Married To The Mad Vampire Lord

Then the next contraction came, and it hit them both.

Shock coursed through him as he felt the echo of her pain grip his own lower body. It was hard and long, nearly a full minute, sharper and deeper than any before.

When it finally ended, Belle gasped for air, then whispered, "Wash your hands again, Rohan. And trim your nails."

Trim his nails?

This time, he didn't ask why.

He was afraid he already knew.

In case things went wrong, and he had to reach inside.

He hadn't worn his gloves ever since they had arrived here, and he looked at his hands before he began to scrub his knuckles until they paled, and snipped his dark, already trimmed nails to the very end with the sterilized scissors, fighting down panic.

Done with that task, he moved to the side of the bed and sat on the hard wooden chair.

"I hurt so much." She chuckled, trying to ease his fears and cradled her stomach. She'd never seen her husband in this state. She had never known there was something enough to shake him like he looked shaken since hours ago.

He reached as if to brush Belle's brow.

"Don't touch me, Rohan. You mustn't," she said quickly.

Reluctantly, he withdrew his cleansed hand to sit in misery, waiting, feeling useless by her side. He wished he could take her pain and make her labor painless and easy.

The next pain lifted her midsection off the mattress and brought Rohan from his chair to lean over her, watching her face contort as her knees parted and she reached up to grip the wooden rails above her head. When she held her breath, he held his. When she grimaced, he grimaced. When she bared her teeth, he bared his. The sixty seconds during her contraction felt longer than his stay in the asylum where he waited to get out into the world and feel the wind in his face.

He wanted to beg his unborn child not to come and let his wife never have to bear this pain, but he had been there once and knew at the last moment, nothing could be said that would make the baby listen anymore. The baby had even tried until now to hold on inside when its time was days overdue.

Rohan had no way in helping her, and he hated himself and his helplessness, just like he had been helpless days ago at the vampire castle and had had to give away something in order to return to his wife, in order to save her and live with her.

At its end, she opened her dazed eyes and rolled her head to look at him.

"It's t-time, R-Rohan," she managed, her voice trembling. "Wipe me with alcohol d-down there... before you h-help take him o-out. We have to k-keep things clean."

His hands trembled as he moved to the foot of the bed, folded back her nightgown, and stared.

Oh, hell. Damnation! How she must hurt.

She was swollen, distended, distorted beyond anything he'd imagined. He could actually see the bulge caused by the baby's head just above the apex of her legs. Her genitals appeared inflamed, and they were seeping, staining the bedclothes a dim pink.

He gulped but came from his stupor when she reared up and a great gush of transparent fluid flowed from her body, wetting a wide circle on the sheet. The sight of it snapped him into action. He knew what it was—knew it meant the baby was pressing low, preparing for its arrival into the world.

Suddenly, his purpose here became crystal clear, and as it dawned, all Rohan's fears disappeared. His stomach grew calm. His hands grew steady. The jitters fled, chased away by the realization that he was needed by both his baby and his wife. But they needed him competent.

With a pad of cotton, he generously swabbed her stomach, thighs, and genitals with alcohol. For good measure, he swabbed the leather straps before gently lifting her heels and slipping the leather loops snug behind her knees. Then he placed an additional clean folded sheet beneath her.

"R-R-Rohan," she panted as another contraction began.

"Yes, love," he answered quietly, but stood at his post, eyes riveted on her constricting belly, watching it slowly begin to arch, watching her dilation grow with the pain.

"R-R-Roooohan!" It tore from her as a rasping cry while the contraction built and peaked. He placed his palms beneath her thighs and helped her through it, feeling her muscles tighten as she lifted. Only when she relaxed did he raise his eyes to her face.

Beads of sweat stood on her brow. The fine strands of blonde hair at her hairline were damp. Her lips looked dry and cracked. She wet them with her tongue while he thought of the jar of lip oil he dared not touch to apply on her lips.

Before her lips had dried, another pain arrived, and with it, the sight of the baby's dark scalp.

"I see him!" Rohan cried. "Come on, my love, one more push and he'll be here!"

He waited with his hands spread in welcome, chancing not so much as a glance away from the dark hair now clearly visible. Belle's womb arched, her legs tightened on the straps, her hands on the bedrails. A ragged scream rent the air, and Rohan learned what perineum meant as he watched his wife tear.

But he had no time to dwell on it, for at the same moment the baby's head slipped through, facing backward, as promised, facedown and slippery in his waiting hands. Then, as if by some miracle, it turned to the side, following the normal course of events, and he cradled it on his palm, small and sleek and red.

"His head is out, sweetheart. Oh, he looks strange..."

The baby's face looked frighteningly dark and misshapen from the strain of birth. Rohan's heart nearly stopped at the sight, but he remembered the warning from the book: don't panic, and never pull on the baby's head. He forced himself to stay calm. Don't drag him out. Don't panic. Just wait. Let him come on his own.

"Easy there, now, little one," he murmured to the baby. "I got to clean your mouth out first."

As if nature knew exactly what she was doing, she allowed just enough time for Belle to rest and for Rohan to run his finger into the baby's mouth and clear it before Belle bore down again, and the baby's lower shoulder appeared, followed by the upper, then, in one grand release, the full birth happened.

Into Rohan's waiting hands spilled a creature with a dark face, connected to its mother by a thin, crimped lifeline. Slippery and wet he came, filling Rohan's heart with a wild thrum of excitement, his face with a wide beam of wonder. His son was out!

"He's here, Isa, he's born! He has so much hair on his head. And... oh... he doesn't have wings! And, hell be damned, he's smaller than I thought!"

Even as he spoke, telling his wife what the baby looked like, he rested their newborn gently on Belle's stomach while she panted in the brief natural respite following full birth.

Releasing her grip on the headrail, Belle reached down to touch the baby's slippery head, lifting her own with an effort and smiling wearily. As her head fell back, she laughed, and tears leaked down her temples.

"Is he handsome?"

Rohan grimaced down at his son's face. "He's the sorriest mess I have ever seen," he said, and the baby frantically tried to slip out of his hold as if, despite having his eyes slide, he could hear his father's words.

He laughed in relief at the action. Until Belle was hit by an aftershock and grunted, straining until her face shook and turned purple.

He quickly laid the baby down and tried to help his wife through the second wave of pushing pains. But the afterbirth refused to come. She fell back, panting, near exhaustion, her eyelids quivering. Another pushing pain produced the same result, and Rohan swallowed the lump of fear in his throat, doing what he knew he must do.

He rested one hand in the soft hollow of her stomach, fitting its heel at the top of her womb and manipulating it to create a man-made contraction. She moaned and mindlessly tried to push his hand away. He forced from his mind the fact that he must hurt her to help her. His eyes smarted. He cleared them on his shoulder and vowed he'd never make her pregnant again—this would be their first and last.