Tangled In Vengeance

Chapter 35: Isabella Continued

I curl up against Damien on our bed with my head resting in the nook of his arm. His fingers trace idle patterns on my back as we're both satisfied with our recent lovemaking.

"I love you, Isabella," he says softly.

"I love you too, Damien," I whisper back.

Our past, with its scars and ghosts, may never be entirely behind us, but ahead lies a future. A canvas ripe for our creation. At this moment, that's all we need. 

Damien's steady heartbeat is a rhythmic promise against my ear, lulling me into a sense of peace. The soft rise and fall of his chest are a reminder of life's simple continuities.

The gentle ebb and flow that whispers of normalcy and warmth. A glaring contrast to the wild tides we've weathered together. As I drift into sleep, cradled in the love that's become my sanctuary, I can't help but smile. 

Despite all the odds, I am genuinely happy with how my life has turned out. Sharp pains shoot through me, unexpected and brutal, dragging me from the depths of sleep.

"Damien," I gasp as I nudge him frantically.

He just mumbles, lost in whatever dream has him in its grip.

"Damien!" I finally yell, punching his shoulder with more force than I intended to.

He bolts upright, suddenly wide awake with his weapon drawn in seconds. "What's wrong?" he asks, his sleep-addled brain struggling to catch up.

"Put that away. It's time," I manage to breathe out, the words a cue that sets him into motion like nothing else could.

Damien puts his weapon away and leaps from the bed. He scrambles around, snatching the baby bag with one hand and my hospital bag with the other, and somehow, his own bag is slung across his shoulder.

Each motion is frenzied and a little chaotic. Meanwhile, pain grips me again, and I follow behind him as best I can, pacing my breaths with each step calculated against the waves of contractions.

He's a blur, a frantic shadow stumbling down the stairs as he rushes to the car. He's a ball of nerves punctuated by the jangle of keys and the slam of our front door. I hear the engine rev to life, and as the car roars away, I'm still on the steps of the staircase.

"Oh, Damien, you silly man," I sigh, half in exasperation, half in affection.

Moments later, tires screech and Damien bursts through the door again, remorse painting his handsome features.

"Baby, I'm so sorry I left without you," he breathes out, a mix of apology and relief.

I can't help but smile. His love and fervor in these moments erase any irritation of being momentarily forgotten. Taking his extended hand, we walk to the car together. 

To the world, Damien might be a figure to fear, a demon cloaked in darkness, but to me, he's an unrivaled source of strength and tenderness. An unfailing soft teddy bear when it matters most.

The world outside blurs as Damien speeds towards the hospital and each surge of pain knits my brows tighter.

"Damien, slow down," I pant, but he's riding the gas pedal like our baby has a timer.

"Okay, baby," is all he says, his eyes steady on the road while his hand finds mine, squeezing gently.

Slumped in the passenger seat, my back arches with another contraction. "God, I'm never doing this again, Damien. You and your lethal sperm are staying away from me!"

The words are half-growl, half-grunt, and I'm only half-joking.

He doesn't argue. "Okay, baby," is all he says in a gentle whisper.

Upon arrival, we're ushered into the delivery room, and hospital staff work around me, strapping on monitors that beep and buzz. I grind my teeth with every beep that seems to echo the skyrocketing scale of my pain.

"I mean it, Damien! You're not coming near me after this!" I yell at him.

His face is the picture of agreement, almost angelic with concern. "Okay, baby," he murmurs every time, but his eyes twinkle with a hint of amusement that says he knows I don't mean it.

Labor stretches on, each hour a tiny eternity marked by the relentless waves of contractions. They rise and fall, robbing me of breath, of composure, like the tide working to erode my resolve. Damien is beside me, his hand an anchor amidst the storm, lending me the strength I'm starting to doubt I possess.

"Push, Mrs. Blackhart," Dr. Nigel coaches, his voice a distant lighthouse guiding me through the fog of pain.

I push and push, each effort an enormous task, until finally, a sharp cry pierces the room. Relief floods through me, and the tension breaks like a snapped string.

"Congratulations! You have a baby girl!" Dr. Nigel announces.

The nurses move swiftly as they check and clean the fragile new life before me. Then, she's on my chest, her warmth seeping into my own cold weariness.

"She's beautiful," I breathe out with tears of joy falling down my cheeks.

"Just like her mother," Damien says before his lips brush my forehead in a kiss that speaks of pride and love.

He looks at me with a question in his eyes. "What shall we name our daughter, love?"

"Elizabeth," I say, my voice a whisper as I say the name of my dear late mother.

Damien's voice is soft, almost reverent. "Donna for middle."

My heart swells with love, and I nod in agreement. "Elizabeth Donna Blackhart. I love it."

It feels right. The name is a perfect blend that resonates with the legacy we carry and the future we forge.

My eyes grow heavy now that the adrenaline is receding. Exhaustion leaves me in a gentle lull of contentment. Damien takes Elizabeth gently into his arms, and I drink in the sight of them. My family.

"Get some rest," he tells me with a smile in his voice. "Everything is just right."

I close my eyes, and sleep overtakes me with the image of Damien and Elizabeth etched into my soul. Damien is correct. Everything is just right.