Page 62 of Vampire Savage

Shucking down my pants and underwear, I open one of the tests and sit on the toilet. I make a face when pee splashes my hand, but when I deem the proper end is saturated enough, I pop the cap back on and clean myself up.

The instructions say the results can take three minutes to appear. So of course I leave the bathroom and start to pace the length of the bedroom.

Will a pregnancy from a vampire even show up on an off-the-shelf test? Is a baby human or vampire? Or a hybrid of both? Oh, god, is the baby going to pull some horror movie thing and eat its way from my stomach when it’s ready to be delivered?

“It’d be great if I had my phone!” I yell at the locked door.

If I had my phone, I could look all these questions up. Instead, I’m left here to be the city’s largest ball of tangled yarn spun out of anxiety.

I continue pacing, rubbing my arms and trying to keep my breathing normal. Even if I’m pregnant, there’s nothing I can do about it at this very moment. That’s it. I need to keep compartmentalizing.

First, find out the test result. Second, decide to deal with the result later. Third, come up with a way to get out of here.

Lan will come for me when he doesn’t hear from me. I’m certain of it, even if he’d gone full iceman at the idea of a baby with me. I’m his mate, and I know that wasn’t a part of his schemes to get to my father.

The only thing I can’t answer is what he’ll focus on first. Will he try to find me, then rescue me if I haven’t made it out on my own, or will he prioritize seeking his revenge on my father?

I may be Lan’s mate, but it hasn’t even been two months for us. He’s held this hatred of my father for centuries.

I saw the look in Lan’s eyes when he told me the truth of his past, heard the pain and fury in his words. It won’t take much to snap that fierce control of my vampire’s, and he’s eager to let the savage out.

Believing more than three minutes has passed, I brace myself before going back into the bathroom. From the doorway, I study the innocuous piece of plastic lying on the marble counter beside the pristine sink. I’ve faced down misogynistic department heads, billionaire investors, shitty boyfriends, and now have even looked at the man who plans to kill me in his eyes.

Breathing out, I go to the sink and get it over with. Looking at the stick, I hold my breath. I look closer, pinching my brows at the tiny window. If I’m pregnant there will be a horizontal line bisecting the vertical line.

It’s faint, barely there... but it is. I’m pregnant.

I suck in breath, not realizing I’d been holding it and my head gets light. “Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit,” I chant in a whisper as I scramble back to the bedroom and sit down on the side of the bed. I’m still staring at the plastic stick and the barely visible but unmistakable second blue line. If I thought I could pee again, I’d take the other test just to double-check but well, I’ve never had a nervous bladder.

“I’m pregnant,” I tell myself, and I don’t feel like I can believe my own words. It’s weird to say. I’ve always been the image of the perfect socialite daughter. Getting in a “situation,” as many refer to it, is rare and quickly covered up by a hasty marriage or timely visit to a specialist.

I’m publicly engaged to Miles, but I have no intention of marrying him. My name and reputation will be dragged through the mud and I’ll be scorned at any event I dare show my face at.

A giggle surprises me, and then I’m laughing and crying as I flop backwards on the bed, my legs dangling over the side.

Who the fuck cares if the rich snobs think I’m a slut and disapprove of me being pregnant outside of wedlock? I laugh even harder at the idea of the wrinkled faces in too much makeup scoffing at me and turning me away. God, maybe I should announce it as soon as I get out of here?

Deidre can run a segment in the gossip column for me. I can imagine it now: Heir to the Benoit fortune escapes her murderous father but even more scandalous: she’s pregnant and it’s not her fiancé’s baby!

The amusement tapers off and I’m left staring up at the white ceiling, contemplating the future. I want this baby, even if it wasn’t expected or planned. Even if Lan doesn’t want it, he'll be a good, protective father. He would never treat our child the way my father treated me. Joséphine will be the grandmother who spoils the child rotten, and Niamh will demand to be the cool aunt. Simon can be his or her grandpa.

My eyes burn with tears, my throat closing up, as a perfectly clear image is depicted in my thoughts. Lan, dressed in his pressed, too-neat clothes, holds a little toddler girl covered in paint. He’s smiling that small, beautiful smirk of his while our little girl laughs and leaves blue handprints over his pristine shirt. He looks over at me and says something to the little girl that makes her squeal and then he reaches a hand out, inviting me to join them.

Yes.

That is the future I want. One filled with real family, real love.

To get that, I have to escape. So, I’d better get on that.

* * *

An hour later, I’m standing in front of the large window, both hands pressed to the glass. Fear and disappointment cloud my earlier determination. I’ve searched every inch of the room. There’s nothing I can try to use to pick the door’s lock. The window is sealed shut, never having been designed to open given what floor we’re on.

The room is as empty as it was the day after the furniture was moved in. No one has ever stayed here; every closet shelf, drawer, and bathroom cabinet is empty. There’s not even a stray piece of paper or fabric under the bed.

Come on, Landon. I could really use your help right now.

Faint anger and worry tease me in reply to my thinking and I push off the mirror in shock. Pressing a hand over my heart, as if that’ll amplify our connection, I concentrate on the part of me that feels like him. Instead of focusing on words, I try to project my need for him, my fear for my life, a silent, emotion-filled plea for rescue.

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