Chapter 32: The Storm

The weather forecast called it "The Storm of the Century."

By 6 PM, the sky had turned a bruised, ominous purple. By 8 PM, the wind was howling like a banshee, rattling the reinforced windows of the Forbidden Wing. And by midnight, the world outside had vanished, swallowed by a wall of white.

"The power lines are down," Killian announced, walking into the bedroom with a flashlight. "The generator kicked in, but the main grid is dead."

I was sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching my lower back. The "Braxton Hicks" from earlier hadn't stopped. They had developed a rhythm. A cruel, tightening rhythm that wrapped around my spine every ten minutes.

"Killian," I said, my voice tight.

He froze. He knew that tone.

"Call Vance," I whispered. "Tell him to bring the helicopter. Now."

Killian was dialing before I finished the sentence. He paced the room, the phone pressed to his ear.

"Vance! Where are you?" Killian barked. Silence. Then cursing. "I don't care about the wind! Fly low! She's—"

He stopped. He listened for a moment, his face draining of all color.

"Fine," he snarled, and ended the call. He looked at me, his eyes wide with a fear I had never seen before.

"He can't take off," Killian said, his voice hollow. "The rotors would freeze. The roads are blocked by ten feet of drift. No ambulance can get up the mountain."

SPLASH.

A warm gush of liquid soaked the sheets beneath me. The smell of rain and ozone—the scent of birth—filled the room instantly.

"Oh god," I gasped, gripping the sheets. "Killian... my water broke."

Killian stared at the wet patch on the bed. For a second, the Alpha King looked like he was going to pass out.

"It's too early," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. "Two weeks early. We're not ready. I don't have the epidural. I don't have the forceps."

Another contraction hit. This one wasn't a tighten; it was a squeeze. A vice grip on my uterus.

"AHH!" I cried out, doubling over.

The sound snapped Killian out of his panic.

"Okay," he said, rushing to my side. "Okay. Breathe. Look at me, Elena. Breathe."

"It hurts!" I sobbed. "Killian, I'm scared. Something is wrong. It hurts too much!"

"Nothing is wrong," he lied, though his hands were shaking as he helped me lie back. "It's the twins. They are strong. They are impatient. Just like their father."

He ripped the duvet off the bed. He ran to the bathroom and came back with armfuls of towels, a basin of hot water, and... a bottle of whiskey?

"Whiskey?" I panted between breaths.

"For sterilization," he said, uncapping it. Then he took a swig himself. "And for courage."

He knelt between my legs, checking the progress.

"Vance talked me through the basics last week," Killian muttered, mostly to himself. "Cervix dilation. Crowning. Catch the baby. Cut the cord. Easy. It's just... mechanics."

He looked up at me. He looked terrified.

"I can see the head," he choked out.

"Already?!" I screamed.

"Wolf labor is fast," Killian said, his voice trembling. "Elena, you have to push. Now!"

"I can't!" I cried, gripping his hand so hard my nails dug into his skin. "I can't do this without a doctor! What if something goes wrong? What if the girl..."

The black mark on Killian’s chest flared hot.

HISS.

He flinched, his eyes flashing black for a second. The baby girl was reacting to my fear. She was getting agitated.

"She's angry," Killian gasped, clutching his chest. "She wants out. Elena, you have to push, or she will tear her way out."

He grabbed my face, forcing me to look at him.

"I am here," he vowed, his forehead resting against mine. "I am the King. I have conquered armies. I have killed monsters. I promise you, on my life, I will not let you die tonight. Do you trust me?"

I looked into his eyes—blue, gold, and terrified.

"I trust you," I whispered.

"Then PUSH!"

I screamed. I pushed with everything I had. The pain was blinding, white-hot agony that felt like my body was being ripped in two.

Outside, the wind howled, rattling the windows. Inside, the first cry of a new life pierced the air.

Killian caught a slippery, squirming bundle in his large hands.

"It's the boy," he laughed, tears streaming down his face, mixing with sweat. "He's here. He's perfect."

But we didn't have time to celebrate.

Because the second contraction hit instantly. Harder. Darker.

And this time, the lights in the room flickered and died.

We were in total darkness.

"The generator blew," Killian’s voice came from the dark.

"Killian!" I shrieked.

"I'm here!"

A soft, purple glow illuminated the room.

It wasn't a flashlight.

It was the baby girl coming down the birth canal. She was glowing. A dark, violet aura wrapped around her like a shield.

"She's lighting her own way," Killian whispered in awe.

"Get her out!" I sobbed. "She burns!"

"One more push, my Queen! Bring our daughter home!"