Page 16 of Betrayed Pregnant Mate

My sentence hangs in the space between us, heavy with meaning. The entire time I’ve known her—the length and weight behind our relationship. I close my eyes and pray Maisie doesn’t read too much into that, or she might be the first to realize that Veronica and I knew each other before the whole kidnapping thing.

And this blood-bond to her is going to look a lot worse if anyone realizes we dated before. That I took time off of work to spend time with a human in New York City. That I fell in love with her. That, as far as I could tell, she was—and still is—my mate.

That is not going to look good. I drop my head into my hands, letting out a long breath.

“I’m sorry that you have to be here,” I say, finally, and when I look up, to my surprise, Veronica is smirking.

“Yeah,” she says, “I’d kind of wanted to go out on the lake tonight.”

“Go out on the lake?” I ask, blinking against the stars in my eyes, which must be remnants from earlier, when I felt like I was going to pass out.

“In a paddle boat,” she clarifies. I remember Bigby rallying donations to get free paddle boats for tourists and residents of the town to use. Technically, there’s no rule about not using them at night, and I picture it—drifting to the center of the lake with Veronica, looking up at the stars, surrounded by nothing but calm waters.

I want it, all at once, more than anything.

I’ve struggled to keep myself in one piece for the past few months. Going to the bar with the team every once in a while, was the only thing I left my apartment for. No matter how many times Bigby invited me out to the lake, I said no. I didn’t want to make anyone else uncomfortable.

I was a constant reminder of all the terrible things we had gone through together. And Gods forbid one of the humans I hurt saw me out there, and it ruined their family lake day. Each day, I felt like a monster, self-imposing house arrest to protect the local townspeople from my unique flavor of evil.

“That sounds nice,” I finally choke out. I start to feel a little lethargic again, and wonder if Maisie gave me something to help me sleep.

“Yeah,” Veronica says, tilting her head at me. “Are you feeling okay?”

I wave my hand in front of my face, as though it’s nothing, but my blood is starting to feel thick again. Deep breaths, I tell myself, trying to calm down, but it doesn’t matter. Maybe getting over the venom the first time was a fluke, and now Veronica and I are both going to die.

The thought makes me panic.

“Go get—” I start, just as Maisie walks into the room, carrying a syringe.

“That was surprisingly easy,” she says but stops when she sees Veronica’s face and me struggling to breathe again. “Oh, no—no, no, no.”

She sets the syringe down on the tray and runs over to me, shining a light in my eyes. I pant, trying to ignore how my lungs are starting to feel like thin, shaking paper bags, squeezing in each time I try to breathe.

“We need more,” she says, and Veronica has her sleeve rolled up and sits on the cot next to mine. She grabbed the little plastic band, tying it around her arm herself as Maisie runs across the room, grabbing a blood letting kit and sprinting back.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Maisie says, using her teeth to rip packages and fumbling with some tubes and needles. The sight of them makes me feel even more faint, and I put my head back.

“Are we going to do a direct transfusion?”

“What about clotting?” Maisie asks, alarm in her voice.

“We’ll just have to watch,” Veronica answers, and when I glance at her, she’s pumping her arm, and Maisie is preparing to put an IV in her arm.

“Oh, Gods,” I mutter, and a moment later, Maisie has moved over to me. She pumps my bed all the way down, and Veronica’s all the way up, then sticks a needle in me, too. The feeling of it sliding into my skin is enough to make me sick.

It’s funny—of all the blood and gore I’ve seen, of all the bullet wounds and medical equipment, needles still make me feel the worst.

“I’ve never done something like this before,” Maisie says, bouncing on her toes. “I have no idea if it’s going to work.”

“It will work,” Veronica says, and it comes out like it’s through gritted teeth. “It has to work.”

Slowly, bit by bit, I start to feel better. After thirty minutes, Maisie stops the flow and takes the needles out, going back to monitoring my vitals.

“This is like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” she says, gesturing for me to hold a piece of gauze over where the needle was in my arm. I watch as she winds wrapping around Veronica’s elbow. “We did the blood-bond about an hour ago—I wonder if that amount was just not enough, or if this is something like chemotherapy.”

“What are you saying?” I ask, right as Veronica looks up at Maisie, understanding dawning in her eyes.

“She’s saying,” Veronica says, “that there are two outcomes here. The first is that whatever blood thing we did earlier was just not enough, and this is. That would mean you won’t be bothered by the pathogen again.”

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