Chapter 7: Birth in the Storm

Valkyrie's POV 

Four years ago.

In the little, draughty cottage situated at the edge of Port Campbell, the wooden windows shook in their frames. The rain struck the glass in thick, violent sheets and drowned the coastal morning light in a heavy, bruised dark gray.

I was lying on the mattress in the spare room, twisting the thin cotton sheets with my hands into tight ropes like I was gripping them with white knuckles.

“Breathe, Valkyrie, and do so slowly through your nose.”

The voice remained calm, acting as a steady anchor through the pain that was tearing me in two.

Dr. Hamish Croft knelt by the side of the bed, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the strong muscles in his forearms, damp with sweat and water. 

His hair was messy and stuck to his forehead because of the rush he had made through the gale from his car to my front door. He looked directly into my eyes, remaining completely steady and showing not the slightest sign of the panic which was presently suffocating me.

I couldn't. I gasped, my head banging against the wet pillow. Another sharp contraction came on, painful and severe, spreading through my lower abdomen like molten glass. I gave out a harsh scream, which was immediately overtaken by the sound of the wind blowing outside. 

"Hamish, something's wrong... It's too early..."

"You're thirty-eight weeks, Valkyrie," Hamish said gently, reaching out and firmly covering my trembling fingers. 

His grip was warm and gave me a reassuring sensation, grounding me against the pain. 

"Your body is ready, and the baby is ready too; you only have to trust me."

I stared at his face, breathing heavily through my nose as the contraction gradually disappeared, which left me feeling limp and shaking against the mattress.

Three months ago, when I got to Port Campbell, I was ghost-pale, frightened, holding a small suitcase containing stolen fragments of a life that had broken. 

I had no trust in anyone and had kept a pocket knife under my pillow, jumping at the slightest creak of the floorboards, waiting for either Victoria's henchmen or Kaelen's corporate security to pull me back to Melbourne.

It was Hamish who discovered me lying collapsed beside the coastal pharmacy in the second month of my pregnancy, being pale and severely dehydrated due to morning sickness. 

He didn't request to see my identification and never asked why a pregnant woman with black hair and a visible scar on her collarbone was living under a false name in a remote fishing village.

Instead, he took me to his small clinic, started an IV for me, and brought me hot broth every morning until I had regained my strength.

For the three months in question, he had become my place of refuge. He was gentle, spoke in a soft manner, and was extremely patient quite the opposite of the harsh and commanding billionaire that I had left behind in Melbourne.

"Another one is coming," Hamish warned in a quiet voice, "and on this next surge I'm going to need you to give me all that you've got."

The pain came back with awesome intensity, like a tidal wave that pushed all the air right out of my lungs. 

I closed my eyes and tightened my jaw until my teeth began to ache. Kaelen.

The name resonated in the darker parts of my mind, causing a phantom pain severer than any physical tightening. 

He should have been here; his big, warm hand should have been holding mine. He should have been whispering promises against my temple and waiting to greet his child into the world. 

Instead, he was two hundred miles away in a high-rise penthouse, most likely drinking until he was numb or blaming my memory.

"Push, Val! Now!" Hamish ordered firmly and without hesitation.

I screamed, threw myself completely into the effort, poured out every remaining drop of rage, heartbreak, and strong maternal instinct that my wounded soul had left behind, and pushed through the blinding white heat, through the tears streaming down my cold cheeks, refusing to let the darkness pull me under.

At that moment, the pressure broke.

The intense, suffocating pain gave way to a tremendous and weightless relief.

The roaring wind outside seemed to fade into the background, replaced by a thin, wet, gasping noise in the room. A few seconds later, a sharp, indignant cry cut through the air.

I sank back down onto the pillows, gasping for breath and my whole body shaking violently.

"It's a boy," Hamish breathed, a true and bright smile spreading over his rain-washed face. 

He then quickly wrapped the wriggling baby in a warm flannel blanket, skillfully cutting and tying the umbilical cord before holding the child up. "He's strong, Val. Listen to those lungs."

My eyes filled with tears that I could no longer see clearly as Hamish carefully placed the small, warm child onto my naked chest.

The baby at once stopped crying when I touched his skin and pressed himself against my warmth, his small, perfectly shaped fingers opening and closing blindly on my collarbone.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, pressing my lips to the fine, dark down on the top of his small head. 

I could smell the scent of rain, skin, and the sweet milk of a newborn. "My dear, beautiful boy..."

“You did brilliantly,” Hamish said softly. He sat on the edge of the bed and used a clean towel to wipe the sweat from my forehead gently. His touch was extraordinarily tender, and his eyes stayed on my face with an intensity that caused my breath to catch for some reason other than the birth. 

“You're safe now, Valkyrie,” he said, “both of you. I'll never allow anything to happen to either of you in this town, promise you that.”

I looked up at him and felt a deep, intense sense of gratitude. "Thanks, Hamish, I have no idea what I should have done without you."

“You have to worry about it," he murmured, gently brushing a stray lock of wet hair from my cheek with his thumb.

A small, gentle hiccup escaped the baby on my chest. He moved about, his little eyelids fluttering open as he struggled against the faint light of the bedside lamp.

I bent down to look at my son's face, expecting to see my own dark features reflected in the softness of his skin.

My heart stopped beating, and the blood in my veins turned into absolute ice.

The baby looked up at me in the dim light. And as his small eyes adjusted, the newborn film disappeared, revealing a pair of striking, unmistakable, icy silver irises.

It was Kaelen's look: precise, clear, and cutting.

I took a sharp breath as panic rushed through me. Next to the bed, Hamish leaned a bit forward to adjust the blanket, his eyes settling directly on the baby's face.

Hamish stopped in his tracks. His gentle smile gradually disappeared and was taken over by a mysterious and oddly blank look as he stared at those silver irises.

"Silver..." Hamish whispered, lowering his voice to a cold and hollow tone that made my spine tingle. He raised his hand, his fingers hovering a few inches above the baby's face and tightening his jaw until a muscle in his cheek jumped. "He has silver eyes, Valkyrie.”