Belly of the Beast

Chapter 2

The scream came from inside my head, not my mouth, although I knew it was me doing the screaming. It was also me feeling the pain, which came in the form of a sharp stab to my belly. It was unbearable. Worse than making the change from human to gargoyle. Worse than the time I fell down the stairs and broke my arm. This kind of agony felt like death, not birth, and I knew if the baby didn't come soon, I would pass out.

"Reese! Open your eyes!" I heard Vincent's shout, but it didn't make the pain go away. In fact, I felt more pain, which bloomed from my cheek. Did he just slap my face? How dare he strike someone in the throes of labor. "Wake up, dammit!"

Another slap and I opened my eyes to glare at Vincent, ready to give him a piece of my mind, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. His face was white as a sheet. He looked like he'd lost his best friend. Was that blood on his hands? And a knife? What the hell?

"What are you doing, Vincent?"

"Saving your life." He took my hand and pressed it against my belly, causing more shooting pain, and I glanced down to find my shirt covered in blood. "Keep your hand there and don't let go. I'm going to pick you up."

"Where am I?"

"Don't talk." Vincent's commanding tone had me doing what he asked. Besides, it hurt to talk, but I couldn't stop the groan as he lifted me off the kitchen floor. Oh, I was in the kitchen. Clearly, there was no baby. I had been dreaming. Sleepwalking, as far as I could tell, and it seemed I had helped myself to a steak knife. Definitely not my norm.

With Bonnie and Clyde following on our heels, Vincent carried me out of the apartment and down the hall to the door belonging to his mother. Stained red like a zombie apocalypse movie, we barged into Wren's home. Fortunately, she wasn't napping. She was standing in her kitchen, and she came rushing out to greet us.

"Reese! Saints have mercy!"

She didn't ask questions. She just ushered us back to her guest room and quickly stripped the bed. Then she threw a towel over the mattress and directed Vincent to lay me on it. The next thing I knew, she had her suture kit in hand and a stack of alcohol wipes.

"How did this happen?" she asked finally, rolling up my shirt to inspect the wound.

"She was sleepwalking." Vincent crouched next to my head, pulling strands of hair off my face with bloody hands. The dogs had followed us in, and Clyde rested his chin on the bed to watch. "I woke up and heard her in the kitchen. I thought she was making coffee, and I was going to remind her that she agreed to curb her caffeine intake, but when I found her, she was on the floor trying to disembowel herself." Hovering over me, I could tell Vincent was getting his color back, but he looked shaken. "What were you dreaming about, baby?"

Yikes.

Did I really want to tell him where my thoughts had been before he found me? That I'd been imagining the agony of labor? Would he think I was using the knife to rid myself of the baby? We hadn't even confirmed I was pregnant yet, and he knew how anxious I felt about it. But I couldn't lie. Not to him.

"I thought I was giving birth. The pain was terrible."

Wren clicked her tongue as she inspected my wound with a magnifying glass. "Of course, it was. You were feeling the blade pierce your skin. It looks like a simple flesh wound, but I'll have to stitch it up. Do you need a numbing agent? I have some scotch in the cupboard."

Vincent scowled at his mom. "I don't think Reese needs..."

"A shot of scotch might help," I said, wishing Wren had offered morphine instead. Simple flesh wound, my ass. There was nothing simple about the pain.