Page 32 of Bred By Fafnir

My head pounds as I upturn my stomach.

It’s been like this for the past two days.

I try to eat, sometimes even get it down, only to throw it up later. Which is confusing since it's called morning sickness, but I’ve yet to actually experience it in the morning. Turns out the tenderness in my breasts hasn’t been from their constant abuse. My exhaustion and endless sleeping not just a side effect of Fafnir killing someone in the living room when they tried to arrest him in the middle of the night.

I’m pregnant.

Turns out you pay a lot more attention to things when you aren’t constantly being fucked, teased, happy and stated, you have more time to think when you’re alone.

I hadn’t wanted to ever feel that again.

The crying comes next. Deep sobs echoing back at me from the toilet before they taper off, and I gather myself enough to clean up the bathroom. When I finally exit, avoiding the crumbled sheets that have remained untouched since that night, I have a plan in mind. It takes me all the rest of that day to compile my notes, linking research and articles back to my theory. Everything I’ve been struggling to bring up to Fafnir. My pulse hiccups as I send off the message to a Kalzait doctor I hoped might listen, might tell me I’m not crazy. If anyone can make sense of my poorly constructed research, it’ll be a species with medical advancements second to none. The ones who hold the prestige of being the race that makes and markets most all human designed healing pods. The very machines we couldn’t afford to save Dad. If I’m right though, Fafnir doesn’t need one. If I’m right, WarMadness isn’t a disease, at least not in a literal sense. It’s a severe form of alien PTSD. It’s late into the next morning, and I can’t sleep. Now is as good a time as any, I guess.

My stomach is twisted in knots as I bathe and dress, forcing even breaths when all I want to do is pant and gasp, sniffle and cry. My chin is high, like he showed me that very first day, as I jerk the door open, meeting the annoyed stare of my guard.

“Back inside.”

“I’m out of supplies, I need to go into the—"

“No.”

“I need them.”

“What do you need? I’ll send—"

“Feminine… things. Surely you don’t expect me to list out the requirements. I need to talk to another female. Elat, if you know where to find her. I—" I hesitate, feigning embarrassment, “I’m not sure how bleeds are handled here, and I am leaking—"

He coughs, cutting me off. “Come, I’ll take you to her then we come straight back. Understand?”

I nod.

Being pulled onto his mount feels… horrid, and I keep my freezing hands far from its mane, despite how unsteady it makes me feel. My eyes scanning the snowy, dark landscape for the Sihlih enclosure. We give it a wide berth, passing without issue, and my heart drops just a bit. Things would be much easier if Val would burst through, maim some people, and we’d be on our way. He’s resting soundly, and know he needs it. The ride jolts my stomach, and by the time I’m lowered to the ground, my legs feel like jelly, and I’m sure my face is an alarming sickly pale green. I’m determined not to vomit as I stride up to a similar house to Fafnir’s, albeit smaller. The door is thrown open before I can knock. Her pretty, soft eyes widen on me. “Lenora! Are you alright?”

My chin wobbles, a truth on the tip of my tongue.

No, no, I’m not alright. I’m fucking terrified.

I don’t need to say it; she sees but keeps her face schooled.

“I need some help. Ugh- female things.”

She nods, her small, docked antlers bobbing. My guard paces uncomfortably as she lets me inside, slamming the door in his face.

“I’m pregnant,” I whisper.

“It shows.” She answers, leading me toward the bedroom into her bathroom. I ignore the naked male with jutting cocks on the bed, but so does she, as if he’s no more than the bed he’s lying on. “You’re glowing.”

I give her a miserable look. I am death frozen over, and we both know it.

She shrugs. “It is a nice thing to say.”

I almost laugh as she shuts the door behind us, taking a pen-type device in her hand and mine in the other. “Fafnir is—"

“I was at the Halthara… when he was brought in.”

Tears bud in my eyes, but her gaze is on my palm. Her brows are furrowed, lips parted as she brings it to the light, staring at the faint rings.

“Fafnir didn’t mean to. It was an accident. Really, he’s a good male Elat. I don’t mind them, their kinda pretty, like a tattoo.”

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