Chapter 190

Lila

Every day I woke weaker than I had been the day before, as though the strength in my bones had decided to abandon me, leaving only a shell behind.

Even standing to stoke the fire sent a shiver of fatigue rolling through my muscles. My hands trembled when I held the water bucket, and I had to steady myself against the wall just to carry it across the room.

I hated it, his helplessness, the slow erosion of what little power I had left.

Once, I’d trained until sweat burned my eyes, until Ruby’s growl urged me to push further. Once, I could fight grown warriors twice my size and still keep my footing. Now I could hardly cross the floor without pausing for breath.

The fear curled tight in my chest, heavier than the child I carried. With every falter, the thought grew sharper: I might not survive this birth.

I told myself I was being dramatic, that we’d been giving birth since the beginning of time, and strength wasn’t only measured in muscle or teeth. But the truth was plain: I was fading.

The poison Ella had forced on me had stripped my wolf and my body down to a whisper.

Ruby no longer rose when I needed her, no longer lent me what resilience she could. And now, with my body stretched thin and my spirit frayed, I wondered if she would rise at all when the moment came.

What if she didn’t?

My breath caught. Ruby would miss the birth of our child. Would die with me when the time came.

I sank onto the bed, pressing a hand to my stomach. The child moved beneath my palm, a flutter, a reminder that life still fought to grow even as my own strength dwindled. I swallowed against the lump in my throat.

“Little one,” I whispered, voice rough, “I don’t know if I’ll be here for you. But I will fight until I can’t fight anymore. I swear it.”

The words tore my heart wide open.

Tears stung my eyes before I could stop them, sliding hot and unwelcome down my cheeks. I thought of everything I had already lost. My wolf, bound and broken by poison. My home, that was never really a home, my mother. And Damon.

Gods, Damon.

The bond still tried to pulse faintly in the hollow of my chest, cruel and sporadic, no matter how far I ran.

I told myself I hated him for it; for binding me to him, for demanding, for hurting me in ways even Henry hadn’t.

But even now, with all the distance, I could still recall the way his voice softened when he said my name. I could still feel the ghost of his hand steadying me, the warmth of his lips when he kissed me and we joined to conceive our child.

I shut my eyes tight, but the ache stayed.

I couldn’t afford to lose myself in memories. Damon was gone, that life burned behind me, by choice.

What lay ahead was this baby, this fragile thread of hope I clung to. Yet the fear gnawed deeper: what if I didn’t even live long enough to hold her?

The thought chilled me to the bone. I wrapped both arms around my stomach, curling forward as though I could shield the life within from the inevitability waiting outside.

My breath came uneven, my heart thudding against my ribs as if it, too, was afraid of failing me.

I hated myself for this weakness, for letting terror slip through the cracks. I was supposed to be stronger than this, supposed to be the girl who survived when everyone wished for her to be gone.

But tonight, sitting in the dim light with my body trembling from nothing more than carrying water, I admitted what I’d tried to bury.

I probably won’t survive this.

I thought I had hidden the tears well enough, wiping them away before they could stain my face. But when Ronan’s shadow filled the doorway, I knew I hadn’t fooled him.

“You should be resting,” he said softly.

I gave a brittle laugh. “Rest doesn’t make me stronger anymore.”

The words slipped out sharper than I intended. I expected him to correct me, to offer one of his practical reassurances. Instead, he lowered himself onto the stool across from me, wincing just slightly as though his body were tired too.

His eyes, unwavering, found mine. He just waited for me to speak. That patience and loyalty loosened my lips and my thoughts came out without conscious thought.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” I whispered. My hand curled against my stomach, gripping the fabric of my dress. “That when the time comes, Ruby won’t rise. And I’ll die before I even get the chance to hold this child.”

The confession left me raw, my chest tight, breath catching with the truth I tried to avoid. I hated admitting it, hated how weak and frightened it made me sound.

But Ronan didn’t flinch. He didn’t look at me with pity, only with a kind of quiet acceptance that made my chest ache even more.

“You’ve survived worse odds,” he said, voice low. “You’ve fought through trials, poison, betrayal, self-imposed exile. You’re still here, still fighting.”

My voice cracked. “Now I can barely walk across the room without shaking. What kind of fighter am I, if I can’t even trust my own body to carry me through this?”

The fire popped behind us, a spark leaping into the air before dying against the stone hearth.

He leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, gaze locked to mine. “You’re the kind of fighter who refuses to give up, even when everything is stacked against you. The kind who looks fear in the eye and still keeps breathing. That’s more strength than claws or fangs get credit for.”

For a moment, I almost believed him.

I dropped my gaze to the floor, blinking hard. “I’m not afraid of dying,” I admitted. “Not really. I’m afraid of leaving this child alone. Of failing her before I’ve even begun.”

A silence stretched between us, thick but not uncomfortable. When I dared to look up, Ronan was watching me with steadiness in his eyes.

He reached across the small space, his hand brushing mine. He didn’t take it, not fully, just let his fingers rest lightly against my knuckles, as though offering me the choice to draw away. I laced my fingers with his, accepting his comfort.

The touch was simple, almost nothing. And yet it steadied me more than whatever he could have said.

“You won’t be alone when the time comes,” he said. “I’ll be there. And I’ll make sure this child never knows a moment without love and someone fighting for them.”

His tone was quiet and certain, like stone laid into the foundation of a wall. I felt it settle in me, pushing back the fear just enough that I could breathe again.

Something in my chest eased. The terror wasn’t as sharp with him sitting there, with his hand in mine as if to remind me I wasn’t carrying this weight alone.

I let out a shaky breath, the smallest smile tugging at my lips despite everything. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It is,” he replied, a flicker of a smile ghosting across his face. “We fight. We endure. That’s who we are.”

His words wrapped around me like a blanket, steady and sure. For the first time in days, I didn’t feel like I was unraveling completely. I leaned back, closing my eyes, letting his presence ground me.

And in that quiet, with his fingers still resting through mine, it almost felt intimate. Just two souls holding each other up against the dark.