Page 25 of Midnight Sanctuary

Why did I blab?

Because, fool that you are, you thought it would bring you closer.

“Doctor.” Uri holds the door open a little wider. At the very least, I’m glad I’ll be able to see Dr. Popov again. But when the doctor enters, it’s not Emily with her kind smile and easy compassion. It’s a somber-faced man in a white coat, followed by grim Bratva soldiers bearing loads of intimidating medical equipment.

“Where’s Emily?” I ask as the men set up the equipment a few feet from the bed.

“She’s indisposed,” Uri answers in a deadpan voice. “This is Dr. Grigory Tasarov.”

Dr. Grigory gives me only a cursory glance. One of the soldiers sets a chair in place next to my bed. The doctor sinks into it, but he keeps his eyes fixed on the charts in his hand.

Uri stands like a gargoyle in the corner, huge and silent, shadows cloaking his face. It’s hard to blame him, but his coldness is grating. I wish for the billionth time that I never told him about the baby at all.

With a sigh, Dr. Grigory looks me in the eye for the first time since he’s walked in. “Alyssa, how are you feeling today?”

“Pretty disappointed, actually,” I say. “And annoyed. And frustrated.”

Uri’s jaw pulses but he doesn’t say anything. The doctor gives me a dour look over the tops of his glasses. “I meant physically.”

I shrug. “Tired. My whole body aches. Probably because I haven’t been allowed any proper exercise since I was first trapped down here.”

Most doctors might view that as “alarming” or, at the very least, “noteworthy.” This one doesn’t bat an eye. I get the feeling he’s seen a lot worse than a hostage in a well-furnished basement getting fed three square meals a day. “How’s your appetite?”

“Nonexistent.”

“But you are eating?”

“Only when Nikolai comes in here and forces me to.”

That, finally, gets a reaction out of Uri. His eyes scour over me as his jaw tightens even further. I’m guessing he didn’t know about Nikolai’s visits.

Interesting.

“Can you lift up your shirt for me?”

I do as I’m told. Despite being only thirteen weeks along, I definitely have a belly. It’s small but it’s there. The doctor presses his fingers against the swell and purses up his lips.

“Well, you’re pregnant.”

I look up at Uri. “You happy now?”

He ignores me. “I want a sonogram done, Doctor. I want to be a hundred percent sure.”

“Do you really think I’ve tricked the doctor, too?” I demand.

Again, he ignores me.Why does that feel so much worse?

The doctor turns on the machine and squirts some of the ultrasound jelly onto my belly. It’s unexpectedly cold and I squirm in place until my body gets used to the substance. I don’t even notice that the screen has lit up with images of my womb.

“Whoa,” I breathe. “Is that my baby?”

The doctor’s eyes are fixed on the screen as he passes the rod up and down my belly. “Well, what have we here…?”

I frown. “Is everything alright?” The panic starts to build higher and higher the longer he delays answering me. My mind starts to spiral.Is there something wrong with my baby? Has all the stress affected the fetus? Should I have eaten more? Did I hurt my own baby before it’s even born?

Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.

I grab my bracelet and try to draw strength from my Z link. God knows I don’t have the father’s hand to hold, so this will have to suffice.

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