Page 2 of Princess (Marinah and the Apocalypse #5)

Marinah

"If you wake her, I will cut off your head and place it on a pike directly outside this door," King whispered angrily, his voice a low growl that didn’t conceal his irritation in the least. The dim light from the hallway barely illuminated his sharp, brooding features, but I could picture the murderous glint in his eyes.

"That woman is driving me insane, and she insists on speaking to Marinah," Missy whispered back, her words laced with the same frustration.

I groaned, snatched the nearest pillow, a thick, overstuffed thing that smelled faintly of lavender and King, and hurled it toward the sound of his voice. The pillow hit with a satisfying thump against his back.

"I'm awake," I grumbled, my voice scratchy from sleep. And the nightmare.

My throat felt raw from screaming, but obviously I hadn’t screamed, or King would have woken me.

The nightmares started when the baby began moving in my stomach.

The dreams didn’t occur every night, but they were growing in intensity.

The one I’d just had was the first time the hellhounds took me down and got to the baby.

The rest of the dream, no King, no Ms. Beast, and no Nova, stayed the same.

Too bad I couldn’t figure out I was in a dream when it was happening.

King backed away from the door and pulled it open fully with a huff of pure exasperation. "Where's my sword?" he bellowed, his voice echoing down the hall. "Beck be damned, I will kill him too."

I pushed myself up onto my elbows, already regretting it as my lower back throbbed in protest like I had battled the hellhounds. "You will be nice to Missy," I snapped, trying to keep my voice level despite the deep-seated irritation rolling through me. "That woman is driving us all insane."

Callie, my cat, jumped onto the bed and purred as I rubbed her back. If King kept bellowing and wouldn’t comfort me, she would. Unlike King, cats were simple creatures. Yes, Callie was spoiled and particular about giving affection, but she was calm when I needed it.

As for Missy’s knock on our door to complain about our guest, I didn’t even have to say the woman’s name. Everyone on the island knew who was causing endless trouble.

Maylin, Nokita’s mate, abandoned ship after six weeks.

She fled to the farthest part of the island just to get away from the wicked witch of the west. Poor Missy, who currently stood at my door looking utterly fed up, was pregnant and due around the same time I was.

She looked about one sleepless night away from making her own escape plan.

"I'm sorry I woke you," Missy said, the words entirely void of any real remorse.

I yawned and rubbed my face. "What does she want this time?"

"To drive us all mad." Missy’s hands pressed against her lower back as she shifted uncomfortably. "You need to do something, anything, or a whole lot of people are going to start following Maylin’s example."

I sighed, letting my head fall back against the pillow. "Give me twenty minutes, and I will put a stop to this madness."

Missy turned on her heel and waddled away, her heavy stomps letting us know where we stood. I scowled, envious of how much smaller her belly was compared to mine.

King wasted no time slamming the door behind her, his fingers flexing at his sides. "I can handle this for you," he said, his voice a dangerous purr, his eyes burning with a promise of violence.

I lifted my arms. "Come here."

He needed no other encouragement. With a swift movement, he planted a knee on the mattress and scooped me into his arms, rolling onto his back so that I was cradled against him, my swollen belly pointing upward, his warmth wrapping around me like a shield.

Callie gave a short howl of disgruntlement and hopped off the bed.

"How is our princess doing this morning?" King asked, his breath ruffling my hair as he exhaled softly.

I snorted, shifting uncomfortably. "Our prince is stepping on my bladder with one foot and kicking a kidney with the other."

We’d been arguing over “our” men versus “my” men for months when it came to the guard, and I’d finally conceded to “my.” Now, a new debate had taken its place: prince versus princess.

The argument had become its own kind of game, a small piece of happiness in the middle of a post-apocalyptic world's insanity.

And right now, I needed all the happiness I could get.

"I have no problem carrying you to the bathroom to help with at least one of those issues." King’s smile was gentle, the kind that almost made me forget he was a Shadow Warrior capable of taking a man’s head off with one bite. He fanned my hair from my face with a soft brush of his fingers.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You will only carry me to the toilet over my very pregnant dead body," I challenged.

"Your wish is my command."

The words dripped with amusement, but I could hear the patience beneath them.

He stepped softly around me, as if he was handling an explosive that might detonate at any second.

I had half a mind to mimic him in a high-pitched, whiny voice, just to point out how he was pacifying me like an overly hormonal Shadow Warrior ready to claw his eyes out.

But I bit back the urge to snap at him. He was doing everything in his power to keep me safe and comfortable, even if it meant indulging my moods.

I let out a slow breath. "I will, however, allow you to rest me on my feet so I don’t have to do the undignified climb from the bed."

He was up in an instant, moving with that infuriating ease, and set me firmly on the floor. The moment my weight settled, I let out a quiet groan. Everything ached. Everything was swollen. Pregnancy was a complete scam created by men. No woman would ever dream of this torture.

I shuffled toward the closet, adjusting my balance to what seemed like twenty extra pounds in my belly since I fell asleep the night before.

Reaching in, I pulled out some clothes. The pants had an expandable band in the front, and the shirt, tight but stretchy, would hug my frame without suffocating me.

Each day was a mess of meetings to handle the problems of the citadel, our so-called home away from home.

But no matter how busy or "fat" I got, I still insisted on training with my weapons.

That meant I needed clothes that hugged my expanding belly.

"I’ll wait for you," King said, his tone far too casual.

I stilled, eyeing him suspiciously.

King had given the word "hover" an entirely new, borderline stalker definition. Usually, I didn’t mind. But the larger I became, the touchier I got. I forced the brightest smile I could manage. If I’d been in beast form, my sharp teeth would have shone.

Without a word, I shut the bathroom door in his face.

Relief came the moment I sat down, the pressure on my bladder finally easing. Whoever said pregnancy was fun deserved to be locked away in a mental asylum.

My hormones were a wreck, my belly stretched so far it looked like it was about to pop, and my feet, oh, my poor feet, were so swollen that I could barely squeeze them into shoes.

Not that it mattered, because I couldn’t bend over to lace my Doc Martens anyway.

My stomach had taken over all visibility of my toes weeks ago.

And the heartburn, which was currently sitting in my chest like I’d swallowed a live coal, was a constant companion. Oh, and I couldn’t possibly forget the gas, that lovely addition to the mix in a list of bullshit that just kept growing as big as my stomach.

I exhaled slowly, trying to remove the unproductive thoughts from my mind.

My reflection showed in the mirror. My hair, which had been cut short when we broke into the Federation stronghold, had grown several inches since then.

Not that it helped. The dark strands stuck up at angles that defied both gravity and decency.

I reached up, half-heartedly smoothing it down even though it was a lost cause.

Pregnancy glow? Please. The only thing glowing about me was the fire in my gut from whatever the hell I'd eaten last night.

I washed my face, letting the cool water chase away the last traces of sleep, and reached for my toothbrush. The sharp scent of mint filled my nose as I scrubbed away the stale taste of the night. By the time I finished, my stomach let out a low, impatient growl, loud enough to make me sigh.

I pressed a hand against my belly, rubbing slow circles. “I’ll feed you shortly, promise.”

It took about five minutes to wrangle myself into my clothes.

The pants stretched over my stomach, and I tugged the snug shirt down over them, making sure it wouldn’t ride up at an inopportune moment.

Then came the sandals. They were simple plastic ones that Missy had found for me.

They weren’t my style, but they were easy to slip on without having to bend over, and that alone made them priceless.

When I trained with weapons, I kicked them off, preferring to go barefoot. It was instinctual. In Beast form, I’m a nine-foot-plus killing machine where shoes have no place, not that we could find any that fit if I wanted them.

A low, familiar grumble vibrated through my core.

Protect.

Ms. Beast, my ever-present, ever-watchful companion outside my nightmares, whispered the command into my soul, the word forming not in sound but in sensation.

It was like a ripple of energy traveling through my bones, a silent pulse that formed words.

Actually, the sensation was impossible to explain.

I rested my palm against my stomach again, feeling the tension coiled inside me.

Nova, my other beast, remained quiet, lurking in the depths of my consciousness.

Unlike Ms. Beast, who prowled just beneath the surface, Nova emerged when things turned truly brutal.

When she came out, evil humans and hellhounds died.