Before she knew it, she was getting off the mattress, even though it hurt, and in spite of the fact that she was connected to about a hundred and fifty thousand pounds of medical equipment.
“Shit,” Qhuinn said. “Are you sure you want to—”
“Okay, we’re moving,” Blay interjected. “We are up and moving.”
With a single-minded focus she had never known before, she didn’t pay any attention to anything other than getting over to her young: not the way the males scrambled to organize the rolling monitors, or how much she had to lean on various arms and shoulders, or how much pain her abdomen hollered about.
The incubators were up against the wall, side by side, separated by about three feet. Brilliant blue lights were shining down on the tiny little forms, and oh . . . Fates . . . the wires, the tubes . . .
That was when she got a little light-headed.
“Don’t you love the sunglasses,” Blay commented.
Suddenly, she laughed. “They look like mini-Wraths.” Then she got serious. “Are you sure . . .”
“Positive,” Qhuinn said. “They’ve got a ways to go—but, shit, they are fighters. Especially her.”
Layla inched closer to her daughter. “When can I hold them?”
“Doc Jane wants us to give them a little time. Tomorrow?” Blay said. “Maybe the night after?”
“I’ll wait.” Even though it would be the hardest thing she would ever do. “I’ll wait for however long it takes.”
She turned the other way and looked at her son. “Dearest Virgin Scribe, does he look like you, no?”
“I know, right?” Qhuinn shook his head. “It’s just crazy. I mean . . .”
“What are you going to name them?” Blay asked. “It’s time for you two to think of names.”
Oh, indeed, Layla thought. In the vampire tradition, youngs’ births were not anticipated by any kind of planning. There were no showers as humans did, no lists of boy names and girl names, no stacks of diapers, racks of bottles, or even bassinettes and booties. For vampires, it was considered bad luck to get ahead of oneself and assume a healthy birth.
“Yes,” she said, refocusing on her daughter. “We must have a naming.”
At that moment, the little tiny infant girl moved her head and seemed to look up, through the sunglasses and the Plexiglas, past the distance between mother and child.
“She’s going to grow up to be beautiful,” Blay murmured. “Absolutely beautiful.”
“Lyric,” Layla blurted. “She shall be called Lyric.”
Blay recoiled. “Lyric? You know, that’s my . . . do you know that’s my mahmen’s . . .”
As the male stopped speaking, Qhuinn started to smile. And then he bent down and kissed Layla’s cheek. “Yes. Absolutely. She’ll be called Lyric.”
Blay blinked a couple of times. “My mahmen will be . . . incredibly honored. As am I.”
Layla squeezed the male’s hand. “Your parents shall be the only granhmen and father these young will e’er know. It is fitting that one of their names be represented. And for our son—mayhap we shall petition the King for a Brother’s name? It seems fitting, as their sire is a brave and noble member of the Black Dagger Brotherhood.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Qhuinn hedged.
“Yes.” Blay nodded. “That’s a good idea.”
Qhuinn started shaking his head. “But I don’t know if—”
“So it is settled,” Layla announced.
When Blay nodded, Qhuinn put his palms up. “I know when I’m beat.”
Layla winked at Blay. “He’s a smart one, isn’t he.”
* * *
Outside the birthing room, Jane reviewed the chart Ehlena had just handed her, flipping through pages that detailed the blood slave’s progress. “Good, good . . . his vitals are really improving. Let’s continue to push those fluids. I want to keep him on the IV for a little longer, and then let’s see if we can get a Chosen here to feed him.”
“I’ve already asked Phury.” Rehv’s shellan winced. “I honestly don’t know how that’s going to go, though. That male is in really bad shape. Up here.”
As Ehlena indicated her head, Jane nodded. “I talked to Mary about it. She said she’s ready to speak with him as soon as he’s medically more stable.”
“She’s awesome.”
“Too right.”
Jane gave the folder back, trading it for Layla’s. Yes, she could have easily transitioned to all-electronic medical records, but she had been trained back in the days before everything was computerized, and she’d always preferred good, old-fashioned paper.
She had to smile as she thought of Vishous’s disapproval. He was dying to get a halfway decent computer system going down here, but he respected her prerogative, even as he was frustrated by her. And they did enter summary notes into a database, something that Jane liked to spend Sunday afternoons on when everybody was quiet.
It was a meditation exercise as much as anything else.
“So how’re our kids doing?” she murmured as she ran through the notes Ehlena had made during the latest hourly check. “Oh, you go, girl. Look at those oxygen stats. Right where we want them.”
“There’s something special about that little girl. I’m telling you.”
e she knew it, she was getting off the mattress, even though it hurt, and in spite of the fact that she was connected to about a hundred and fifty thousand pounds of medical equipment.
“Shit,” Qhuinn said. “Are you sure you want to—”
“Okay, we’re moving,” Blay interjected. “We are up and moving.”
With a single-minded focus she had never known before, she didn’t pay any attention to anything other than getting over to her young: not the way the males scrambled to organize the rolling monitors, or how much she had to lean on various arms and shoulders, or how much pain her abdomen hollered about.
The incubators were up against the wall, side by side, separated by about three feet. Brilliant blue lights were shining down on the tiny little forms, and oh . . . Fates . . . the wires, the tubes . . .
That was when she got a little light-headed.
“Don’t you love the sunglasses,” Blay commented.
Suddenly, she laughed. “They look like mini-Wraths.” Then she got serious. “Are you sure . . .”
“Positive,” Qhuinn said. “They’ve got a ways to go—but, shit, they are fighters. Especially her.”
Layla inched closer to her daughter. “When can I hold them?”
“Doc Jane wants us to give them a little time. Tomorrow?” Blay said. “Maybe the night after?”
“I’ll wait.” Even though it would be the hardest thing she would ever do. “I’ll wait for however long it takes.”
She turned the other way and looked at her son. “Dearest Virgin Scribe, does he look like you, no?”
“I know, right?” Qhuinn shook his head. “It’s just crazy. I mean . . .”
“What are you going to name them?” Blay asked. “It’s time for you two to think of names.”
Oh, indeed, Layla thought. In the vampire tradition, youngs’ births were not anticipated by any kind of planning. There were no showers as humans did, no lists of boy names and girl names, no stacks of diapers, racks of bottles, or even bassinettes and booties. For vampires, it was considered bad luck to get ahead of oneself and assume a healthy birth.
“Yes,” she said, refocusing on her daughter. “We must have a naming.”
At that moment, the little tiny infant girl moved her head and seemed to look up, through the sunglasses and the Plexiglas, past the distance between mother and child.
“She’s going to grow up to be beautiful,” Blay murmured. “Absolutely beautiful.”
“Lyric,” Layla blurted. “She shall be called Lyric.”
Blay recoiled. “Lyric? You know, that’s my . . . do you know that’s my mahmen’s . . .”
As the male stopped speaking, Qhuinn started to smile. And then he bent down and kissed Layla’s cheek. “Yes. Absolutely. She’ll be called Lyric.”
Blay blinked a couple of times. “My mahmen will be . . . incredibly honored. As am I.”
Layla squeezed the male’s hand. “Your parents shall be the only granhmen and father these young will e’er know. It is fitting that one of their names be represented. And for our son—mayhap we shall petition the King for a Brother’s name? It seems fitting, as their sire is a brave and noble member of the Black Dagger Brotherhood.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Qhuinn hedged.
“Yes.” Blay nodded. “That’s a good idea.”
Qhuinn started shaking his head. “But I don’t know if—”
“So it is settled,” Layla announced.
When Blay nodded, Qhuinn put his palms up. “I know when I’m beat.”
Layla winked at Blay. “He’s a smart one, isn’t he.”
* * *
Outside the birthing room, Jane reviewed the chart Ehlena had just handed her, flipping through pages that detailed the blood slave’s progress. “Good, good . . . his vitals are really improving. Let’s continue to push those fluids. I want to keep him on the IV for a little longer, and then let’s see if we can get a Chosen here to feed him.”
“I’ve already asked Phury.” Rehv’s shellan winced. “I honestly don’t know how that’s going to go, though. That male is in really bad shape. Up here.”
As Ehlena indicated her head, Jane nodded. “I talked to Mary about it. She said she’s ready to speak with him as soon as he’s medically more stable.”
“She’s awesome.”
“Too right.”
Jane gave the folder back, trading it for Layla’s. Yes, she could have easily transitioned to all-electronic medical records, but she had been trained back in the days before everything was computerized, and she’d always preferred good, old-fashioned paper.
She had to smile as she thought of Vishous’s disapproval. He was dying to get a halfway decent computer system going down here, but he respected her prerogative, even as he was frustrated by her. And they did enter summary notes into a database, something that Jane liked to spend Sunday afternoons on when everybody was quiet.
It was a meditation exercise as much as anything else.
“So how’re our kids doing?” she murmured as she ran through the notes Ehlena had made during the latest hourly check. “Oh, you go, girl. Look at those oxygen stats. Right where we want them.”
“There’s something special about that little girl. I’m telling you.”