Hopeless Devotion ~ A Jasper Hale Story

Chapter Eleven - Blood

Friday September 8th

The morning felt both rushed and endless all at once.

I woke to Bella groaning beside me—low, broken sounds that scraped against my nerves. Another rib, probably. Watching her was like watching a body lose a war in slow motion. She looked like the perfect horror story of pregnancy, all sharp angles and pain, her skin stretched thin over something that didn't belong.

By comparison, I'd thought I'd been lucky.

I shifted, meaning to sit up—and the room tilted.

Not much. Just enough to make my stomach drop and my fingers curl into the sheets. I froze, waiting for it to pass, pretending I'd meant to pause. It did, eventually. But the truth lingered longer than the dizziness.

I hadn't been fine.
I'd just been standing next to Bella.

If she looked like she was carrying a monster, then I looked... normal. Thirty-seven, maybe thirty-eight weeks along. Heavy. Swollen. Whole. And somehow that had fooled me into thinking my body wasn't being drained too—that this situation was normal, and Bella had simply drawn the shorter straw.

I lifted my gaze to Jasper. He was already watching me, his jaw set, eyes too sharp for someone who hadn't noticed anything wrong.

"Could you help me to the kitchen?" I asked, keeping my voice light even as my limbs felt thick, uncooperative.

Hunger rolled through me—deep and hollow, the kind that made my hands tremble if I didn't breathe through it. It wasn't the sharp, frantic craving Bella fought every hour. Especially now that she was unable to keep anything down. It was worse in a quieter way. Slower. Like something steadily siphoning me dry from the inside. Feeling different from the last few weeks.

With every step, I felt heavier. The floor seemed farther away, the air thicker. Jasper's grip tightened—gentle, but unmistakably protective—as my balance faltered. Walking became difficult. Nearly impossible.

Dizziness surged again, stronger this time. The lights fractured, streaking into long, blinding lines that cut through my vision. My head swam, my body lagging behind my thoughts, and for the first time, fear slipped in—cold and undeniable.

Jasper guided me into the kitchen, his arm firm around my waist. The floor felt too far away, like I was walking underwater. Every step took effort, my body lagging behind the intention to move.

The kitchen was too bright. White bled into white, the counters almost glowing. I blinked hard, trying to steady the lines swimming in my vision.

Breakfast.
That was what I'd asked for. That was what I needed. Something filling. Something normal.

I sank into a chair, more relief than motion, and let my weight settle heavily. The smell of food—bread, eggs, coffee—hit me all at once.

My stomach clenched.

Not hunger. Not really.

It was hollower than that. Deeper. Like something reaching past me, past the familiar signals my body usually gave, asking for something else entirely.

I tried to focus. Tried to think through the fog. Food meant energy. Energy meant strength. Strength meant the dizziness would stop. Simple.

But the thought slid away from me, slippery and wrong.

My hands shook. I curled them into fists, nails biting into my palms, grounding myself in the sting. The baby shifted—heavy, insistent—and the sensation made my breath catch.

Warmth.
Sustaining.
Iron-sharp and familiar in a way that made my pulse jump.

I frowned, confused by the direction my thoughts were taking. That wasn't mine. That wasn't—