The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts

Neither one of them answered.

Cyrus looked at her face and hated himself a little more, because she was looking at him with confusion and trust at the same time. She did not know the full reason for his fear. She only knew she felt weak and strange and now had two males hovering over her like she might crack apart if she breathed the wrong way.

So he reached for her hand and held it tightly.

Too tightly at first.

Then he eased his grip when he realized it.

"Nothing is wrong," he said.

Zyran’s eyes flicked toward him at once.

That was clearly a lie.

Cyrus knew it too.

But how was he supposed to explain anything now? How was he supposed to tell her that the blood inside the babies had become too strong to keep hidden? How was he supposed to look her in the eyes and speak of demon blood, old fear, and the possibility of her giving birth much sooner than she should?

No.

Not yet.

So he bent closer and said more softly, "You’re just closer than we thought."

Isabella stared at him.

Then she stared at Zyran.

Then she looked back at Cyrus again.

She was not stupid.

Not even a little.

So even though his words sounded calm, she could hear the strain under them, and that only made her heart start beating faster.

The next pressure in her stomach came while she was still looking at him.

This time it was a little stronger.

Not enough to make her cry out.

Enough to make her suck in a breath and hold it.

Cyrus felt her hand tense around his and immediately moved his other hand to her stomach over the fur, as if his palm alone could shield her from what was coming. His touch was warm. Very warm. That part helped. Still, the fear in him did not lessen.

Zyran saw it and said sharply, "Panicking will help nothing."

Cyrus looked at him with open irritation. "I am not panicking."

"You are one breath away from turning into your full beast form and coiling around the bed."

Cyrus said nothing.

That silence proved too much.

Even Isabella, weak as she was, looked between them and muttered, "I think he is right."

Cyrus looked wounded by that.

Zyran, naturally, looked satisfied.

Then the dark-haired male leaned down a little closer to Isabella and said in a softer voice than usual, "Listen to me. Breathe slowly. Do not fight your body before it has even decided what it wants to do."

His tone was surprisingly gentle.

That alone would have shocked another person.

Isabella, however, was too tired to think much about it. She only nodded and tried to do as he said.

For a few moments after that, the room stayed quiet except for the fire and Isabella’s breathing. The pressure in her body eased a little again, which should not have comforted Cyrus as much as it did, but it did. He brushed his thumb over the back of her hand again and again without even realizing he was doing it, and every time Isabella shifted, his whole body went alert.

At one point, she looked at him and asked, "Why do you look like you’re about to faint?"

"I do not look like that."

"You do."

Zyran, still standing at the other side of the bed, added very helpfully, "He looks worse."

Cyrus shot him a glare.

Zyran ignored it.

And somehow, because the two of them were still behaving like themselves even while worrying, some of the fear in Isabella’s chest loosened.

Only a little.

Still, enough.

Then another thought came to her, and she frowned again. "Shouldn’t someone go call the others?"

This time, Cyrus and Zyran actually shared a look.

Because yes, the others would need to know.

But no, not yet.

Not while they still were not certain whether the birth would begin this instant or after a few more hours. If they called everyone too early, the room would become crowded, tense, and loud. Kian would grow darker. Osiris would probably start pacing like a trapped fire beast. The whole house would wake, and Isabella, who was already uncomfortable, would have to carry the weight of everybody else’s fear too.

So Zyran said, "Not yet."

Cyrus nodded after one breath. "Not until we know more."

Isabella did not like that answer.

She could tell from their faces alone that "knowing more" meant "not frightening you yet." That only made her more suspicious. Still, her body felt too strange and too heavy for her to push it much further right then.

So she only sighed and let her head rest back into the fur.

"Fine," she muttered. "But if I suddenly start pushing out children while the whole house is asleep, I will haunt both of you."

Zyran actually laughed softly at that.

Cyrus almost did.

Almost.

Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead, and the tenderness of it made Isabella blink at him in surprise because his lips had lingered there just a little too long.

"You won’t be alone," he said quietly.

The words were simple.

Still, both he and Zyran knew how much was hidden under them.

She would not be alone.

Not through the pain.

Not through the blood.

Not through the birth.

Not through whatever demon blood and beast blood decided to make of the children inside her.

For one long moment after that, nobody spoke.

The room slowly settled again, though not into peace exactly. It settled into waiting, and waiting was its own kind of tension. Isabella lay beneath the furs with one hand over her stomach and Cyrus still too close at her side. Zyran stood near the foot of the bed watching both of them, his expression thoughtful in a way that did not suit him at all.

Then, after another small wave of discomfort passed and Isabella relaxed again, Cyrus finally found enough control to move back a little.

Not far.

Never far.

Just enough that he could look at her without breathing directly into her face.

Zyran folded his arms and leaned back against the wall again, but this time there was nothing lazy about it. He was still watching too carefully. Still listening too hard.

And it was after that, after the first wave of fear and the first ugly possibility had settled into something quieter, that Zyran and Cyrus stayed with her and the room slowly became quiet again.