Page 25 of Princess Redeemed
Hospital.
Need hospital.
My father won’t take me.He thinks this baby is already gone.I don’t believe it.
Iwon’tbelieve it.
Not until I see it on an ultrasound.
A heartbeat.My child’s heartbeat.Is it too soon?
I stumble out of the bathroom and into my father’s arms.
“Let’s get you back to bed,” he says.
“No.Please.The hospital.Please, Daddy.”
His brown eyes soften.I’ve always believed my father loves my mother, sister, and me in the only way he knows how.He’s a mess.He always has been, but once in a while, I see a sliver of humanity in him, even though he doesn’t possess a drop of human blood.
“You need to feed, Hannah,” he says.“That will help.”
He’s not wrong.When was the last time I fed?
“Fridge,” I manage.
Dad walks out of my bedroom and returns with a glass of dark red liquid.“Sheep blood?”he says.“Really?”
I ignore his judgmental tone—or try to, anyway.My baby is the most important thing right now, and he or she needs sustenance, as do I.
I drink quickly, rivers of blood trickling from the sides of my mouth.
It’s thin and flavorless compared to the alpha wolf blood of Victor Rogan, but it has the nutrients I require.
The pain in my gut subsides, but only a bit.
I still need to get checked out, and if my father refuses to take me, I’ll get there myself.
Because nothing—and I mean notone fucking thing—is going to come between me and my child.
14
“Hospital,”I choke out again.
“Hannah…”
“Damn it, Dad!Either you take me to the fucking hospital or I’ll get there myself!”
He glares at me.“You’ve got to listen to me.It won’t work.It’s a scientific impossibility.Let it go, Toosie.”
Toosie.His name for me when I was a child.One of the only good memories I have of my father.I close my eyes the moment the pain lessens.
I see myself sitting at an old-fashioned soda fountain.The server brings my father and me each a glass of frothy root beer.I take a drink, let the flavor slide across my tongue—creamy vanilla, crisp wintergreen—like those pink candies I love—and something earthy and tangy that I find out later is sassafras.
Root beer with Daddy.
I wasn’t quite three years old.
But the memory is fresh in my mind.
