Page 84 of The King of Hearts (The Raven Group #1)

HIM

I ’m on the razor’s edge. My nerves are scattered in the fucking wind and the pulse in my temples thrums a dark beat.

I’m intent on bloody destruction, and the only thing that’s holding me grounded is the hand that’s holding mine so tight that my fingertips tingle from lack of circulation.

If it wasn’t for that hand, I’d use both of mine to strangle the man situated at the end of the bed until both of his eyes popped out of their sockets.

The hand tightens, and my wife’s voice filters through my murderous imaginings.

“Stop it, Ryker.”

The machine to her left shows nearly a straight line, indicating she’s not actively in the middle of a contraction, but I can hear the lingering pain in her voice.

“Stop, what?” I ask, bringing her hand to my mouth and kissing the back of it.

“Looking at Dr. Bale like you’re thinking of different ways to kill him.”

“Actually, I’m imagining only one way. Asphyxiation.”

“Well, stop it. This is the doctor who’s delivering our child. We kind of need him.”

I pick up the damp rag and wipe her brow and flushed cheeks. “I wouldn’t need to resort to such things if he’d give you the fucking drugs like I ordered him to.”

“I told you I didn’t want them. I wanted a natural birth. I’ve heard too many horror stories about women taking drugs during childbirth.”

“And I told you that I can’t handle seeing you in pain. I’m incapable of curbing my murderous impulses when it comes to you.”

Her eyes soften, unable to hide her pleasure when my vicious side comes out.

“You’ve also told me in your own words, “anything for you.” I want this, Ryker. The pain is more than worth it.”

Jesus, this woman is going to be the death of me. And the fucking kicker is, I’ll die with a goddamn smile on my face. She’s right, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her or give her. She’s more than my life. She’s my death as well.

“Fine,” I mutter, giving in only because she adamantly decrees it and I’m a sucker for my wife. “I’ll kill him later for touching and looking at your pussy.”

The bastard doctor clears his throat because he’s fucking eavesdropping on our conversation, but he doesn’t look adequately scared.

He should be, since I’m not entirely joking.

It’s unreasonable, sure, but I’m deadly serious when it comes to another man touching my Vicious.

No one gets to and continues to breathe.

Savina lets out a strangled laugh, and her fingers twitch in mine. “You are such a walking red flag, you know that, right?”

“What in the fuck is that?”

“It’s from my books. It means you’re possessive, unreasonable, and a seriously dangerous alpha male. All things a woman should avoid in a relationship, but can’t help but drool over.”

I grunt. I am all of those things, and I damn sure won’t apologize for it. Savina accepted who I am, and she’ll continue to accept it because she’s got no choice.

“Now behave. As my doctor, looking at my goods comes with the job description. He has to look and touch me down there to deliver our child. Stop being impossible.”

I lean over the bed railing and kiss her pretty lips. It’s a soft kiss to show comfort and love.

“It’s entirely your fault that I’m this way,” I say against her lips. “You make me do impossible things.”

“And I wouldn’t have you any other way. Just stop talking about murdering the doctor, okay?”

The words have barely left her lips when another contraction hits. Her face scrunches in pain, and her body stiffens. I can tell by her expression that she’s trying to stay brave and not show how much it hurts and it pisses me off. The anger isn’t directed at her, but toward myself.

I cup her sweaty cheek and whisper, “The doctor is safe from my wrath, baby. Now stop holding it in. I know it hurts. Scream if you need to. Break my fingers if that’s what it takes.”

A whimper leaves her lips, and it grows in volume the longer the contraction lasts. The doctor may be safe from any physical harm, but I’ll kill him a thousand ways to Sunday in my head.

“All right, Savina. I see the head. During the next contraction, I want you to push,” Dr. Bale says from the end of the bed.

The current contraction has barely faded when the next one hits.

“Push, Savina!” he orders.

My wife’s face goes beet red, and her fingers crush mine. I help her when she lifts her torso slightly off the bed. A grunt leaves her lips, but other than that, she makes no noise. She’s not even breathing as she pushes with all of her strength.

I’m surprised at how fast it goes from there. One minute she’s pushing like the doctor ordered, and there’s a flurry of activity where he sits, and the next there’s a loud screeching sound filling the room.

Dr. Bale stands, holding a tiny, squirming body covered in blood and goo.

He smiles as he announces, “Congratulations, Mom and Dad. You have a baby boy.”

Savina wanted to be surprised with the sex of the child. I didn’t really understand why, but I went along with her choice.

Dr. Bale passes the baby to a nurse, who’s holding a blue piece of cloth.

After wrapping my son, she brings him to Savina.

Tears freely slide down her cheeks as she holds out her arms, and the nurse gently settles him on her chest. I watch my wife and our son with an ache in my chest. I never wanted children, and I didn’t think that desire would change until the idea came to mind to force a pregnancy on her to ensure she would be mine.

Our son has been here only minutes, and I already can’t imagine life without him.

I’ll burn the world down, kill any motherfucker in it, take out anything and everything that gets in my way of protecting my wife and my son.

“He’s absolutely beautiful,” Savina says with awe, her expression filled with the instant love she holds for our child.

I slide my finger along the edge of the blanket, tucking it back so I can see my son’s face better. “He’s perfect.”

She tips her head back, her tearful, smiling eyes meeting mine. “Thick, black hair, just like his daddy.”

I lean down and kiss her forehead. When I lift my head, I look down at our son. His eyes are open, and he’s staring at his mother.

“Oh, my,” Savina whispers. “Gray eyes.”

“They say their eyes can change color over time,” I remark.

She shakes her head. “His won’t. They look just like yours.”

There’s no way for her to know for sure, but I let her believe whatever she wants.

All too soon, the nurse is back at our side, reclaiming the baby, stating he needs his special bath to get all the gunk off of him. I want to shove her away and demand she leave, but I push back the impulse and allow her to walk away with him.

I sit on the edge of Savina’s bed, her hand clutched in mine, and we both watch the rigorous bathing ritual with rapt attention.

I try my best to ignore the doctor as he messes around down between my wife’s legs, doing whatever doctors and nurses do after a woman gives birth.

I’m about to go over the edge of reason and break his fucking arms when he finally finishes.

He says a few things to Savina that I don’t really pay attention to, and then he leaves.

It takes too long before the nurse brings our son back to us. He’s securely bundled up in a soft blue blanket. Only his head peeks out of the material. “Do you want to try breastfeeding him? Or would you prefer to bottle feed him the first time?”

“He’ll take his milk from me.”

The bed is lifted into a better sitting position, and I help her pull down the front of her gown. It’s not the scratchy kind that most patients wear. This one is a soft lavender that Savina picked out herself.

When her breasts are bare, I can’t help but stare at them. They’re fuller than they used to be. Over the months of her pregnancy, they’ve grown in size and have become hyper-sensitive. I’ve enjoyed the lushness of them many times over.

As soon as our son is settled against Savina’s breast, instinct takes over, and he seeks out her nipple. He latches on immediately, causing Savina to laugh.

“He’s already a greedy little thing,” I comment, mesmerized by the sight of my son taking life-sustaining nourishment.

I’ve heard of men becoming irrationally jealous of their offspring when it comes to a mother feeding their child this way, but I’m utterly fucking captivated.

I’ll gladly share this part of Savina with my son because I know it gives him life.

For the first time since I laid eyes on her, I don’t have the urge to maim a male for touching her.

I watch as his little bowtie of a mouth sucks at her nipple. A little dribble of clear liquid seeps out of the corner, and I use a thumb to swipe it away. I bring it to my lips and lick it.

Savina wrinkles her brow, a disturbed look crossing her face. “You aren’t going to be one of those fathers, are you?”

“One of those fathers?”

“The kind who develops a breast milk fetish.”

“Baby, anything to do with you, I have a fetish for. This is common knowledge. Would it really surprise you if I did develop one?”

“Not really.”

I grin and bend down for a kiss. “Then don’t worry about my fetishes.”

An hour later, in which I took over holding our son while I forced Savina to get some much-needed rest, there’s a light knock on the door.

With my son tucked safely in my arms, I get up from the chair I was occupying and go answer it.

I’m not surprised when I see the small group of people on the other side.

I almost turn them away and tell them to come back later, but Savina made me promise to wake her when our families were allowed to visit.

I open it wider and allow them to enter. Alexander and Caroline are at the front of the small group, and I know before she even asks that Caroline wants to hold the baby. I’m reluctant to let him go, but I do so anyway after she washes her hands with disinfectant soap.

“Oh, my precious,” she says softly, staring down at her grandson. “He is positively gorgeous.”

Pride fills my chest.