Page 99 of Owned By Shadows

“Iris, I think your son is making his final descent. I need to take your leggings off.” Andrei’s voice is calm, and I nod with a sob, the pain unbearable and never-ending.

As soon as the material is off my feet, I move towards the desk, the men following me as I bend over it, a force between my thighs taking over and telling me this is the position I need to be in.

“Shit, is that his head?” I hear Roman question, but there’s a burning at the entrance of my vagina that leaves me screaming and needing to push.

“Okay, Iris, breathe in and out, and don’t force anything,” Andrei says from behind me. I glance between my legs to see his hands there, and know that he’s kneeling down in preparation.

Roman and Hunt are on either side of me, my hand still clasping Hunt’s in a death grip. It’s like my body is not my own,like something else has taken over completely, and although I’m aware of my surroundings and the encouraging words of my men, I’m not entirely present.

Agony and pressure explode through me, and I give an almighty roar.

“That’s the head. Well done, Iris,” Andrei states. “Now breathe and let his body come slowly to avoid tearing.”

It’s almost impossible to do because everything inside me screams to push my baby out right the fuck now, but I do as Andrei says, breathing and not holding back, but not forcing things either. With a last scream, my baby slides from between my legs, and I slump my upper body onto the desk, panting and shaking.

Seconds later, a newborn’s scream fills the room, and I lift my head, my heart seemingly freezing before it starts to pound again.

“Here’s your son, Iris,” Andrei says, and he carefully, if a little awkwardly, hands me my son through my legs, the cord still attached and the placenta still inside me.

But I barely register any of that as my baby is suddenly in my arms. He’s slick, covered in bloody mucus, mouth wide, and protesting loudly at this rude awakening. My knees tremble, so I carefully lower myself down before I fall, Hunt and Roman helping me.

There’s a small contraction, and the afterbirth comes away, landing with a gross splat on the floor between my legs. I only spare it a quick glance because my gaze is too focused on my son. Our son.

“He’s beautiful, Peaches,” Hunt states, his hand reaching out, then pausing before he touches him. It’s covered in blood and fuck knows what, but frankly, I don’t think at this point it matters much.

“You can touch him, Daddy,” I encourage softly, briefly flicking my gaze up to his. Earlier, I took off my shirt because I was too hot, so my skin is pressed against my baby’s, and both of us are a mess of blood and other fluids. “I don’t think it’ll do any harm.”

His fingers brush our son’s cheek, and I watch as Hunt’s throat bobs, his eyes getting misty.

“Isn’t he perfect?” I ask, looking back down at him. Our baby. Our boy.

“He absolutely is,” Roman answers, his fingers brushing over his tiny hand that unfurls, then latches on. Ro laughs. “Has a good grip too.”

“I’m just waiting for the cord to stop pulsing, then we can cut it and maybe find you both a blanket,” Andrei says, pausing and looking at us with a soft look. “You did amazing, Iris. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Andrei, for everything,” I utter, my throat tight and the back of my eyes burning. I’m not sure we’d have made it without his help.

“You’re most welcome. Though maybe next time let’s make it less dangerous,Da?”

I laugh, turning my gaze back down to look at my son. My breath stills as I note the colour of his hair. Pitch-black. Like Nik’s.

“You have the best family in the world, little one,” I tell our son, lifting one hand from around him to brush his soft hair. “The best dads a boy could ask for.”

“REBORN” BY SØD VEN

NIKOLAI

I gaze down at the mess on my Papa’s desk, at the mess that used to be Sergi Petrov. I gave in to my inner demon, who demanded blood to be paid for all of this man’s crimes, and now he lies there, blind with no tongue, covered in his own blood, and just barely clinging to life.

“You taught me well, father,” I say, bringing my knife up one last time. Rowan, the crazy bastard, has his gift for Iris. I shook my head as he carved it from Sergi, but who am I to tell him no? “But now it’s time to rid the world of your evil.”

“Your son is waiting to meet you.” Andrei’s voice comes over the comms, which went silent a while back. Or maybe I was too lost in the haze of violence to hear them.

My hand pauses, a range of emotions warring inside me.

“He’s beautiful, Sweetheart. Absolutely perfect, like his mother,” Hunt’s voice states, soft, and it has my heart skipping a beat inside my chest, a lump forming in my throat.

Rowan crows like a bird in celebration.

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