Page 113 of Brutal Conquest

The night Kristian and I first made love after I told him I was pregnant, I thought he was silly for freezing up and worrying he would hurt the baby. As I walk up the aisle on my father’s arm in the vaulted church, I understand what he was really worried about. That we didn’t deserve our happy ending. We hadn’t bled enough or fought enough or beaten our enemies back.

And he was right. At that time, there were still enemies circling us in the shadows, hungry to tear apart our happiness, but now we’ve defeated them. He and I fought to be together, and as we fought, we fell in love.

I smile at Kristian as I walk slowly by my father’s side, my long white dress brushing along the floor, and he returns my smile with glowing eyes. He wears a gray suit and a black shirt, but no tie. When he glimpsed a hint of the lace on my wedding dress after a fitting, he had a crisis over his own attire, saying he would wear a tie, after all, because he didn’t want to let me down.

“You could never let me down,” I told him, kissing him and smiling. “Besides, the bride won’t look traditional either. I will be so goddamn pregnant in that dress.”

“Even better,” he said with a devilish grin, and kissed me harder. “All right. A bump for you and no tie for me. We’ll do this our way.”

Dad is gripping my arm tightly and leaning on his oxygen tank, but he’s smiling as the music plays. There are so many happy, smiling faces around us, and I drink in every sound and sight. It’s the wedding day that I’ve been dreaming of, and there are tears on my lashes as I kiss my father’s cheek, help him into a seat at the front, pass my flowers to Lana, and join Kristian at the altar.

Kristian doesn’t care that the priest is waiting or it’s not time to kiss me yet. He takes my face between his hands, touches my curls, my neck and shoulders, my waist, and finally my bump.

“I love you,” he breathes, drinking me in, and presses a soft kiss to my lips.

And that’s the most important moment of our whole wedding day. Not our vows, not the party. That quiet moment with Kristian at the altar when he shows everyone we care about that I am his and he is mine. Forever.

* * *

Demyan Troian Belyaevis born five and a half months after our wedding at two in the morning, and he fills the birthing suite at the hospital with his strong, indignant cries. Kristian is the first one to hold him, and he gazes down at his son with the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen touching his lips.

He lays the baby in my arms and presses a kiss to my sweaty brow. “You’re amazing, dandelion. Look what you made.”

“We made,” I whisper, marveling at our son’s tiny, beautiful face. I’ve never seen anything so wonderful in my whole life. My head and Kristian’s are bent over the baby as we gaze at him together.

I insist on being discharged as soon as possible because there’s someone Demyan has to meet. Eight hours after I’ve given birth, I leave the hospital with my baby in my arms, and Kristian drives us to the hospice to see Dad because we could no longer take care of him and manage his pain at home.

It hurts so much to see Dad so weakened in his bed. With all the emotions and baby hormones circulating through my body, I don’t sob as I sit at his bedside, but the tears flow down my cheeks while I smile through them.

“He has your eyes, Kristian,” Dad says, his bed raised so he can sit up with Demyan in his thin arms.

Kristian swallows hard and squeezes my hand. A moment later his voice is husky as he asks, “Do you think so?”

Dad smiles and stroke’s the baby’s cheek with a finger. “And I think he has my nose.”

I gaze at Demyan and realize that Dad’s right. Demyan is a perfect blend of mine and Dad’s features and Kristian’s as well.

Kristian blinks hard and his jaw is tight. His happiness at finally hearing something he’s always wanted to hear is bittersweet.

Dad passes away just two weeks later. He was only forty-two, and even though I knew it was coming, I cry so much. So do my brothers and sisters, and for once I don’t run away and sob by myself because I think I have to be strong for them. I’m with them, and when that first storm of tears has passed I have them all in my arms to ease the hurt.

Kristian is there to hold me too, and for me to hold him, and the grief is stark on his face. As much as they fought, he and Dad loved each other.

I cling to him tightly and whisper, “I’m happy we were all together at the end. I don’t think I could have done this without you. Our family wasn’t meant to be in pieces.”

“Never again,” Kristian says and holds me back as hard as he can, and I can feel how determined he is to keep us all together, now and always.

* * *

I catchthe scent of blood in the air before I see him. Strong arms wrap around me from behind and Kristian buries his face in my neck and breathes me in like he’s been gone for weeks instead of a matter of hours.

“Mm. I missed you, dandelion.”

I look down at his hands, which are spattered with red. “What are you covered in?”

He chuckles darkly. “The blood of your enemies.”

I stand up from my laptop and walk into Kristian’s open arms, smiling up at him. His eyes are lit with blue fire and there’s a smear of blood on his jaw. This handsome man can still take my breath away after a year and a half of marriage.

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