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Chapter Four

It took less than a minute for Gemma’s eyes to flutter closed and then for her to fall into a deep, drug-induced sleep. Cathy couldn’t help but stare at her delicate features with the edges of remorse already seeping into her mind. It was the last moment that Gemma would hold the hope of the promise of her child in her heart. Cathy had to tear her gaze away from her. It would do no good to entertain these thoughts. All she would manage to do would be to pull herself down into a dark pit of self-pity, and then they’d be screwed.

She put the sterile screen up so that they could not see Gemma’s face. It was better that way. To make it an object—a piece of meat in front of them. She set about covering the rest of Gemma up, covering everywhere except for a small window where Jeff would need to work. Cathy moved to cleaning Gemma’s skin before placing the last drape over her belly, leaving only the incision area. It was down to Jeff now. She hoped that he had more courage than her—she had none right now. Her hands shook just trying to work on what was a matter of routine.

“We can do this,” she said—it was as much for him as it was for her. Part of her needed him to nod and confirm that they could do it—that they could cope with this. She pulled on his gloves for him, careful not to touch them and contaminate them. Not that it truly mattered, but it was better to be safe than sorry … That was the saying, right?

He moved himself to stand in position, but his eyes were on Cathy’s. She stared at him, drawing the energy and strength from him for these next few moments. In an hour, everything would be done; in two, these people would be gone from their lives, and it would be over. Malcolm would come and collect the baby and they could forget about it all and move on … she hoped.

Jeff adjusted his kit and picked up his tools. “Are you ready?”

Ready? Would she ever be ready? She nodded, though, and picked up the suction tube, ready for her husband to make the incisions. “I’m ready.” Her hand shook as she tried to hold it still, poised. It wasn’t fear of the job, however. This was the easy part. The hard part was after—the part where she went outside and told the two men on the other side that the baby had died.

Jeff made the cut, neatly and carefully. He made it just below the swell of her bump and opened the girl up. They had done many caesareans before. They were easy enough to do, but this one …

She tried not to think—just stood and watched. It was no different—hands in, stretch the uterus, get the baby. That was all. Except when Jeff did just that, and his hands came out with a small sleeping form, Cathy stumbled mentally. She couldn’t contain her sob as she caught sight of him. So innocent and already his life was a mess. Jeff offered him to Cathy, and she hesitated at taking him. He was so small, so delicate and so vulnerable in this cruel world.

“Cathy?”

She swallowed hard and reached for the baby. She held him as Jeff clamped the cord in two places before snipping it and permanently severing the last connection with his mother.

A boy—a beautiful, baby boy.

A son the girl would never know.

A man that his father would never witness him become.

Cathy left Jeff to deliver the placenta and stitch Gemma up as she took the baby over to the crib.

She had to check him over. They did with every baby. His skin was pink and his heart was beating nicely. She looked down into his little face and tried to disengage her mind from him. He was just a baby—like every other baby they had delivered this way. He was no different.

Yet … he was.

He was so different, and her heart ached at the thought of him alone in the world without his parents to guide him, lost to those whom he mattered to. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered to him.

Normally, she sponge-bathed and then fed the babies at this point, giving them formula, but he was sound asleep; still sedated from the tranquiliser. She placed him in the small crib and began to clean him. He had his father’s square jaw—it was subtle just now, but the start of it was there, under his silky newborn skin—and he had his mother’s delicate nose and eyes. He was perfect.

When she was done, she swaddled him in a blanket. It felt so wrong to leave him there in the crib and not take him to his father or to his mother’s waiting arms. She wished that she could hold him tight, but she daren’t. She knew that if she held him too much, she would need to give him to his parents. Her hands trembled as she tried to clean everything else up around him. She couldn’t take her eyes from the baby. He was so perfect and so lost to this world. It was just heart-breaking.

When everything was cleaned up and Gemma was placed in the recovery room, Cathy gave the baby to Jeff. He would take the baby to the house and call Malcolm. He would tell him that it was done and wait until Malcolm came. Cathy couldn’t do it. She couldn’t hold the baby and know that she had just taken him.

Even now as she stood, the guilt was too much, too strong—almost enough to make her not want to go through that door and into the reception. She could run, couldn’t she? Vacate to her house with Jeff—they could leave and get away from everything.

Cade was pacing. She watched him through the monitor. His hands were stuffed in his pockets as he walked, stopped, and turned back again. He ran his hands through his hair as he walked, agitated. He walked to the door, the one that led to the theatre and stared at it as if he was willing it to open. Every moment he was out there waiting was another moment that he had hope. Cathy could give him one more minute where he believed things—one more minute where he felt the flutter of excitement at becoming a father. Was it wrong to do so? She wasn’t just taking away their child, she was taking away their future, because they would never be the same again after this.

None of them would.

Gemma lay sleeping beside her. They were in the recovery room and she was all cleaned up and stitched. Where her small bump had been, it was flat now, violated and robbed. Cathy made herself stare at the space where the plastic crib should stand. It was empty, like a beacon that taunted her for what she had done. She deserved it. The vast emptiness stared back at her accusingly and she was guilty. She rubbed absently at her arms to warm through a chill that was on the inside.

Cathy tried to console herself with Jeff’s words—Jeff’s logic. “What would happen if they took this baby home?” he had asked her. Oh, she knew the answer to that. All the rules the Society had, it was like being in some kind of prison. “You think we had it tough. Think about them. They have to choose between themselves and what they want and then what the Society wants. Malcolm is choosing for them.” He was right, of course. Malcolm had to know that these kids were leaving. It had to be why he had chosen this. They’d never survive out in the strays. Not these two. Not that they were weak, but god, they were like the best bargaining chip any lowlife stray would dream of getting his hands on. What would the Society pay, even if they had cast them out, to save their lives? And for the baby? It would be like holding a lottery ticket with infinite returns.

Cathy hugged herself tightly for a moment before going out to them. She dared to take one last glance towards Gemma and then stepped out into the hallway. Cade stopped immediately, as if he was frozen and paused in time. Stephen stood and stepped towards Cathy, both of them waiting for news. The silence was palpable. The words lodged in Cathy’s throat, not knowing where to begin.

“Is Gemma okay? The baby?” Cade breathed.

“Gemma is fine,” Cathy managed to force out. “She is in recovery and should be awake soon enough.”

Cade’s shoulders sagged. “And the baby?”

Cathy bowed her head, only for a second, but it was enough.

“What’s wrong with our baby?”

Cathy couldn’t do this. It was too hard. She couldn’t go through with it. The lie tasted bitter in her mouth, and she couldn’t get the words out. She opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn’t. She raised her hand to her mouth to keep her bottom lip from quivering. Everything was about to come pouring out—everything—and that would be a terrible disaster.

Both men stared at her, waiting anxiously. Stephen stepped closer, towering above her. “What is wrong with the baby?”

She blinked up at him helplessly, silently
begging that he wouldn’t make her say the words. “H-He was a mix-breed,” she stammered. “He had both
wolf
and
tiger
.”

“
Was
?” Cade blinked in confusion.

“We couldn’t save him. We tried.”

Cade took a step back, shaking his head in denial. “No.”

“We did everything we could.”

“No,” Cade said forcefully as he backed up even more. “No.”

Tears ran down Cathy’s cheeks. She looked at the man before her, who was on the brink of breaking, and the other one that stood frozen between them, not knowing what to do. Her heart broke. “I’m sorry. The strains didn’t mix.”

Stephen grabbed her arm, scowling. “What do you mean?”

But her eyes stayed on Cade. “It was a boy. That made him even stronger. The different parts, they just weren’t compatible. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“We did everything we could.”

Cade went to speak, but there was no sound. His mouth was moving as the words sank in, and he understood what she was saying. He shook his head, motioning with his hands the soundless words that refused to come out. Cathy put her hands to her mouth to stop from crying out as she watched him begin to crumble in front of her. “My son …” he rasped.

Stephen swore and went for Cade as his legs began to give way. He dropped onto his knees on the cold, tiled floor, everything crashing inside and out. He caught Cade as he lurched forwards, wrapping big arms around him. Cade clutched at his head and howled, the sound gut-wrenching. Cathy had to look away from them and put her hands to her ears to muffle the sounds. She couldn’t stand it. She couldn’t hear his cries as his grief began to consume him. Stephen held onto him fiercely, not letting his friend fall to the ground. He held him as he hollered his pain out.

“Oh, god. Oh, god.” He pulled away from Stephen abruptly, his chest heaving. His eyes shifted as he looked at Cathy over Stephen’s shoulder. They were bright and bore into her accusingly.

“Cade—” Stephen’s expression was sombre, helpless.

Cade pulled himself to his feet. breathless and shaking, not the man who had raced in earlier. He turned away from Stephen and Cathy and strode towards the main doors. He forced the door open, not letting the hydraulics kick in, and it slammed open with enough force that he almost threw it from its hinges.

He raced out into the darkness, and neither Cathy nor Stephen moved. Cade just seemed to stand there for a moment, his shoulders back, face turned up towards the night sky. After a minute, he bent forward and then slowly rose again, a screaming howl piercing the night. It was a sound that Cathy knew she would never forget. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, even though she didn’t deserve to cry.

Stephen turned to her and Cathy stepped back. His eyes had shifted, the green replaced with mostly gold. Magnificent, beautiful eyes, but the undertone of danger in them frightened her.

Cade stood by his car and slammed his fists down onto the top of it. He lifted his arms again and brought them down repeatedly. Cathy watched as Stephen went over to him and tried to put a hand on his shoulder, but Cade pushed his friend away and brought his boot up against the car, slamming it into the metal. He kicked and punched and screamed, his pain palpable. Each time his friend tried to stop him, he pushed him back. The metal of his car eventually gave way, and with it Cade crumbled. Stephen wrapped heavy arms around Cade and pinned him until he broke down and started to sob in his arms.

Cathy wept with him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Chapter Five

There was nothing else Cathy could do but wait for the two men to come back in. It was such an odd feeling of helplessness. She knew that she had things to get on with in the clinic—paperwork, administration tasks, even just cleaning up—but they seemed so mundane and without purpose right now that she wasn’t sure what the point was in doing them. She checked on Gemma. She was still sleeping and hadn't moved, but she would be awake soon enough, Cathy knew that, too. It all made her want to just sit and let each moment tick by. Her limbs felt so weighed down, as if they had been filled with sand. She desperately wished Jeff was here and not back at the house.

Cade’s face was flushed when he came back in with Stephen right beside him, his eyes red-rimmed. He had stopped crying and now had the look that she had seen so many times before on friends and partners—the look of acceptance and pain all entwined into one heart-wrenching expression. It was the look of sorrow and a dark scar that would forever mark his heart—a wound that would be easily opened and hurt for the remainder of his life, and she had been the one to cause it. How cruel it was that he didn’t know his little boy was just half a mile across a field sleeping in a bassinette, oblivious to the pain that had been caused.

Cathy kept herself back, unsure what to say to him, but he strode right up to her, the strong, confident
wolf
making its appearance once more. “Does Gemma know?”

“No,” Cathy replied softly. “She hasn’t woken up yet.”

“Can I see her?” Despite the sadness in his eyes, his jaw was clenched, holding himself together tightly.

Cathy nodded. “Of course.” They both turned at the sound of the hiss when the door opened and Stephen came back in. “Both of you?”

“Yes.”

The room where the young girl lay was small. It was warm with enough space for a couple of beds and a little bit of equipment, but that was it. Cathy led them in and closed the door to keep the warmth in. “I’ll get you both some chairs.”

Cade walked around the other side of Gemma. He stood where their baby should have been. Of course, he didn’t know that part. Even though Gemma was sleeping, he took her hand in his and then leaned into her and pressed his face into the pillow against hers. He breathed her in, his thumb absently stroking along her knuckles. “How do I tell her?”

Stephen stood at the opposite side of his sister, his features grim. “I don’t know.”

Cathy brought the chairs over to them and they sat, but it didn’t take long for Gemma to come around. Maybe it was Cade’s presence by her side. Cathy liked to think so, at least. Although she wished that maybe she didn’t wake up, not that she would die, but that she didn’t wake to this news. Maybe it would be better for her if she slept and knew nothing at all.

“Cade?” she breathed sleepily. “Cade …”

He stood from his seat and went to her. “I’m right here.”

Gemma licked her lips and tried to swallow. Her mouth was dry. Cathy poured a glass of the post-operative mixture they gave everyone and added a straw to it. She lifted it to Gemma’s mouth, but Cade took the glass from her, resting the straw on his mate’s lips so that she could drink.

“What is it?” Gemma asked.

“Just juice and vitamins,” Cathy answered.

Gemma shook her head. “No ... the baby. What is it? What did we have?”

Cade’s face crumpled and he shook his head and looked away from her. Gemma had her eyes closed still, and Cathy was thankful for that, at least. Just another minute of peace that this girl could have.

“A boy,” Cathy said gently.

“A boy?” The girl smiled. “A boy.” The smile lanced through them all, the pain of her words tearing at them. Gemma blinked hard, trying to force her eyes to open. “Can I see him?”

A choked sob tore from Cade, and Stephen reached for him.

Gemma peered at him through dazed eyes. “Cade, what is it?”

Cade shook his head, and Cathy had to look away from him, her own shift threatening to make an appearance soon in the energy-charged room. The lump rose dangerously high in her throat.

Gemma reached for him blindly as she fought against the drowsiness that was trying to pull her back under. “Cade? You’re scaring me.”

Stephen took his sister’s hand in his, and she looked up at him like a frightened child, her eyes open and wide now as they searched his.

“Stephen?”

Stephen cleared his throat. “He didn’t …” He took a breath. “He didn’t make it.”

She frowned at him, confusion spreading across her features. “What do you mean? Where’s my baby?”

She turned to Cade when she felt his hand lightly stroke her cheek. “He’s gone, Gem,” he said gently. 

Her brow furrowed and she looked from Cade to Cathy. “No, there’s some mistake,” she said, shaking her head. “I felt him moving. He was moving just before, inside me. Bring me my baby.”

Cathy stayed at the end of Gemma’s bed. She braced herself, ready for another reaction like Cade's. She chose her words carefully—careful to not say too much and expose herself as the liar she was in that moment.  “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “He couldn’t breathe on his own. The breeds didn’t mix—”

“What do you mean the breeds didn’t mix?” Gemma tried to pull herself to sit up, but the pain where Jeff had cut caused her to wince, her hand going to her empty abdomen. She stopped when she realised that there was nothing there. “No. He can't be gone …” Her voice trailed off into a hopeless whimper. “Cade?”

Cade turned to her, blinking away tears. That was the thing that confirmed it. The thing she needed to see for her own acceptance. It brought her tears and grief up to the surface. “No … please,” she begged him.

“He didn’t …” Cade couldn’t finish his words as he leaned down to Gemma. He wrapped his arms around her, rested his head on the bed next to her shoulder and buried his face in her neck. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her as sobs wracked her body. She cried into his shoulder and he held her, his own eyes brimming and spilling tears.

“I want to see him. I want to see my baby,” she said eventually, pulling herself away from Cade. “I want to see my son.”

“It’s not a good idea,” Cathy said.

“I need to. I need to hold him.”

Cathy glanced to both of the men, but they just stared back at her, clearly with Gemma on this one. Cathy swallowed hard and focused back on Gemma. “It isn’t a memory you should have. The breeds didn’t mix.”

“What do you mean? What does that mean? The breeds didn’t mix?” Stephen narrowed his gaze. “Was there something else wrong with him?”

“It was two very strong strains—powerful strains. They fought one another.” She lowered her voice. “He had deformities. Don’t let that be a memory you take away with you.” She stared at Gemma, her eyes pleading with her, hoping that Gemma would change her mind. She didn’t need to see a dead, deformed baby—or one that was alive and stolen, either—and that was much worse.

They all remained quiet for a moment as Gemma took in what it all meant. It was Cathy who spoke again, breaking the silence. “The incision should heal quickly. You should be able to go home if you want. I’ll give you all some time.” Her eyes darted to them individually. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Please let me see my baby before I go,” Gemma sobbed. “Just once. Just his face.”

Cathy paused at the door. “It’s not a good idea.” She left before they could ask more, before her own tears fell and she admitted everything. She left and hoped that they would soon, too. When the door closed behind her, and the three of them were away from her and on the other side, she let her guard down and let herself cry for the moment. Her heart was heavy with it, heavier than she had ever anticipated. But she made herself walk. Her mind was in such a daze, her skin numb and tingling as she let herself out of the clinic.

Their house was a ten-minute walk across the land they had. It was set back so that passers-by wouldn’t see it. They both liked it that way. They had wanted cattle and livestock on the land. Maybe a place to help feed strays too, but it had been forbidden. Jeff could go back to the clinic. She would watch the baby and wait for Malcolm to come. She walked through the darkness with her head down and when she was almost at the house, she heard footsteps running behind her. She turned to see Stephen there.

“My sister wants to see the baby,” he said.

Her heart sank. “It isn’t a good idea.”

“It’s her baby. It’s her decision. If she wants to see it, it doesn’t matter whether it is a good idea or not.”

“It is badly deformed. Do you want your sister to have that memory?”

“I don’t care. It is what she wants. What they both want.”

She wasn’t getting rid of him, so it was a relief when the front door of her house opened and Malcolm emerged. Stephen frowned and then his face became an expression of shock and confusion. He didn’t have the baby with him. He walked to them, his steps calm and controlled. He ran a hand down his neatly pressed suit.

“Dad?”

“Take your sister home, Stephen.”

Stephen shook his head and went to walk past his father to the house. “She wants to see the baby.” But Malcolm stepped forward and blocked his way.

Malcolm shook his head, his expression stern. “You tell her she can't.”

Stephen’s jaw clenched. “Why?”

“The baby is dead. Dead and deformed, and it is not something that she should see.” Stephen started to say something else, but his father dismissed him. “This is not up for a debate. Go back to you sister and take her home. I will see you there. I have business here to sort out.”

He turned away then, giving Stephen no chance to argue. The defiance on Stephen’s face was evident, but with a violent oath, he turned and walked back to the clinic without another word.