Warlord's Baby: Warlord Brides (Warriors of Sangrin Book 5) Page 5

  “What’s going on?” she asked. She tried to sit up to look at the screen but Kalen moved it away.

  “The babies are in distress,” he said. He turned to another medic, a male Mercy recognized but did not know the name of. “Prep for surgery.”

  “Babies? Surgery?”

  Kalen patted her hand and gave her what he probably thought was a reassuring smile. It was all fangs and horrifying. “We need to get your sons out now. It seems they are too impatient to wait for your body to give birth the old-fashioned way.”

  Sons.

  Plural.

  Stunned, Mercy tried to formulate her questions. She looked to her mother, surprise also on her face.

  Mercy didn’t notice Kalen approaching with a mask until it was already over her mouth and nose. She swatted ineffectively at the air before slipping under into blackness.

  Paax

  Paax gripped the severed head by the hair and tossed it the nearest warrior. “Send this to his brother.”

  There would be repercussions. The Council would twist their hands and scold him but they were too frightened of the fury of a Mahdfel for Paax to consider them a serious threat. The council on Sangrin knew very well that it could not control the Mahdfel who pledged to protect the planet. At best, they directed the warlords’ energies toward the Suhlik threat but they could not forbid two warlords determined to destroy one another. They could, however, take away the council seat they dangled in front of him for so long.

  It did not matter. His decisions to pursue the Suhlik research facility ensured the council would not welcome him as an elder council member anytime soon.

  Antomas was another issue. The minor warlord would demand his revenge and there was nothing a council of soft Sangrin elders could do to stop it.

  Paax needed to be prepared.

  Jolyon approached him. The warrior was young and nervous but skilled and loyal, which is why Paax selected the male to guard his mate. “Warlord, sir—”

  Paax swiped a cleansing cloth over his face, removing the dirt and gore. “Why are you not with my mate?”

  “She sent me to fetch you—”

  “Fetch me?”

  The young warrior paled. Paax meant his words to be teasing but the male took them far too seriously. Jolyon's mouth opened and closed, no sound coming out. Mercy claimed the warrior was “funny” and “chatty.” Paax saw no evidence to support her claim.

  “Speak,” Paax commanded.

  “Your mate is in medical. She is laboring.”

  Labor.

  His sons were being born.

  He was a father.

  “Is she well? And our sons?” Paax ran the cloth over his bare chest and arms, removing the worst of the blood. There was no time to don clothes.

  “Yes, but she is calling for you. Demanding.” Jolyon rubbed at his throat.

  How could he ignore the demands of his wife?

  He strode into medical, finding his worst nightmare. Braith and Kleve stood outside, removed by the head medic.

  “Situation report,” he snapped.

  “Sir, we’re unsure—”

  Unsure? His mate’s life and the lives of their twin sons required only certainty.

  Paax dismissed them as useless and tried to enter the room. Mylomon’s female barred him entry. “You have to wait out here,” she said.

  “I will see my mate. Now.”

  Daisy folded her arms over her chest. “No. They’re in the middle of surgery. You can’t just barge in there.”

  “You cannot stop me, female. Move. I do not wish to injure you.”

  “No!” Daisy stuck a hand out, landing her palm flat against stab wound on his shoulder.

  He stared down at her hand and then at her, surprised that she would dare to touch him. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “The babies heart rates dropped. They went into distress. It happens,” she said. “Right now Kalen is performing an emergency c-section. She’s in good hands.”

  Paax took a calming breath. “Explain this sea section.”

  “It’s actually really common on Earth. Lots of women have the procedure and make full recoveries.” She explained the procedure in detail.

  “That’s barbaric!” They cut open the womb and acted like it was normal. The medic had gutted his mate like a fish. “I must see her.”

  “Yeah, well you can’t. You aren’t exactly sterilized.” She waved at his gore covered physique. “Is any of that your blood or is that a fashion statement?”

  “Some.”

  “Let’s sew you up, then.”

  More barbaric human medicine; sewing torn flesh with needle and thread like fabric. “No. I’ll heal.”

  “I got news for you, Paax. If Mercy sees you looking like this, she’s going to freak. Can you at least rinse off? You can use medical’s cleansing room.” Daisy pointed to the small room the medics used to sterilize themselves.

  He glanced down at his hands, no longer his normal warm plum color but a dark, stained wine. If his mate saw him in such a state she would, indeed, freak. He did not want to greet the mother of his children with the blood of a lesser warrior on him. He would not hold his sons for the first time and blemish them in such a manner. “Agreed.”

  He quickly rinsed off and changed into a set of too-small scrubs. He sat quietly and suffered much insult to his dignity as Mylomon’s female fused over his injuries. They would heal. Accelerated healing had been engineered into the Mahdfel genetic code. It would take much to seriously harm him and certainly much more than the wound Antu had inflicted.

  He would heal. Mercy might not.

  Kalen entered. He was not dressed in his normal crisp white lab coat but he wasn’t covered in blood, either.

  “Report,” Paax said.

  “You’re mate is out of surgery, sir.”

  “And?” Paax ground his teeth, frustrated at both the female needlessly dressing his wounds and that no one would speak plainly and tell him what he burned to know. “Enough of this,” he said, pulling his arm away from the nurse.

  “You’ll have a scar.”

  “Then I have a scar. Medic, speak now before I lose what precious control I have.”

  “Your mate is out of surgery.”

  “Has stress addled your brains?”

  “And your sons are well.”

  “Both? Survived?” Twins. Such a rarity.

  “They will be strong warriors.”

  Paax surged to his feet. “I must see them.”

  Kalen nodded. “I will allow you to view her only. Your mate is not to be disturbed.”

  The medics had placed a sleeping Mercy in an enclosed room. The transparent walls tinged green allowed Paax to monitor her status. He paced, eyes always on her, flicking briefly to a screen and then back to her. Her dark hair was wet and plastered against her forehead. His little star seemed so small in the bed designed for a Mahdfel, swallowed up by the blankets and pillows.

  How often had Paax stood in a very similar spot, helpless as he watched his mother recover from surgery? Too often. His mother was forever pregnant and they never went smoothly. Paax had been young but he remembered clearly his father pacing and snarling, threatening the medics, and demanding to hold his mate. Every child she carried left her a little bit more wore, a little bit more tired. So many brothers lost. After all those attempts, only Paax and Omas survived to adulthood.

  Paax could still hear his mother’s cries. Every child she lost broke her heart. Every single one.

  And his heart hardened. Paax never wanted a mate. He never wanted to put a female through such pain and decided it was better to be alone. This was before the genetic compatibility test. His father, a good male and a strong warrior, selected his mother based on scent. She smelled good. Alluring.

  Paax pressed his hand to the glass, willing himself closer. No matter how good or alluring his mother smelled, she was not a strong match to his father. They lost many children and, ultimately, her life.

  Hi
s mother’s struggle was exactly the reason Paax developed the genetic compatibility test. He wanted to spare all females the dangers of a risky pregnancy.

  Mercy was a strong match, very compatible, and she held his heart, but she still required surgery. His best efforts to spare another female suffering, failed.

  “She is strong,” Kalen said.

  “She suffered.”

  “Only because you were not here.”

  Paax narrowed his eyes at the medic. Sometimes he forgot how young and hot headed the male was. “You very well know where I was and what I had to do.” For her. For their sons. Their safety was paramount.

  Meridan and Daisy appeared, each carrying a swaddled bundle.

  His heart pounded and blood thundered in his ears as Meridan placed his son in the cradle of his arms.

  Words alone were not enough to express the joy surging through his body.

  Impossibly small, his son fit in one hand. Paax’s index finger ran over the infant’s brow, feeling for a bump or ridge but finding only soft skin under dark, downy hair. His complexion was a vivid pink. Mercy would have the perfect name for it, flamingo or watermelon or some other Terran word, but Paax was satisfied with pink. The twins’ complexions would darken in a few days. Even if they did not, they were perfect.

  The infant grabbed Paax’s finger, his tiny pink hand clamping around his plum digit, and pulled it toward his mouth with surprising force.

  There was nothing Paax would not do to ensure the safety of his son. No task was too onerous. No burden too great to bear. His little star had given him the greatest gift, twice.

  “Ready for the other one, papa?” Daisy asked, placing the infant in the crook of Paax’s empty arm. “What will you call them?”

  Axil and Drake.

  He knew their names in his heart but would wait for Mercy to wake. “It is the mother’s honor to name a son.”

  “They look more Terran than I expected,” Kalen said.

  “Are Terrans this color at birth?”

  Meridan cleared her throat. “Depends. Babies are normally a dark red or purple until they start to breath.”

  Paax looked at Kalen with alarm. “My sons are breathing, yes?”

  “Relax,” she continued. “I just meant that the skin tone normally changes. Totally normal for a human.”

  “But my sons are Mahdfel.” His sons. His reality forever changed by two such small beings. The sensation of his heart expanding and strengthening all at once was so strange. “When will my mate awaken?”

  “Her vitals are stable,” Kalen said. “She should wake within an hour.”

  “Will she be in pain?”

  Kalen shared a look with Meridan. “Not excessively.”

  “Unacceptable.”

  The son in the crook of his left arm cried out. Paax frowned. Was his voice too loud? Did he grip the infant too tightly? What was that foul odor? Had he hurt his son and already failed as a parent.

  Meridan plucked the mewling baby away. “Time to change a diaper, I think.”

  “Show me how this thing is done. I will conquer it.” The trials of fatherhood were strenuous but he would prevail.

  Chapter Seven

  Mercy

  Familiar and beloved vivid blue eyes waited for her when she woke. So many thoughts swirled through her, she didn’t know where to start.

  A huge bloody gash marred his forehead. Might as well start with that.

  “What happened to you?”

  He touched the wound. “Nothing of consequence.”

  “Liar.” The Mahdfel healed quickly. Anything that left a gash was of consequence.

  “A misstep in the training arena. It won’t happen again.” His voice was firm and decided. Whatever happened, whatever kept him away from her, would not happen again.

  “You’re late.” Mercy tried to sit up and winced, from both the throbbing pain in her abdomen and the neediness in her words. She hated how she clung to Paax for support, how alone she felt when he wasn’t there, but, dang it, a woman needs her husband when she’s in labor. She refused to feel guilty for wanting her husband to hold her hand when she needed him most. If anything, she should be forcing an apology from him for leaving her high and dry. The only person who’d held her hand was Dorothy.

  And shouldn’t a proper mother’s first concern be for her baby? Shame flowed through her because the first words out of her mouth wasn’t for the welfare of the baby but because her husband didn’t hold her hand and hurt her feelings. Some mother she was going to be.

  “I came as soon as I could.” He crouched down next to the bed and pressed his forehead to hers. She closed her eyes instinctively, savoring the contact.

  “I needed you,” she said, voice raspy and dry. She wanted to keep accusation from her voice but it was a struggle just to form words.

  “Here.” Paax pressed an ice chip to her lips. It melted on contact, soothing her parched mouth. She motioned for more.

  A flurry of activity broke out in the room. The bed was adjusted to a sitting position, pillows propped behind her back, medication administered and a light, floating feeling disconnected her from the pain in her body. Everyone’s attention was centered on her but no one actually spoke to her. The haze of anesthesia wore off and the fog of confusion left her mind. The medics checked her vitals and finally—finally—someone thought to inform her that the surgery was a success.

  “The baby?”

  “Healthy. Perfect warriors the pair of them,” Paax said, chest swelling with pride.

  Pieces clicked into place. Mercy remembered perfectly the curious light headed sensation of her chest being squeezed, and then Kalen barking out orders that the twins’ heart rates were dropping.

  “Twins,” she said.

  “Can you believe our good fortune? Two sons.” Paax straightened, speaking to someone over her head and completely ignoring her.

  “You are very fortunate, sir,” Kalen agreed.

  A wide grin flashed white against the warm plum of Paax’s complexion, the warlord thoroughly pleased with himself.

  Somehow that was the thing to push her over. Not the being ignored by everyone in the room. Not her husband’s absence during her labor when it took a terrifying turn. Heck, not even the way her doctor conveniently forgot to tell her that she carried twins—but her husband apparently knew.

  No, it was the way Paax puffed out his chest with that self-satisfied grin, like he was the one to carry two babies in his body. Or to suffer through sleepless nights, mood swings, swollen ankles, back pain, tender nipples, twice a day medical appointments and never had a moment to himself because a flotilla of warriors had to follow him everywhere. She did all the work and he took all the credit. Right now all she wanted was to hold the product of that work—nine months and change—in her arms and count his fingers and toes and kiss his little nose.

  Noses.

  Twins.

  That explained all the punching and kicking. Four restless little feet had her convinced the kid was an acrobat. Turns out it was two acrobats.

  A hand on his sleeve caught Paax’s attention. “I’d like to hold my sons now. And you two can also explain why no one thought fit to inform me that I carried twins,” she said when her husband bent his neck towards her.

  She sounded calm, which was important because she did not feel calm. Far from it. If she’d had the energy and something handy, she’d be throwing stuff at the walls and shouting at the top of her lungs. She still might if a certain pair of aliens didn’t get their purple butts in gear and let her hold her babies.

  Forget them. She’d climb out of this bed and do it herself.

  “What are you doing, female?” Kalen asked, alarmed.

  “You’re too slow. I’m going to find my babies.” Her legs moved just fine, albeit slowly. Her entire middle, stiff and unwieldy, was the problem. Numbness wrapped around her abdomen, masking pain. It was like she wasn’t even connected to her body or she was driving a car from the passenger side
seat. She could almost reach the pedals but not quite. “What did you do to me?”

  “Remain in bed,” Kalen snapped.

  Mercy lifted her chin and planted a foot on the floor. Screw him.

  “You had major surgery,” he added, voice softening. Skilled hands lifted her legs and put her back in the bad, pressing her shoulders down gently. “We cut through muscle here.” His hands moved, indicating a vertical line right through her belly button.

  Mercy lifted up the gown. An angry red line bisected her still round belly.

  The incision looked painful. She poked it with her index finger. Nothing. “Why doesn’t it hurt?”

  “Medication and the pure raw talent of your medic,” Kalen said without a trace of humility.

  “Looks a little large. Did you have to butcher me?”

  “Time was a factor,” he said with a frown. “I needed to extract both your sons quickly.”

  With no regard to bikini season, apparently. She poked at the incision again.

  Paax gently knocked her hand away. “Let it heal, little star.”

  “I’m going to have a scar.”

  Kalen huffed. “That will fade in time and with reparative cream. Human skin is too soft. That is not my fault. It will also not be my fault if you injure yourself running about like a stubborn female before you’ve had sufficient time to recover.”

  Bed bound. Fantastic. Just what a mother of twins needed to hear. “I wasn’t going to run,” she said under her breath.

  Paax picked up her hand and crouched at her bedside. “Medication will block pain, which may mislead you to believing you are well enough to go about as you please, but this is a lie. Our technology is advanced and you are healing faster than an unassisted Terran, but there are limits. You must rest.”

  That voice. Deep and authoritative, it was a voice accustomed to being obeyed. Tired and numbed, her body—the traitor—responded to it as it wrapped around her, reassuring her of her place in the universe and made her feel safe. It was so hard to hold onto her anger when he had a voice like that.

  “I need to hold my sons, Paax.”