The travails lasted for four hours. The midwife came with hot water and linens. Ren stood several feet away, but he was fixed on Aoibh's vagina, watched every twitch of the flesh, the flicks of the hair-like tendrils. The midwife massaged, coaxed. The hours of labor wore on. Aoibh cursed Ren, swore at him, insisted that he leave, but he wouldn't concede.
Ren bit his fist. Aoibh could smell the blood and she wanted it. Her tongue was dry. She was hungry and she wanted to claw that monster from between her legs. She wanted to wind up her arm and smash him into the wall. Hours, she cried. Sweat was a new layer of skin. The midwife spoke in hums and coos.
The head, the shoulders. Each time, the midwife congratulated her, coaxed her to keep going.
Pulling the babe free, the midwife announced, "You have a son."
Lightning cracked outside, but then the sky turned blue. The rain was a gentle trickle.
Ren launched forward, took up the wrinkled little sack, held him with his fists clenched, scrambled to cradle him in his arms. He gasped back tears, bit his lip to fight the deluge. He could control water, even in his own body. BoBo and the others were a few feet away.
Aoibh sat up, tried to get a glimpse of the creature that had just fought his way out of her womb. She wiped the sweat away, craned her head. The creak of the bed woke Ren. He clenched the baby to his chest and left the room.
From the hall, Ren said, "Banrion Aoibh may take as long as she likes to recover, then she may take her grandmother and go."
YOU ARE READING
The Lamb and the Gray Battle
FantasyEvie has spent the last 575 years on the North American continent, now called America, the Pure and Clean. She smiles, volunteers and makes cakes and pastries for her neighbors, hiding away her demon blood. She wants nothing to do with her estranged...
