Page 36 of The Dragon King's Pregnant Mate

The beasts circle us with impossible grace, their movements too fluid for their massive bodies. When they breathe, frost forms in the air, and the temperature around us plummets. One lets out a sharp, crackly sound like ice cracking in the depths of winter—a hunting call that makes my blood run cold.

The attack comes without warning.

Two launch themselves at Arvoren while another lunges for me. He meets them with fire and fury, dragon-flame turning the morning air to steam, shifting instantly. I stumble backward as he towers above me, trying to call my magic, to summon the storm that always hovers at the edges of my consciousness.

Power rises, but something's wrong. Pain shoots through my abdomen, sharp and unexpected. I double over, one hand pressed to my stomach as black spots dance at the edges of my vision.

Too much. Too much.

With a thrill of fear, I know my body is reaching its inevitable limits.

"Calliope!" Arvoren's voice seems to come from very far away. Through blurred vision, I see him tear through one of the beasts with terrible efficiency, his partially transformed state letting him match their impossible speed. But there are so many, and they keep coming, flowing out of the shadows like living darkness.

I have to help. Have to fight. But the magic slips away like smoke through my fingers, and the pain intensifies with each attempt to grasp it. The child moves within me, their presence both comfort and terror. What if using too much power hurts them? What if—

A shadow falls over me. One of the creatures looms above, its too-many teeth bared in what might be a smile. This close, I can see the patterns of frost that spread across its midnight fur, the way its form seems to shift and flow like water in moonlight. Ancient magic radiates from it in waves that make my teeth ache.

It lunges. I throw myself sideways, but I'm too slow, too weak. Claws like icicles tear through my sleeve, drawing blood that freezes instantly on my skin. The pain clears my head enough to access a fragment of power—just enough to send a burst of killing frost into the creature's face. It reels back with a sound like breaking glass.

"No!"

Arvoren's roar shakes snow from the branches above. Dragon-fire fills the air as he barrels into the beast, tearing it apart with claws and flame. But more circle behind him, their movements coordinated, patient. They know they have us outnumbered. Know we're already exhausted—from our flight from the fortress, from his desperate search for me, from my dire and unending ordeal.

I try once more to reach for my magic, gritting my teeth against the pain. The child's power pulses within me, eager to help, but I force it down. I can't risk them, not to save myself. Not even to save their father.

Arvoren fights like a demon, his partially transformed state letting him match the creatures' impossible speed and strength. But he won't leave my side to pursue them properly, won't risk them getting past him to me. His protection will get him killed.

It will get us both killed. Allthreeof us.

"Go!" I shout as another beast lunges. "I can—"

The words die in my throat as agony tears through me. The child's magic surges despite my attempts to contain it, responding to my fear. Power explodes outward in a wave of killing frost, turning the very air to crystal. The beasts cry out in voices like breaking glass. Tree branches crack and shatter in the sudden cold.

The last thing I see before darkness claims me is Arvoren's face, transformed by terror as I crumple into his arms. His lips form my name, but I can't hear him over the roaring in my ears. Can't tell him about the life growing inside me, about why I'm so afraid.

Can't trust him with this final, precious secret. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

The world fades to white, and somewhere in the endless dark, our child's magic pulses like a second heartbeat.

***

I wake to warmth and the steady rhythm of a heart beating against my cheek.

For a moment, I'm disoriented—where is the perpetual chill of Ulric's tower, the whispers of ancient magic in the walls? But no—I'm curled against Arvoren's chest, his arms wrapped around me like steel bands, dragon-fire warmth seeping into my frozen limbs. Somehow he's found us shelter: a shallow cave carved into the hillside, partially hidden by a curtain of ice-heavy pine boughs. Snow falls beyond our sanctuary in lazy spirals, turned gold by the last light of sunset.

He's finally succumbed to exhaustion, his breathing deep and even. One of his hands rests protectively over my stomach, and the intimacy of it makes my heart ache. In sleep, his face loses its hard edges, the constant tension melting away. He looks younger, almost vulnerable. More like the man who would wake in the night just to pull me closer, less like the king who kept me in chains.

The child moves within me, a flutter like butterfly wings, and I have to bite back a gasp. Their magic pulses in time with Arvoren's heartbeat, reaching for him even as I hold myself back. How would he react if he knew? Would he see our baby as a miracle or a tool to secure his bloodline? Would he lock me away "for my own protection," keeping me safe until I deliver his heir?

He’ll know soon, I know. I’m already showing, though it’s subtle enough that I can hide it. But it won’t be long.

I want to believe he's changed. Want to trust the tenderness in the way he holds me, the fear in his voice when I collapsed. But I remember too well the possessive gleam in his eyes when he first claimed me as his queen, the way he watched my every move as if expecting betrayal. His brutality. His cruelty. The fear that still hasn’t left me, that I will carry for the rest of my life, of having no freedom ever again.

Careful not to wake him, I trace the line of his jaw with trembling fingers. There's a new scar there, very small and faint, still pink and healing—earned searching for me, perhaps? He shifts slightly at my touch, pulling me closer even in sleep, and murmurs something that might be my name.

I love him. That's the terrifying truth of it. Maybe I always did, despite everything. When he fights to protect me, when he looks at me like I'm something precious rather than something to possess... it would be so easy to let myself fall. To give up.

But it isn't enough, is it? Not without trust. Not without the freedom to choose, the knowledge that our child—mychild—will be safe, provided for. Treated gently. Treated with a dignity Millrath stole from me for a long, long time.