Page 137 of Hoarded By the Dragon

“You’ve given me such a gift.” I kiss her damp forehead. “I may not even spank you later for ignoring your contractions.”

She breathes a pained laugh. “Don’t take away my incentive.”

* * *

In all the wars and bloodshed I’ve seen in my life, nothing is as primal and vicious as birth.

Nothing makes me feel nearly as helpless as holding my mate through her bellowing cries.

Dragons have the right idea with eggs.

With there being no other dragon from witch births, we couldn’t know if any of the mitigation strategies for pain would be dangerous. Maggie can’t help herself from adding a small amount of magic here and there to soothe Katarina.

Maggie croons instructions, and Katarina tries to control her breathing. I help her reposition, knowing through our connection which direction her pain is urging her. The cat makes appearances during the lulls between contractions, but there hasn’t been a long lull in a while now.

“I can’t do this,” Katarina gasps.

I almost laugh. The words would have terrified me before seeing that painting. Katarina gave me the gift of knowing both she and our daughter come out of this ordeal on the other end. “You are doing this. I tremble at your power, my queen.”

“I’m so tired,” she whines.

“I know.” I feel her waning as I wipe away her tears. “She’s almost here.”

“She has a lot of explaining to do when she gets here,” she grits out.

I press my forehead to hers and feed more energy to her through the bond. Katarina shifts, perking up in time for another contraction.

All my deep-seated worries that I will fail my mate, my young, pales in the visceral nature of this moment. I will not let them down. If the hatchling bond doesn’t snap into place when she is born, I will work every day to rectify it.

Failure is not an option.

Time blurs together as if I’m lost in a killing rage, but my only focus is Katarina.

It could be hours or minutes, but finally our daughter is born. Maggie holds up a squirming pink creature that bears no similarity to the toddler in the portrait.

The bond is a whisper before becoming a taut, ringing string at her first cry. The relief almost brings me to my knees.

“A baby girl,” Maggie says, placing the squirming witch-appearing infant on Katarina’s bare skin.

“Kalos—” Katarina’s eyes are bright with tears, and she looks at me. “Look at her.”

“I see her.” I swallow emotion, overcoming my stoic nature. “I feel her.”

My voice cracks, and Katarina’s laugh is full of pained joy as she understands.

The bonds we’ve forged together vibrate with joy and sweetness.

I am whole.

EPILOGUE

KATARINA

I gasp awake,something tugging me from the deepest sleep.

My hands fly over the covers of the bed, searching for what’s missing. The bassinet next to me is empty.

“Rina.” Kalos’s voice is soft and halts my panic. “I have her.”

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