Kelley Armstrong - Broken

An hour later, Nick phoned. They’d returned to the portal site to find a growing crowd of media, police and onlookers. The three missing people had appeared shortly after Rose’s death, unharmed and dazed, remembering nothing.

So the portal was closed.

And still Clay slept, still feverish, still infected.

The others returned. They checked on Clay, but there had been no change. Jeremy told them to make ready to head back to Stonehaven. When they left, I stood clutching Clay’s warm hand.

“It didn’t work, did it?” I said.

He shook his head.

“You knew it wouldn’t. You knew Hull was lying, that closing the portal wouldn’t cure Clay. There’s no magic here, is there?”

He walked up behind me, very gently kissed the back of my head and whispered, “No.”

My knees wobbled, and I grabbed the side of the bed, but Jeremy caught my arm to steady me.

“He’ll be fine, Elena. Randall is coming back to do the debridement-cut away the infected area-”

“But that means-Tolliver said-It’ll be permanent, won’t it? Muscle damage?”

“Possibly.” He hesitated. “Probably. His arm won’t be perfect, but he’ll still have it. Right now, those are my priorities. First, that he keeps the arm. Failing that, that he keeps his life.”

I lowered myself onto the bed.

Jeremy put his hand on my shoulder. “Matthew Hull is dead. The portal is closed. Your babies are safe. You’re safe. Yes, Clay might lose muscle. Possibly even his arm. But you know what he’ll think about that?”

I looked up at Jeremy.

“That it was a small price to pay, considering what he could have lost.”

When you live in a world of magic, you come to expect magic. You can fight that, try to concentrate on what’s real, but deep down, you still hope that the flick of a wand can make everything better and everyone will live happily ever after.

Clay’s cure did come-at the hands of a doctor. Tolliver cut out the infected tissue, and found clean flesh below it. So it was over. A price paid but, as Jeremy said, a relatively small one. I only hoped Clay agreed.

He woke up later the next day, when the drugs wore off. Groggy at first, he just lay there, listening as I told him that Hull was dead. He was too weak to manage more than muttering, “You took a stupid risk, Elena.”

Then Jeremy explained what they’d done to his arm, that some of the muscle had been damaged. While he’d have plenty of physiotherapy to undergo, he’d never get his full strength back in that arm.

He took it all in, unblinking. I tensed, waiting for the dismay, the rage that this had happened, all because of a letter I’d insisted we steal. As he turned to look at me, I steeled myself for what I’d see.

He met my gaze. “Ready to go home, darling?”

TWO WEEKS LATER, I WAS SITTING ON THE WEIGHT BENCH in the basement at Stonehaven reading the Toronto papers Jeremy had brought me. Clay was battling the punching bag, starting the long process of training his brain to favor his left arm. I was reading the news aloud-at Clay’s request. Not that he cared about the aftermath of events in Toronto, but my reading distracted him.

As Jaime and Robert had predicted, once the portal closed, things had started getting back to normal in Toronto. It wasn’t instantaneous-no magic-wand solutions there either. But the city’s efforts to clean the water had begun working, and the rats-though still infected-had stopped rampaging. Like Clay, the city had begun the long road to recovery.

As I reached for the National Post, I rubbed my abdomen.

“Still bothering you?” Clay said, stopping.

“Just uncomfortable.”

I’d been “uncomfortable” since last night, unable to sleep and restless, an intermittent dull ache in my groin. Since our adventure in Toronto, I’d been feeling the pregnancy more-weighed down, tired and generally ready to get it over with. Nothing alarming, but Jeremy and Clay panicked every time I mentioned a stray twinge…so I’d stopped mentioning them.

I opened the paper. “The Post is blaming the provincial Liberal government for-”

A sudden gush of liquid between my legs made me jump up, those horrible miscarriage dreams zooming back from their hiding place. No, probably just another bladder leak-I’d been experiencing the joys of mild incontinence all week. Yet I hadn’t laughed or sneezed or any of the other things that normally set it off. When I inhaled, I smelled something that wasn’t blood or urine…something I didn’t recognize.

“Shit!” Clay said, turning so fast the ricocheting bag hit him in the back. “Your water broke.”

“My-?”

I looked down at the wet stain down my legs, and was still staring, not quite comprehending, when Clay started yelling for Jeremy.

So it began.

When I’d first become pregnant, Paige had offered to be my midwife. She’d done it several times when she’d still lived with her Coven. Yet when Jeremy had suspected, early that morning, that my labor had begun, he’d put off calling her. Savannah had started school, and Lucas was out of town, finishing that investigation they’d been on last month, as he tried to find the shaman a local lawyer to handle his legal case.

So Paige couldn’t throw together a bag and leave for what could be a false alarm. Jeremy postponed the call until he was sure. By then though, judging by my dilation, the babies would be here before Paige would, meaning we had to settle for a long-distance midwife.

My “discomfort” solidified into recognizable contractions. They were intense, but a few minutes apart-hardly debilitating. While Jeremy prepared tea from the brew Paige had sent, I prepared for our new arrivals.

We’d cleared out Malcolm’s old room, but hadn’t started decorating yet, so my room would stand in as a temporary nursery.

I put bottom sheets on the bassinets, shook out baby blankets, gathered sleepers and opened the package of diapers. Clay kept trying to figure out my next move so he could beat me to it. He got in the way more than he helped, but I didn’t even snap at him. That hour seemed almost surreal, me calmly laying out tiny diapers and bath towels, unperturbed by Clay-and later Jeremy-as they tried to persuade me that none of this needed to be done now. When a contraction hit, I’d just wait it out, breathing deeply, then carry on. Maybe it was a sudden nesting urge, but I was probably in shock.

Then, all of a sudden, the contractions progressed from “that’s not so bad” to “holy crap!”

When it came to childbirth, being a werewolf gave me a few advantages. First, I was used to going through “holy crap!” pain, the kind that makes you vow never to do something again. As with Changing, this pain had a reward at the end, so I concentrated on that. And when that promise of reward no longer worked, well, the guys were used to seeing me in a cursing, shouting temper, so they handled it remarkably well.

Jeremy acted as midwife while Paige coached over the speakerphone. When the time came, I started to push. Baby number one slid into position…then I realized, with sudden clarity, that I was about to shove a baby out of a hole usually used by something much smaller. I panicked, and I was about to scream, “I can’t do this,” when I couldn’t help giving a last push and…

“We’ve got…a boy!” Clay said, grinning.

He was about to come to me, then stopped, as if uncertain where his attention should be. Jeremy finished cutting the umbilical cord, then passed Clay the baby-wiped down, but still bloodied.

Clay handed him to me and for a second, I was lost in those big unfocused eyes. I nuzzled the top of his head, inhaling the scent of him, a new smell with the barest whiff of the scent that marked him a werewolf. It didn’t smell the same as a mature werewolf, but I expected that-Jeremy said it would be subtler.