Page 43 of 10 Days to Surrender

A cramp claws up my right side. I bite my lip hard enough to taste copper.

“Nope,” I mutter to the peeling ceiling. “Not crying today. Absolutely not.”

I lie there in quiet, spasming discomfort until the clock reaches a more humane hour. Getting up sounds awful, but lying here in a puddle of my own sweat for much longer sounds even worse. So I force myself up to my feet and into a tepid shower. Then I dress in a bundle of the clothes Uncle Kosti brought back for us yesterday and waddle my way downstairs in search of coffee.

The kitchen is gloomy with the storm blotting out much of the sunrise. I’m fumbling through the cabinets, praying for coffee grounds somewhere, when a voice nearly makes me scream.

“You’re awake.”

I whirl around to see Sasha seated at the kitchen table. His face is drawn and weary.

I frown. He looks awful. “Did you sleep?”

He shrugs. “Not important.”

“If you say so.” I’m aiming for nonchalant sass, but I can’t hide my worry. He’s looking worse and worse with every passing day. Like he’s wasting away right in front of me. There’sburning the candle at both endsand then there’schucking the candle into the heart of a volcano, and throwing a can of gasoline in after it for good measure.Sasha is veering awfully close to the latter.

“Bad night?” he asks.

I scowl irritably. “I spent half of it begging my own spine to either have mercy on me or just put me out of my misery. So no, I did not sleep all that well.”

His chair scrapes as he stands. “There’s a hospital?—”

“No!” I wince and lower my voice while looking up at the kitchen rafters, wondering if I might’ve woken Jasmine and Uncle Kosti by accident. “No, Sasha, it’s okay. I don’t need a hospital. This is all normal. Well, I mean, none of this is normal, but this part of it is. You know what I mean.”

He’s still squinting at me with steely eyes, though, like he’ll be able to see through my lies if he looks hard enough. “Hm.”

“Seriously,” I insist. “I just need coffee and I’ll be feeling like a million bucks.”

“I thought pregnant women weren’t supposed to drink caffeine.”

“Take it from my cold, dead hands. I dare you.” I turn back and resume rummaging through the cabinets. There are endless cans of beans and root vegetables, but I’m not seeing any coffee, until?—

Sasha’s hand closes around my wrist.

I wobble backward in surprise, but that motion makes my back seize up, so my palm goes shooting out for the nearest firm surface to balance myself. That surface ends up being Sasha’s shoulder. Not my first choice, but it certainly meets the “firm” requirement.

The feel of his heat and brawn underneath my fingertips is like getting sucked backward into a time travel machine. Suddenly, I’m in a spa. I’m in a library. I’m in a bathroom. I’m in a penthouse, gasping and riding as the windows fog up.

Then I’m just here again. In a kitchen, scared, hurting, angry.

Sasha’s blue eyes watch me take that whole mental journey without once saying a word. Then he sighs. “You’re in pain.”

“Lest you forget, I’m pregnant. It’s a package deal.”

Dawn seeps through the shutters, painting his scar silver. “How bad?”

“What difference does it make to you?” I ask. “Everyone’s got scars now. It’s just how things are going.”

He rubs at his beard with one hand. “There are thermal springs not far from here. Twenty minutes north, give or take. It’ll help if you soak for a while.”

“Oh, perfect. Another fun little morning errand. Do I get?—”

“Ariel.” His voice drops, roughened by something that isn’t anger. “Let me help you.”

Those words float between us, every bit as fragile as the cobwebs in the corner. I want to snap them. Stomp them. Wrap them around his throat and see if he chokes.

But then another spasm sears through me. I hiss.

---