Page 78 of Viparious

“Shh, it’s okay, my little wriggler.”

He has never spoken to me in that tone. The one he uses on other people that promises pain and blood. The part of me that is fearful isn’t over my safety, it’s over his. Verena doesn’t settle, and she tries to eat my cheek, so I hesitantly leave the room. I expect to see destruction, given the mood he was in, but Vlad is standing at the end of the hallway with his hands on the back of his head. His voice is softer, apology and remorse coloring his face as he stares at the little bundle in my arms.

“I made her cry.”

My stomach churns, lead mixing in with it, at the soul-crushing agony on his face over something as small as a cry. She doesn’t wake up from noise, or she didn’t in the hospital when we were talking. So, I speak confidently despite not knowing if it’s true.

“She’s hungry, not upset.”

He nods but doesn’t remove his hands from his head as I slowly walk into the nursery.

I can’t imagine him ever surrendering to anyone. It’s messing with my head to see it, and he keeps doing this shit. Showing little moments of vulnerability that make me think it’s deeper, that he really does care. He proves my point as he stands guard at the door, dripping in fear. He can’t be scared of her, or of me. But his eyes are wide, and he doesn’t blink as I take a seat in the plush chair and position Verena, ready to eat. When I lift my t-shirt, he blinks and turns his head. Those icy eyes full of pain swing to me as I wince when she latches on to my nipple.

Softening my voice, I stroke my finger through her dark hair that is just like her father’s.

“Go easy on me, baby girl, I’m new to this too.”

She doesn’t give a fuck, also like her father. Vlad fully steps into the room before he speaks, and his eyes are wild as he asks, “Are you in pain?”

He’s an enigma. He doesn’t believe in any religion, but he never breaks the superstition of not talking through a threshold. He’s not looking at my face, and he has the softest smile lifting his lips as he watches Verena eat, or drink, whatever it’s called.

That gentleness forces me to speak and hate him a little less. “Just a little sore, especially with the stitches.”

His head snaps up and his jaw hardens. The asshole is back, but he speaks quietly and takes another step. “Should you be lifting her?”

My arms automatically tighten around her little body as though he’s about to rip her from me, and I remove all the anger out of my voice.

“She is my daughter.”

He takes another step, his strides getting smaller and smaller. I thought he was lying when he said a baby could destroy him, but he’s filled with fear and looks younger as he puts his hands in his pockets. He looks ready to cross his arms over his chest like I used to around glassware as a child. He’s not afraid of her, he’s terrified of hurting her. The big fucking idiot is pushing her away because he thinks that it will helpher, not him.

I treat him like a wounded animal and speak softly, coaxing him closer. “Vlad?”

His eyes keep pinging between Verena and me. He looks so lost, fragile. I nearly laugh at the descriptor. This man is not fragile. But he’s slowly losing color and there’s sweat beading at his hairline. I’ve seen him after a fight, he wasn’t sweaty or struggling to breathe. Now he is. He moves another inch forward as I wince again. He’s getting paler with each step.

“Vlad, can you take out a bottle?”

He nods and remains a statue. I’m sure he’s going to pass out. Fuck, if he passes out, I won’t be able to lift him. The floor is soft, but his hard head will slam off the ground. Removing his hands from his pockets, he loosens his tie and undoes his top button. Tears blur my vision as I watch him force his steps. He carries a big enough ego to power everyone in the house, but this one task is choking him. His Adam’s apple bobs as he audibly gulps and goes to the feeding station Val created. The pre-pumped milk is all labeled, and Vlad is already familiar with it. I’m too sore to continue feeding her myself, and she’s too hungry for my supply to fill her up.

He doesn’t look at me as he fills her bottle and some of the tension eases from his muscles until he turns with it in hand. I have to tell him to move as I get Verena to unlatch.

“Come here, lapachka.”

She lets out a warble, and he turns as white as a ghost, rushing forward. He doesn’t see me as he takes her from my arms, and I lose the battle with my tears as he kisses her head and speaks so gently he becomes a different person.

“Shhh, it’s okay, malen’kaya zvezda.”

She settles into his chest and looks so small as he holds her with one arm and strokes her cheek to get her to move towards the bottle.

He cares about her.

It’s there in the way he doesn’t look away from her little grumpy face as he hums bayu bayushki with nothing other than love in his eyes. He loves her, and I right my t-shirt before I stand. He doesn’t even notice me until I gently hold his arm, so he sits down, and the fear is in his eyes. Leaning up on my toes, I press my lips to his jawline, and he relaxes.

“Sit down, lapachka, spend time with your daughter.”

He freezes. His eyes close, and he stops humming.

That should warn me that he’s going to ruin everything, but it doesn’t prepare me for the blankness when he opens them again. Vlad’s voice is back to being cold, detached, as he forces out, “Sit down. You can feed her yourself. I have things to do.”

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