Page 213 of New Storm Rising
So, the reality has settled in, has it?
I didn’t even bother to waste time thinking about what to do next. Coming up behind her, I pulled her into my arms and against my chest.
“I…no…” Half-heartedly, she tried to struggle free. “I’ve got to go…what am I going to do, what…what am I…”
“Shh! Shh. Everything is all right. You’re going to be all right.” Ah. I remembered now.Thiswas what comfort was. And it didn’t even cost anything. Gently, I slid down my hand until it rested on her stomach. “We are all going to be all right.”
All three of us.
“B-but what am I going to do?” The pain in her voice tore at me like a thousand greedy creditors. No. Worse. Because the creditors I could just have disposed of. “I don’t know how to be a mother! I’m not even sure I want to know! It’s bound to involve all kinds of swelling and squeezing and icky, nauseating bloodiness—and not the fun kind involving weapons! And then…and then…”
With every moment, I could feel her panic rising. Why wasn’t this working? My arms were squeezing at the appropriate level of pressure, I was exuding suitable levels of reliable maleness…why wasn’t she comforted?! This was how one was supposed to do this, right?
All right, Plan A (Comforting Squeeze) failed. Proceed to Plan B.
Before she could plunge further into panic, I whirled her around, swept her into my arms and slammed my lips onto hers.
The best possible way to end a panic attack: start another kind of attack. Lifting her bodily off the ground, I kissed the life out of her until she hung limply in my arms, her eyes dazed and cheeks flushed with a rosy colour. Up until now, I had always seen roses as useless weeds. But looking at her…suddenly, I felt as if I might understand why people were so obsessed with them. Perhaps I should invest in a few gardeners.
Not now, though.
“Everything will be all right,” I murmured, gently stroking her hair. “Everything will be all right.”
“Y-you really think so?”
“Of course. You will be an adequa—ehem,wonderfulmother.”
Mental note: expand vocabulary, or face painful death.
“Then why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded, staring up at me with glistening eyes that were far harder to resist than they should have been. “Why didn’t you say a single word?”
In answer, I simply cocked my head and gave her a look. Did my wife really just ask why I, Mr Rikkard Ambrose, had remained silent?
After a moment, she apparently also noticed the problem with her question, as evidenced by the fact that her face turned red in a way that had nothing to do with roses, and everything with volcanoes that were about to explode.
“You…you…!”
The worst thing, though? It wasn’t because of my tendency for taciturnity that I had kept quiet. Nor was it entirely for her sake. Oh, I hadtoldhimself it was, that it was to soften the blow to her pride and independence. But was that really the case? Or was it because I was afraid to be a father? Afraid that I would turn out like my own sorry excuse for a sire?
“You son of a…!”
None of this showed on my face, though. With practised ease, I prevented myself from showing the slightest hint of vulnerability in the face of my wife’s mounting rage. Clenching her fists, she sent me a glare that might have been intimidating if I didn’t see worse every day in the mirror.
“Just you wait! I’m going to beat you into a pulp!”
I gave her an admonishing shake of the head. “Strenuous exercise during pregnancy is inadvisable.”
“Oh, is that a fact?” Eyes sparking dangerously, she slipped out of my grasp and reached for her gun holster, which I should probably have taken away before this conversation started. “Well, then let’s go for a less strenuous method, shall we?”
Immediately, my hand shot out to clamp around her wrist. “Let’s not.”
Before she could object. I pulled her into another embrace, conveniently trapping her arms at her sides and putting the gun out of reach. Ever so slightly, I felt her tremble in my clasp. She slumped, and all her anger seemed to drain away, replaced by rising panic.
“Why?” she demanded, burying her face in my chest. “Why me?”
“Because you engaged in sexual congress with me?”
She slammed a fist into my pectorals. Note to self: accurate answers are not appreciated by spouses.
