The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts

He did not shout.

He did not need to.

The image alone was enough, and the frightening part was that Cyrus knew he meant it completely.

If Isabella died, or if the children tore her body apart, or if this hidden demon blood ruined her, Zyran truly would do it. In fact, he might enjoy it.

Cyrus did not answer.

What answer was there?

He only looked down the corridor for one second, then back at the door, and his hands clenched harder.

Inside him, guilt and fear were tearing against each other now. One side wanted to rush back and stay by Isabella’s bed and never leave again. The other side knew this was only beginning. If Zyran had sensed it, and if the suppression had slipped badly enough to make her body react like that, then the truth was simple.

She would give birth soon.

Very soon.

Too soon.

That thought made his chest tighten again.

He had always known the birth would be difficult. A demom-born female carrying demon beast children was already not a simple thing. A normal-born female carrying his children, children touched by demon blood and snake blood together, was far worse. He had tried not to think too deeply about how soon the true danger would begin, because every time he did, the old word returned.

Monster.

He hated that word.

He hated that it had followed him from childhood.

He hated that it still sat somewhere behind his ribs even now.

Most of all, he hated that a small ugly part of him had feared Isabella would look at him differently if she knew everything.

The moment that thought entered his mind, Cyrus looked even more miserable.

Zyran saw it and felt even less sympathy.

This was not the time for the snake to be pitiful.

This was the time for him to be useful.

So Zyran ran one hand through his black hair and let out a sharp breath through his nose, already thinking ahead. If the children were coming soon, then the room needed to be prepared. The herbs needed to be chosen carefully. The wrong scents had to be removed. Kian needed to know enough, but not in a way that would make him decide to bite Cyrus’s head off before the babies even arrived.

Then, from inside the room, they heard movement.

Very small movement.

But both of them caught it at once.

Cyrus did not wait.

He was through the door almost before the sound fully reached the end of the corridor.

Zyran clicked his tongue, annoyed with everything, then followed after him.

Inside, the room was still warm, and the fire still burned low. The furs on the bed had shifted, and Isabella was awake now.

She looked weak.

Too weak.

Her hair had loosened slightly around her face, her skin was still damp with the after-feeling of sweat, and one hand was pressed to her stomach as if she needed to hold it there. When she saw them come back in, confusion showed in her eyes first. Then discomfort. Then something that made Cyrus’s blood run cold.

Because she looked like she had already understood something terrible inside her own body before either of them could say a word.

Cyrus rushed to her side at once and dropped near the bed.

"Isabella."

His voice was softer now, but too strained.

Zyran stopped just behind him, his red eyes taking in the whole scene, the bed, the furs, the way Isabella’s fingers pressed against the curve of her stomach, the way her breathing had changed again.

She looked between them.

Then she said, in a weak confused voice, "I think I may be giving birth any time soon."

Cyrus froze the moment he heard those words.

Not because he did not understand them.

But because he understood them too well.

For one terrible second, all the blood in his body seemed to rush the wrong way. His eyes immediately dropped to Isabella’s stomach, then to her face, then back to her stomach again as if looking hard enough would tell him whether it was truly time or whether this was only another wave of pain that had come too suddenly.

Zyran’s face also changed.

The cold irritation and anger from before vanished at once, and his red eyes sharpened as he stepped closer to the bed. His hand, which had only just left the edge of the fur, lifted again with dark power already gathering around his fingertips, ready to check her a second time.

Isabella looked from one of them to the other and frowned weakly. "Why are you both looking at me like that?"

Cyrus sat down beside her so fast that the fur beneath him wrinkled. "What do you feel?"

His voice came out rough.

Too rough.

The question also came out too quickly, too tightly, and that alone made Isabella look even more confused. So she shifted a little under the fur and pressed one hand more firmly over her stomach while trying to understand her own body.

"It feels..." She stopped and breathed through the strange pressure there. "It feels heavy. And tight. And weird."

Zyran immediately asked, "Pain?"

"A little."

"How much?"

She looked at him. "How am I supposed to answer that?"

Zyran clicked his tongue softly. "With words."

Even in that moment, Isabella almost wanted to roll her eyes at him.

Almost.

But then the strange feeling in her body came again, low and uncomfortable and different enough that her fingers tightened over the fur. She let out a small sound before she could stop herself, and that was enough to make Cyrus lean even closer.

"Isabella."

"I’m fine," she said automatically.

Neither male believed her.

That was obvious.

This was because she looked nothing like fine. Her face was a little too pale beneath the warmth, her lashes still looked damp from earlier, and now there was a strange tightness in the lower part of her stomach that seemed to come and go in waves. It was not the same as the heavy pressure she had complained about before. This had a shape to it. A rhythm almost. Not strong yet, but there.

Zyran placed his hand carefully over the fur near her stomach and let a thin thread of dark power slip over her again. This time his expression became even stranger.

Not panicked.

Worse.

Measuring.

Thinking.

Calculating.

That made Cyrus’s chest tighten harder.

"Well?" he asked.

Zyran did not answer immediately.

He kept his power there for another breath, then another, feeling the babies, the demonic blood, the strange unstable pressure in her body, and the way her whole being seemed to be standing on the edge of some huge change.

Then he finally said, "Not this second."

Cyrus still did not look relieved.

"Not this second," Zyran repeated, "but soon."

Those two words made the room feel smaller.

Soon.

Cyrus lowered his head for a moment as if he needed that one second to hold himself together.

Because he had known it was coming.

He had always known it.

Still, knowing something was coming and hearing it spoken aloud were two different things completely.

Isabella watched the two of them and felt something colder than the winter outside slip under her skin.

Because now even she could tell that this was not ordinary worry anymore.

So she asked, in a quieter voice this time, "What is wrong?"