Page 9 of Demon Daddy's Baby Girl

It's been hours of pain coming and going. Ada is coaxing me through it, but my body can't keep taking this. I'm already weak, starved. She has gotten water in me and used tinctures that have broken my fever. But even with that, I'm struggling to hold on much longer when it feels like I'm being ripped apart.

"Breathe," Ada reminds me, her voice gentle but firm. "That's it. In through your nose, out through your mouth."

I try to follow her instructions, but another contraction builds—this one worse than the last. My fingers twist in the threadbare sheets beneath me, knuckles white with strain. The pain crescendos, and I bite down on my lip to keep from screaming.

"Don't hold it in," Ada scolds, pressing her palms against my lower back. "You'll exhaust yourself faster."

The pressure of her hands grounds me, gives me something to focus on besides the agony tearing through my abdomen. Sweat drips from my hairline, plastering auburn strands to my forehead and neck. The small room is stifling despite the open window.

And Rolfo is still standing in the doorway. He fetches fresh water and cloths when Ada asks for it, but otherwise, he hasn't moved. His presence feels steady.

"I can't—" My words cut off as another wave crashes over me. This time I don't hold back the cry that claws its way up my throat.

"That's it." Ada nods, satisfaction in her warm brown eyes. "Work with the pain, not against it."

Easy for her to say. She isn't the one being torn in two.

Between contractions, memories flash unbidden—Kaelith's cruel smile when he discovered I was pregnant, his threats about what would become of the child, the terrifying night I fled with nothing but the clothes on my back. Each recollection makes my heart race faster, adding fear to the already overwhelming sensations.

"Stop spiraling," Ada says sharply, somehow reading my thoughts. "Your baby needs you present."

My baby. The reason I'm fighting so hard. The reason I ran.

My eyes drift again to the demon watching over me and I hope this won't be another mistake. But staring into his silver eyes, I feel far too at ease.

"Tell me again," I pant as the pain momentarily subsides, "about the herbs you used for your daughter when she was colicky."

Ada's expression softens. She moves to dampen a cloth in the basin of water beside the bed, then presses it to my forehead. "Dreelk and brimbark steeped together with a touch of meadowmint. Works every time."

"I'll need to remember that," I whisper, trying to believe in a future where such knowledge will be useful.

"You will," she says firmly. "Both of you will be?—"

Her reassurance shatters as another contraction hits, more powerful than any before. I arch off the thin mattress, a guttural sound escaping me that I barely recognize as my own voice.

"That's it, Aurelie. You're doing this." Ada's hands are on my hips now, applying counter-pressure. "You're strong."

"I'm not," I gasp when I can speak again. "He broke me. He?—"

"Look at me." Ada's tone brooks no argument. I force my eyes open, finding her face hovering above mine, fierce determination etched in every line. "He didn't break you. You're here. You escaped. You're fighting for your child. Those aren't the actions of a broken woman."

I feel Rolfo's eyes boring into me as she says it.

The next contraction begins building before I can respond. I feel it coming like a storm on the horizon, gathering strength.

"I'm scared," I admit, the words barely audible.

Ada takes my hand, lets me squeeze until I'm certain her fingers will snap. She doesn't flinch.

"Fear is how we know what matters," she says. "Channel it. Use it."

I cry out as the pain peaks, but there's something different this time—not surrender but defiance. Every muscle in my body screams in protest, but I push back against the pain.

"Good," Ada murmurs. "That's good, Aurelie."

When the contraction passes, I collapse against the sweat-soaked pillow. My entire body trembles with exhaustion. "I don't know how much longer I can do this."

Ada checks my progress, her movements efficient but gentle. "Not much longer now. You're close."

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