Lone Prince (Royally Unexpected #7) - Lilian Monroe Page 0,78
across my skin as her body tenses in pain.
“Wolfe.” Rowan pants, eyes wide with fear. Her fingers cling to my shirt. “The baby.” A grunt escapes her, followed by another cry. She stumbles away from me, falling to her hands and knees, and my whole world collapses to a pinpoint of light.
There’s only Rowan. She’s the only thing that exists right now, and she’s in pain. Suffering.
Panic laces my blood, pumping hard and fast through my veins. I’m re-living the worst moment of my life. It’s happening again. The love of my life fading in my arms. The mother of my child, collapsing as I watch.
Cameras click, immortalizing this moment. Again.
I hear the noise, and the present moment rushes back to me. No. I won’t let it happen. It’s not going to happen. No, no, no. Inhaling sharply, I come back to myself. Scooping Rowan in my arms, I carry her off the stage. I’m so pumped full of adrenaline that I hardly even feel her weight in my arms. It’s just like the first moment I carried her, nearly a year ago. She needs me. I need to be here for her.
Cameras flash. Reporters shout. Staff members and security agents rush around me, but none of it matters. I don’t care that this moment is being filmed. I don’t care that our relationship is on full display.
Let them watch. Let them see this moment and draw whatever conclusions they want from it.
The media doesn’t matter. Controversy doesn’t matter.
All that matters is getting Rowan to a hospital. Now. Right now. Right fucking now.
My breath is shallow as I fly toward a vehicle. Eyvar’s already there, holding a door open for me. I put Rowan in the back seat, cradling her head in my lap just like I did last winter.
“Drive, Eyvar,” I say and this time, he doesn’t protest. The engine revs, and we’re gone, skidding toward the main palace.
Vaguely, I hear Eyvar radioing ahead for Dr. Williams. I hear arrangements being made for a helicopter to take Rowan to the nearest rural hospital. I hear it all, but the only thing that exists is Rowan.
Her cries of pain physically hurt me. I try to shush her, smoothing my palm over her forehead.
“It’s going to be okay,” I say gently. “You’re with me. You’re fine.” I’m not sure I believe it, but I say it anyway.
Rowan gasps, clutching her belly. “Wolfe, the baby—”
“It’ll be okay. I’m here, Rowan. I’m here.”
Her clear, blue eyes stare into mine, and she reaches up to cling onto my shirt. Her forehead creases in pain as her lips part, and I hang onto my breath as I wait to hear what she has to say.
“I’m so sorry, Wolfe.” Tears fall from her eyes as her grip on my shirt loosens, and she loses consciousness.
My heart collapses as my tears mix with hers. I press my lips to her forehead, her nose, her lips. I grip her hand in mine and put it on top of her stomach, praying to everything I can think of to keep her safe. Keep our baby safe. Keep her with me.
Please, don’t let me go through this again.
32
Rowan
I wake up in a hospital bed with a numb sort of haze clouding my brain. Blinking my eyes open, I listen to the steady beeping of a machine behind me. There’s a large shape in a chair beside me, and I furrow my brow to try to focus on it.
Wolfe.
A sharp intake of breath from me is enough to wake him up. He falls out of his chair and kneels next to the bed, clutching my hand and pressing his lips to my fingers. “You’re awake.” He’s breathless, eyes shining.
I nod. “Yeah.” My voice is nothing more than a croak, and I frown. So dry. My brain is fuzzy. What’s going on? Why am I here?
Wolfe reads my mind, scrambling for a little plastic container full of water—like the ones you get on an airplane. He peels the top off the container for me and helps me lift it to my mouth, wiping away a drop of water as it dribbles down my chin. Sighing, I nod. “Thank you.”
“How do you feel?”
My eyes snap open then, hands reaching down to my stomach. Fear spikes my blood, making my blood pump hard and triggering an alarm from the machine behind me.
A nurse rushes in, checking the machines hooked up to me and saying a few calming words.