Demon's Captive (10 page)

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      Fragmented images swirled in a dizzying kaleidoscope of colors. Impressions of warmth and comfort were overlaid with confusion and growing awareness. Melmanon fought his way out of sleep to sit upright in bed, breathing heavily as the remnants of the dream fell away. He looked to the shuttered windows and saw the advent of the dawn in the pinkish light that came through in slivers. He turned to Charity, and saw she was still pressed close to his side.
      Caught by the beauty of her profile, he let his hand smooth the fabric of her slip, sliding down the curve of her waist and over her hip. A blast of mental energy caught him unprepared. He fought to block out the tangle of emotions.
      Alert and wary, he slipped out of bed and prowled the room. The kind of signals he'd received couldn't be from Charity, and they were too powerful to be anyone on his staff. Opening the door to the hall, he scanned the corridor and reached out with his mind.
      There was no sense of another. He growled low in frustration. Whoever or whatever it was, it was gone. He couldn't discount the possibility an intruder had been outside. But it seemed unlikely the presence had been far away. If he hadn't known better, he'd have thought someone was right next to him to cause that kind of transfer.
      Stillness came over him. He turned back to the bed in shock. An instant later, he was back by his wife's side, sliding his hand over the curve of her waist. Settling his broad palm over the swell of her small belly, he tried to tell if there was anything different about it.
      After a moment, he opened his mind. Instantly, the images and feelings were back. Now, though, he knew they were the first conscious stirrings of his child.

Chapter Seventeen

      Lulled from sleep by the delicious smell of the hot tea she was so fond of, Charity opened her eyes to bright sunlight filtering in through an open window. Blinking in consternation, she sat up and saw Melmanon sitting at the small table where they took their breakfast each morning.
      "What time is it?"
      "Almost nine." He smiled at her with an expression she hadn't seen before.
      "Why did you let me sleep so late? I've missed my meeting with Desre!" She was genuinely upset; her language classes were a favorite part of the day.

      "I decided we needed some time alone." There was a wealth of meaning in his words. Before she had a chance to worry about it, he came, lifted her from the bed and carried her to sit the table.

      "Eat." His order was tempered by the soft brush of his lips against the crown of her head.
      Charity didn't argue. Her body, more accustomed to eating around seven in the morning, loudly informed her that breakfast was late. After making a considerable dent in the fruit salad and pastries, she sat back with a small groan. "I ate entirely too much. I don't know what's wrong with me."
      "I wouldn't worry about it." He set aside the papers he had been reading. "Let's get dressed. We have an appointment this morning."
      "With who?" She tried to remember what the calendar on her desk said about today.
      "I'm taking you to see the surgeon." His face was somber, and she realized he was serious.
      "Why?" Her voice rose a little in panic. "What's wrong?"
      "Nothing yet, but I'm concerned. Last night, you were feverish, and I don't want to take a chance that you've been exposed to something." His voice was soothing. It only put her more on guard.
      "There's nothing wrong. I would know if I were sick."
      "What if it's something from my people? You don't have the same immunities we do." The logical point was undeniable, and she rose to dress reluctantly. Something about his deliberate nonchalance set off alarm bells in her head.
      Freshening up in the large bathroom, she studied her reflection while she brushed her teeth. There was hectic color on the crests of her cheeks and her eyes were brilliant, almost glowing. Concern replaced suspicion, and she wondered if he could be right about seeing the surgeon.
      After dressing in a light summer frock, she followed Melmanon down the curved staircase and outside to their air courier. Entering the vehicle, she didn't protest when he pulled her tightly to his side and held her during th
e short trip across the city.

* * * * *

      In the exam room of the hospital, Charity tried not to be scared. Although the building itself was a product of her society, the interior had been completely redone. Strange equipment and mysterious machines filled entire rooms, and when the surgeon began to examine her, her gaze wandered to the strange surroundings.
      "Well, we've got a little blood and taken a scan. Give the tech and me a few minutes, and we'll be back with the results, okay?" His voice was kind and genial, so Charity ignored his odd appearance to smile and nod her affirmative.
      After fifteen minutes of waiting in tense anticipation, the surgeon returned. She felt dread like a brick in her stomach. Coming in behind the surgeon was her bonded. That he'd brought Melmanon out of the waiting room for this news couldn't be good.
      "What it is? What's wrong?" Hysteria rose in her voice, but she was powerless to stop it.
      "Charity." Melmanon's deep voice was soothing, and she gratefully accepted the comfort of his arm around her as he perched on the edge of the table. "Surgeon Dawes has something important to tell you. I need you to be calm and listen. All right?"
      "Yes, okay." Wrapped tightly in her lover's arms, she regarded the odd little man across the room.
      "Charity, I have some rather startling news. While not impossible, it was an unlikely event we could not have predicted." He pulled a thin sheet from the papers he held and slid it onto a mounted square on the wall. When illuminated, the sheet showed a scan of her body. At first, nothing seemed obviously out of place. But…
      "No, I can't…" Charity felt her pulse pound. The arms holding her were all that kept her upright as the world swam.
      "You're pregnant. I know how unexpected this must be, but I will stress again that, while unlikely, cross-species reproduction is entirely possible. For some races, it is much easier than others. Because Emissary Melmanon's race had proven so unproductive in the past, he didn't take precautions. In the future, we'll be more careful." The surgeon smiled a little, and came forward to pat her hand. "I don't want you to worry, Charity. I know you've been experiencing high body temperature and erratic emotional outbursts, but that won't last long." He crossed back to the scan. "Do you see here? Although you are only about seven weeks along, the baby has developed sufficiently to be transferred."
      "Wait, what does that mean, transferred?" Charity looked uncertainly at her silent warrior. "Pregnancy lasts almost a year, not two months."
      "Well." Surgeon Dawes looked back to the papers he still held. "For your people, that is usually true."
      "Usually?"
      "You wouldn't survive a pregnancy of that length." He glanced uneasily at Melmanon. "Your child is predominantly of its father's race. An elevated body temperature is part of that, as well as its large size. If you carried it much longer, the constant spike in your body temperature would have the same effect as an extended fever. It could cause permanent damage to your organs. Also, she is already much larger than a seven week old human fetus would be. Her development is closer to three months, actually."
      "She?" The slip had not gone unnoticed. Melmanon leaned forward in sudden interest.

      "Yes, she. I wasn't going to tell you unless you wanted to know." He gave her an encouraging smile. "I know how confused you must be, but I want you to know, there is no danger to either one of you. The procedure is simple. A single incision into the uterus will allow us to take her out, and we'll place her in an artificial womb. The machine will simulate the sounds of your body around her, and provide her with the nutrients necessary to grow until she can be 'born."

      "When would you do it?" The shock made the question unnaturally calm.

      "We can do it today. You'll be healed before you leave."

      Looking up into Melmanon's face, some of her panic and confusion must have come through because he immediately took control.
      "She's ready, Surgeon Dawes. Thank you for explaining it to us both."

      As the surgeon left to make preparations for the procedure, Charity struggled with her thoughts and fears. Pressing her hands to her abdomen, she tried to feel the life inside.
      "She's there." Melmanon's hand came to rest over her own and she looked up at him in disbelief. "I felt her this morning. She has telepathic abilities like me. I felt her." There was a stunned wonder in his voice now, and his other hand slipped behind her back so that the two huge palms sandwiched her waist. "My daughter."
      "Are you happy I'm pregnant?" Charity didn't know how to feel, but it was suddenly important to know how he felt about it.
      "Happy?" He seemed to think about the question for a moment. "Yes, I am. I never gave children a thought. I never imagined I'd have one." His demonic visage showed that unfamiliar expression again, but this time she recognized it for what it was. Delight. Pride.
      It suddenly occurred to her she was having a child, too. They would be a family: mother, father, and child. Apprehension filtered into her mind. "Are you sure about the surgery? What if something goes wrong?"
      His face changed. A familiar hardness edged past the other emotions. "Nothing will go wrong. I wouldn't risk either of you." The heat of his hands around her waist was intense. "You're too important to me."
      "You said you felt her. What does she think about?"

      He smiled. "She feels warm and safe. Last night, when you were upset, she was upset, too." At her expression, he soothed, "No, not like that. She was empathizing with you. I can feel how much she loves you already."
      Her heart swelled with wonder and joy. Cupping the gentle curve of her belly, Charity leaned close when Melmanon covered her hands with his own and held her quietly until the surgeon returned.

Chapter Eighteen

      After an indecently short period of time, Melmanon stood alone in the waiting area. They had bustled Charity away and flatly denied his presence in the operating theater. When he'd tried to use his power to override their policy, the surgeon had drawn him aside.
      "We are well aware of your position here, Emissary Melmanon, but I will be frank." Surgeon Dawes leveled a stern glare on him. "Do you want my medical technicians to be nervous while they operate on your wife and child?"
      "Of course not!"
      "Then you will keep your intimidating presence here. In the waiting room." Giving him a long, steady look, the surgeon shuffled back to the operating doors, leaving a frustrated Melmanon in the waiting area.
      Spinning to pace the length of the hall that traversed the third floor, he stormed a path up and down while the realization he would be able to see his child soon washed over him.
      A child! His child, a daughter. He still reeled from the shock of it. He'd seen the scan, and her size; he knew she was already developing mental powers like his own. The enormity of the whole thing changed his world. Suddenly, he was sure of the future. Charity would never want to leave once they had a daughter. It could only strengthen the bond between them to have a complete family.

      He was certain this would alter her perception of their marriage. Before, sex had been the defining characteristic of their relationship. Now, the focus had changed. They would be a family, what he'd sensed she'd secretly longed for that day in the fields.
      At the sounds of footsteps, he turned to see Surgeon Dawes striding merrily down the hall.
      "All done! Come and see, come and see!" Following the ebullient man back towards the operating theater, Melmanon tried to calm his thundering heartbeat.
      Inside, Charity lay on a pristine bed of white sheets, her eyes open and watching him approach. As he neared the side of her bed, her hand rose to grip his.
      "Have you seen her yet?" There was anxiety and excitement in her voice, and he smiled as gently as he could.
      "We'll see her together." He bent to gather her in his arms, sheet and all, then turned to the surgeon, who smiled and waved them into the next room.
      Turned to ease through the narrow door, Melmanon heard Charity catch her breath. He was hard pressed to draw air himself as they beheld their daughter.
      Inside of a large plastic dome, a filmy sac that seemed to float in the air glowed transparently. Within, liquid swirled and eddied around the tiny, curled shape of their daughter. The perfection of her form was apparent.
      After a long moment, Melmanon looked down at his wife and saw her gazing back at him.
      "Can you hear her now?" Her smile was tremulous, and he could read her lingering anxiety in the unshed tears in her eyes.
      "Let me try." Opening his mind, he carefully pushed away everyone but her, the miniature life before him. Instantly, he felt that stirring awareness, the fragmented images and impressions she'd gathered in her mother's womb. Still, there was a sense of warmth and security, and he sighed in relief she had not been damaged by the procedure.
       "Well?" Charity's demand had him turning back to her. "She's fine. She doesn't seem upset or unhappy." He smiled. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"
       They both looked back to the dome. "She's lovely." Charity's voice cracked, and he saw one
tear slide down her cheek.

* * * * *

      Back at home, preparations for their daughter's "birth" swept the mansion. Charity quickly discovered even the most dedicated service person melted into goo at the thought of a baby in the governing house. Her personal staff were giddily making plans for decorations and remodeling. In contrast, Melmanon's staff were unabashedly jealous and took any opportunity to prod her with suggestions for names and decorating themes.
      Lately, her thoughts were in constant upheaval. The complicated nature of her relationship with her husband had taken a back seat to their baby, but she found herself trying to analyze her new and developing feelings.
      The facts hadn't changed; he was still an invader, a warrior of the army that killed her people and destroyed their way of life. Her interaction with the war tribe had made her understand something, though. They were only living as they could, within the society they had created many hundreds of years before Melmanon was ever born. His own people had once been the victim, as hers were now.
      She could not blame him for that, especially since he had forsaken his people's ways in his mercy to her. His lapses in control were terrible and frightening, yes, but the changes he'd made to himself and his life were more than enough to convince her of the depth and sincerity of his love.
      Everything she needed, everything
she wanted, was already hers.