She dreamed of terror again that night. Blindingly white sterile walls. Calculating smiles devoid of warmth. Beautiful faces twisting into grotesque masks of death, weeping blood red tears of betrayal.
He loomed over her, condemning her, blocking her every move, cutting off her every avenue of escape. The power of life and death in his hands. Cold, dead eyes assessing. Harsh words condemning. Mocking her. Deriding her.
The scene changed abruptly, violently. Each new one more horrific, more soul destroying, than the last. Drowning her in a sea of oppressive darkness, chaotic, frightening images screaming of destruction and death.
Wrenching herself awake, Nikita's eyes flew open as she sat bolt upright in bed, an aborted scream trapped in her throat. Shaking uncontrollably, her hair damp with sweat, Nikita sat fighting back panic and the terrible sense of desolation and dread that so recently held her fast in its grip. She drew in air as the nightmarish images dissipated, melding into the shadows.
A dream, only a dream, she assured herself, but her blood continued to race through her veins, causing her heart to pound out an erratic rhythm. Looking over her shoulder as Michael stirred beside her in bed, Nikita released a relieved sigh as he settled back into sleep. The first clear thought that broke through the fear and panic clouding her mind was of Nicolas and Christophe. A moment later Nikita slipped out of bed, and made her way to the nursery, heeding an overwhelming urge to check on her sleeping children.
Stopping beside Nicolas' bed, Nikita tucked the comforter securely around his little body and soothed his dark curls from his forehead. Pausing a moment, she marveled over her oldest son, looking for something of herself in his serious little four-year-old face. He was a breathtakingly beautiful child, with eyelashes that any self-respecting woman would kill for. He was fair-skinned like her, with high cheekbones and a light sprinkling of freckles dusting the apples of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. But that was where any similarity to his mother ended. In looks and temperament he was his father's son. Like Michael, Nicolas was quite and incredibly self-possessed, with the Samuelle air of aristocracy. He was highly intelligent and sensitive, while possessing the most astonishingly unexpected sense of humor and ability to laugh at himself. Thinking of Nicolas' laugh made Nikita smile. He had the most wonderful laugh. It was as if delight and glee married and bore an altogether infectious full-bodied little boy chuckle, inviting everyone around him to join in the fun. Bending to give him a kiss, Nikita again adjusted his blankets and rescued Mr. Snuggles from the floor and placed him beside Nicolas in bed.
Crossing the room to Christophe's crib, Nikita leaned over the railing to pull the covers over the sleeping two year old that he had kicked off in his sleep. Brushing back a wayward lock of hair, Nikita bent down to kiss his sleep-flushed cheek. Turning toward his mother's touch, Christophe opened his eyes. "Mummy", he questioned in a whisper of a voice, raising his arms to be picked up.
"Yes sweetie, its mummy," Nikita replied as she lifted his compact little body out of the crib. Walking over to the rocking chair, Nikita sat down adjusting Christophe's sleep heavy body into a more comfortable position for them both. Patting his diaper-clad bottom, Nikita set the chair in motion and began to hum a lullaby, trying to shake off the feeling of disquiet caused by the dream. Breathing in his unique baby scent, she smiled to herself as he buried his face against her neck. Hugging him closer, Nikita enjoyed the silence and the uncomplicated warmth of her child in her arms.
In the dark she could barely make out the baby jungle animal wallpaper. She remembered the weekend, almost five years ago, when she and Michael decorated the nursery. She had been applying adhesive to the back of the paper and was handing it to Michael to put on the wall when she felt Nicolas kick for the first time. It had surprised her so much that she had inhaled sharply, which had Michael rushing to her side. Assuring him that she was perfectly fine, she placed his hand on her stomach and waited for their son to kick again. They had been so excited and thrilled that they had grinned at each other like a pair of idiots.
After assembling the crib and changing tables Michael had left the room for a moment returning with a brightly wrapped gift. Upon opening it, Nikita promptly burst into tears, touched beyond words to find her old teddy bear, Mr. Snuggles. His left button eye was missing and his nose told the tale of an altercation with a neighborhood dog in Nikita's youth. Nikita's dad sent the well-loved Mr. Snuggles immediately upon learning that Michael and Nikita were expecting a baby, knowing that she would want her own child to grow up with Mr. Snuggles as she had done.
From the baby animal mobile above the crib and the baby hippo Diaper Genie to the baby elephant clock on the wall, the nursery was bright and cheerful, delighting the senses and calming the soul.
Glancing at the baby elephant clock on the wall now, Nikita realized with a start that she had been sitting there for nearly forty-five minutes. Standing, she crossed the room to the crib and laid Christophe down. He uttered a sleepy little protest, but his eyelids were so heavy that Nikita was sure he wasn't even aware that he had been moved. With one last glance at her sleeping boys she turned and left the room.Returning to her bedroom, Nikita saw that Michael was awake, and sitting up in bed. His hair was in wild disarray, making him look even sexier than usual. Recognizing the look in his eyes, after six years of marriage she still caught her breath when she saw it. It was pure unaffected love and adoration, with a healthy dose of desire. Suddenly it was as if the darkness that had stalked her dreams fell away, and nothing mattered but the two of them. Taking his outstretched hand Nikita laced her fingers with his and allowed herself to be pulled down onto the bed.