Here?”

The soothing fingers stopped, and he held her gaze. “There is no reason your baby won’t be fine. You should recover perfectly to have another child someday. But I need you to try to relax and do exactly what I say. Okay?” He stroked her cheek. She knew it was in sympathy, not for treatment. “I’ve never lost a mother or a child. I’m damn well not starting today.”

She nodded, biting her lip. “How many babies have you delivered?”

He startled her with a wicked smile. “Several hundred, give or take.”

Rubbing her belly, she gave him a weak smile back. He’d managed to escape the Sanctum’s constraints to live a life. Mia wondered how many of Turen’s people had done the same. And did the isolation and containment forced on them really provide any value?

“I need you as immobile as possible.” He reached toward her face, yet waited for her concurrence. When she gave it, his fingers on her skin radiated bliss.

Whoa, better than a deep-tissue massage.
He pressed a suggestion of calm. She tried to open and relax to it. If he would save her baby, she’d dance on hot coals, though that might been easier than leaving herself open to a total stranger.

“I’m going to get some supplies.”

Time floated, and he was back loaded with bowls, sheets, towels, and alcohol before she had time to miss his presence. Her alarm strangely didn’t escalate when he pulled a pouch from his backpack and opened it beside her. Scalpels, needles, gauze, and small scissors all lay tucked in neat little sealed packets. A portable medical kit—handy.

Detached, she watched him bring out a packet of surgical gloves. The scene might as well have been playing out on TV and not on her body in her sunroom, for all it affected her. No concern triggered in her mind when he brought out a switchblade from his pocket to cut the pants from her legs. He quickly slid a sheet across them to try to block her view of the brilliant ruby blood smear along the inside of her thighs.

Not fast enough. But the fuzz of calm claimed her again. Evidently, he could do the Zen thing without touching her.

He laid a towel across her chest. “Once he’s out and I’ve checked him, I’ll tuck him in your arms. I’m not going to release your pain receptors until I’ve repaired the tear, so you’ll have to work to stay focused.” He glanced up for her response. She was so fuzzy she could only stare back.

He swabbed her belly, picked up a scalpel, and made a quick incision down the side of her abdomen. His hands blurred, one sliding inside the cut to search for the baby while the other coached her son’s movement from along the outside, over her belly. The surreal sensation of a person fishing around inside her body should have been creepy, but she was beyond reality, her concentration only on Grimm.

Absorbed in his task, he closed his eyes, the fine muscles around his mouth tensed. Even as he searched for the best way to grab the baby, his movements were steady, smooth, and confident.