Author's Note: here we are with the next chapter, which is dedicated to WhenNightmaresWalked, because she's awesome and is so much help with this fic. So thank you, darlingest! Hugs! And I hope you all enjoy this chap. Loves to you all!

PS – This chapter has been heavily revamped from its original version, due to the input of someone who's taken a LOT of sociology classes.

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Chapter Eleven

If I Had Just One Wish

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"I mo thuairimse,tá méag iompar clainne."

I think I'm pregnant.

An odd rushing sensation flooded Nuada's body. For just a moment, the blood roared like thunder in his head and the world seemed to tilt sideways. His fingertips tingled with an odd numbness. Biting the inside of his cheek, he nodded. She would know, of course. It had been a little less than four weeks since he and Eamonn had first lain with her. That was time enough for her to feel the effects of a child. Still, he had to…had to be certain…

"You're…with child?" The words spilled heavy as chunks of cold stone from his lips, though his tone was still gentle. He swallowed, his throat suddenly desert-dry. The very thought sent a bite of something chilly through him. Yet another sin to be laid at his feet. If he'd protected her…if only he'd been strong enough to protect her from that monster…"You're sure?" Was all he asked.

After a moment, she nodded. Her face was white as death, lips nearly bloodless, eyes far too large in her face. No doubt she was reeling from the knowledge of this newest violation. "Pretty sure. I need…I need to see a healer to be absolutely sure, but…but I know."

He pressed her hand again. "What do you wish to do about it?" He asked because he honestly had no idea what she was thinking, what she wanted. Whatever Dylan decided, the Elf prince would support. He had to focus on that and only that…or he sensed something thick, icy, and dark pressing on him, waiting for his thoughts to drift down a path Nuada couldn't allow them to traverse. With child. She was with child. "What will you do?"

Dylan gave a jerky little half-shrug. "I don't know, actually," she confessed softly. Slender hands trembled as she brushed the hair from her face. "I have no idea, I…I've never been pregnant before. I didn't even know if I could get pregnant. I've been…the times when I hypothetically could have, I never did. I thought maybe the trauma…or just the luck of the draw, you know? I don't know. I don't know anything about Elven babies or how the genetics work or whether it'll be like with a changeling or…or anything. And anyway, it really all depends on…on…"

He frowned when she bit her lip. The delicate skin between her furrowed brows wrinkled with strain. Without thinking, Nuada reached up and brushed his thumb over the soft skin, smoothed away the wrinkles, before skimming his fingertips down her cheek. Dylan dropped her gaze to her knees.

"On what?" Nuada asked with careful encouragement. Had to be careful, so careful. They poised on the edge, he could feel it, a precipice, and the abyss yawned before their feet. The wrong move from him could shatter her.

That fey-blue gaze jumped to his. She swallowed audibly. Her eyes darted over his face as if searching for something vital to her existence. Was she looking for condemnation? Did she expect him to disdain her because Eamonn had infected her unwilling body with his poisonous seed? Nuada forced his face to careful blankness, hiding anything that might upset the mortal. Despite this, what little color remained in her cheeks drained away.

She whispered, "Well, I guess it would also depend on who the father is."

Who the father…but why would it…And it hit him like a blow from Wink's massive bronze fist. Left him stunned. The words the father echoed in his skull, thundered in his suddenly-hollow chest in time with his galloping heart. He felt like a fool, not to have realized it before. How had he been so blind?

The child could be his.

Amber eyes stared at the mortal on the sofa, at her petrified face, the spark of something he couldn't name and the shadow of fear in the depths of her gaze. Dylan could be carrying his offspring in her womb. She could be carrying the next heir to the Bethmooran throne.

Now it was his turn to swallow. It felt as if he'd been gut-punched. A child? His firstborn? He'd been preparing himself for the idea that Dylan might be with child by Eamonn—and he'd prepared himself to support her, help her in whatever ways she needed to deal with being impregnated by a monster who'd raped them both repeatedly for twisted sport, because Nuada knew it to be his own blasted fault and it was his duty to stand by her—but for some reason it had never occurred to him that she could be carrying his child.

Oh, gods…his child. His. He could be a father. The thought nearly made him sick.

"If…" He had to clear his throat in order to continue. "If it is his…what do you wish to do?" Had to focus on that dark possibility. It was the only way to maintain a grip on reality. He couldn't think about it being theirs.

A child…his child, and Dylan's…a baby…what could they possibly do with it? He didn't want it, for the gods' pity. Couldn't possibly want a child with anyone. And now? A child now? With a human? What would his father say? What would his people do if they found out? What would happen to his kingdom? It couldn't be of his loins. What in the name of all the gods would they do with it?

"Keep it," Dylan replied without hesitation. Nuada felt foolish, but his eyes widened and his jaw went slack. He stared at her with blatant incredulity. If the child was Eamonn's, she wanted to do what? Dylan pursed her lips, her eyes darting back and forth as if casting about for a way to explain the inexplicable to him. Finally she said, "It wouldn't be his. Don't you see? It's mine. It's my baby. I want it. And I'm…I'm its mother. I'm supposed to protect it. I have to love it."

A ghost of revulsion shivered down his spine. "No, Dylan. No, you don't." He wouldn't let her do that; wouldn't let her become a martyr because she felt obligated to care for the horror growing within her. "You owe this…this thing…nothing."

She flinched as if he'd slapped her. Her bottom lip quivered and a tear spilled down her cheek. She caught the teardrop with one shaking hand, stared at her wet fingertips before dragging her gaze back up to his face. "Thing?" She whispered. "Thing? It's not a thing."

"Dylan, you didn't choose—"

"It's my child!"

"Dylan—"

"It's my baby!"

Nuada rose to his feet and paced to the fireplace, uneasy at the hysteria burning just beneath the surface of her frantic words. Was she trying to convince him…or herself? There was something beneath her voice that sent chilly nausea roiling in his belly. He passed a hand over his face. Took a breath. Then he turned back to the mortal sitting on the sofa. In a carefully neutral voice, he said, "If it's the spawn of that monster—"

She shook her head vehemently. "Don't say that. It's not his. It's mine! So what if he sired it? It's going to grow in my body. I'm the one who's going to give birth to it. I'm the one who's going to raise it, take care of it, love it. It doesn't matter who the father is, it's my child. I'm its mother. I have to protect it. I have to love it. It's not its fault how this happened! Don't you see?"

"I..." Nuada shook his head slowly, uncertain and baffled. Anger simmered in his veins. No. No, he didn't see. He didn't see at all. She wanted to keep a child she'd never have voluntarily conceived, a being she owed nothing to. Why? Somehow finding his voice, he demanded, "Keep it? You wish to keep offspring of his loins? An infant conceived by force? How could you want…how could you ever bring yourself to love…" He shook his head, unable to continue.

Dylan's hands settled over her lower belly defensively. "It's my baby," she said in a low, intense voice. Her eyes burned with a protective, half-wild fierceness Nuada had never seen from her before. Locking her gaze with his, the prince found himself spellbound by the life that suddenly blazed in once-lifeless eyes. "It's my child. Mine. Not his. Of course I want it. Of course I would love it. I…I do love it. I do."

He nodded, though he still didn't know how she could love such a child. But then, she shouldn't have been able to love in the first place. She was human. Humans couldn't love. Yet she did. So was it truly so strange that Dylan could love this unborn babe with all the fierce, driving devotion of a mother, despite its paternal roots?

But if the babe were Eamonn's…if it was the spawn of that monster…Nuada could never look at it as anything but an abomination.

Although what if…just what if…she weren't being truthful? Would she lie to him? About this? Her profession of love had seemed somehow…hollow. As if she didn't quite believe what she was telling the Tuathan prince. The desperation in her voice furthered his unease.

"All right," Nuada murmured, keeping his thoughts to himself. His rage at the thought that the Elf of Zwezda had possibly managed to infect her with a part of himself, so that she would never be able to move past what Eamonn had done to her—that rage burned in Nuada like tenebrous fire, but he swallowed it down, locking it away with the rest of the dark emotions that had festered in his belly, his heart, for the last weeks.

He submersed another ember of rage that had no place in this conversation—rage that she would make this decision without even asking him what he wanted. If the thing growing in her womb was of his blood, did he have no rights, no say? But then…it was her body, was it not?

Though his body had been violated as well. He'd been forced to participate in the potential conception of this…offspring. It hadn't been his choice. He would never have chosen this. So why was he allowed no say in what was to happen? And no matter the creature's paternity, he couldn't be asked to abide the thing. How could Nuada be asked to tolerate the little monster? How could Dylan throw the reminder of his shame in his face this way?

Unless she meant to punish him, some not-so-small vengeance for allowing Eamonn to hurt her…and did he not deserve that? It was his fault for exposing her to the Elf of Zwezda in the first place, his fault for not being at the cottage when the dark Elf arrived. His fault for not being able to protect her.

Fresh rage flooded his veins like black poison, mingling with remorse and grief. His fault. Why shouldn't she seek to punish him?

He swallowed back the fury. Didn't let her see any of it. Moving carefully, he came toward her; took his place kneeling on the floor before her.

"All right," Nuada repeated softly. Did she hear the strain in his voice? He hoped not. Besides, now to ask the question with which he needed to tread very carefully. In a voice carefully devoid of emotion, he asked, "And if…if it is mine?"

To his utter shock, Dylan's beautiful blue eyes filled with tears and she went even whiter than before, nearly gray. Her fingers twitched against her belly. Voice quaking with what Nuada realized was utter terror, Dylan begged, "Please…please, Nuada, please…don't take my baby away from me. Please, you can't. Please. Don't."

"What?" Stung, he surged to his feet again. The words spilled from his lips like blood, though he had no idea where they came from. "You think I would do that? With all my other sins against you, you believe I would steal a child—my child, my own flesh and blood—from its mother?"

Though it wasn't his child. It wasn't his own flesh and blood. It wasn't even a child, really. Merely the last of Eamonn's vengeance. Nuada hadn't sired it…or hadn't wanted to. If it turned out the disgusting thing could trace its blood back to his own, then so what? That didn't make him the thing's father. And she wasn't that horror's mother, no matter what she thought. How could she think such a thing? How could she want this…monstrosity? He simply couldn't wrap his mind around it.

But she did, she did want it. So the question became, would he be so cruel as to take something she loved so desperately—or professed to love—away from her?

"You truly think I would be so cruel?"

She shook her head, biting her lip and reaching for him. It was the first time she'd reached for him since that first night after Eamonn's death, when she'd slid her arms around him and held him as he'd held her, the two of them offering mutual comfort. Nuada stared at the pale, slim hand stretched out to him for a long, silent moment, and the emotions that ripped through him like wicked lightning came and went too swiftly for him to fathom. At last, he took her hand in his own.

"No," she whispered with such gentleness it almost hurt him. "Not cruel; you would never be cruel. I know that. You're so gentle, so careful with me. I know you'd never be cruel. But…but if it's yours, then I know that it has royal blood and I know that's important, even if it is illegitimate, and that it makes her or him a target and…and that might mean that I…that I…" Dylan pressed her fingers against her lips. She barely stifled a sob. "Do I have to give up baby? So it will be safe? I…Nuada, I don't think I can do that. I can't give up my baby. I…

"After everything that's happened, I was seriously considering just…just giving up. Ending everything. I've tried so many times before," she confessed in a mere whisper that chilled Nuada's heart. She rolled up the sleeve on the arm stretched out toward him, revealing a mound of white scar tissue at the bend of her elbow.

He remembered that scar, and the other four very much like it; remembered sucking, nipping, licking at the sensitive flesh around the scars until Dylan writhed for him while he…Gritting his teeth against desire and revulsion, he shoved the memory down before it could wreak any havoc.

"I know how to do it," Dylan continued. "I'm a doctor, I know the human body. It would've been so quick, so easy. Easier than…than this. I could've done it while you were sleeping. You wouldn't have been able to do anything, couldn't have stopped me. I could've just let it all go. I tried before. You saw me. I wanted to…so much…all I had to do was just slide your dirk across both my wrists and let the blood flow. I've never wanted to die as much as I did that night."

"Dylan," he whispered, feeling sick. Her hand was icy in his grip. "Why? I know this is hard for you, I…I cannot imagine how hard. But death is not the answer. Surely you know that. You love life so much…"

A slow, somber shake of her head made glossy, dark curls shimmer in the firelight. "No. I don't. Not anymore. I'm so messed up now. Maybe you don't see it, or maybe you just don't get it. I can't do anything anymore, Nuada. This is too much like…what he did to me, it's just too much like the institution. I couldn't handle it."

Ice crept through his veins, cooling the rage and the lust, leaving only a cold dread behind. "What do you mean? How was what he did too close to…"

Dylan dropped her head, hiding behind the curtain of her hair. Nuada's hand stretched out, and with cautious fingers he parted the curtain to see that the fragile mortal had gone white, was squeezing her eyes shut, pursing her lips into a tight line. A memory from their time in the sanctuary suddenly slashed him like a poisoned blade; an exhausted, still-healing Dylan screaming, They electrocuted me! They beat me! They locked me away in the dark! They starved me! They forced me to take medication! They r—She'd cut herself off before finishing the word, replacing it with others about her parents' betrayal. He'd paid it no mind at the time, he'd been so focused on the argument. But now…

He knelt with deliberate slowness. "Who was it?" Nuada asked through numb lips. His voice was so empty it would've terrified any warrior that heard it. Dylan's face tightened. The prince cupped her chin, tilting her head up so he could look at that pale, pale face. "Tell me. Who raped you?"

She cringed from the words. "It doesn't matter."

"Nithe sé—it matters." Oh, it mattered. He had to focus on this one thing that mattered, so he could stop thinking about Eamonn, about what his enemy had done to this woman who'd been under his protection. Nuada could lose himself in hunting down this lately-revealed threat. Lose himself completely in finding him, whoever he was, and killing him. The mortal blood would be hot against his skin, the stench of iron burning in his nose, and the enemy's cries of pain would drown out the sounds Nuada couldn't bear to remember—Dylan's moans of pleasure and screams of agony, and Eamonn's laughter underneath it all.

His hands shook. Every inch of skin prickled with an animal awareness as the need to bring down this enemy, the ache to rip them apart, settled over him. Oh, it mattered. It mattered.

"Are they dead?" He asked. His voice was still so terribly empty. How many men had used this woman as their personal and unwilling whore? How often had she been brutally used by mortal monsters? "Tell me they're dead, mo duinne." Dylan shook her head. "Then tell me their names. Tell me now, and I will hunt them down, and then I will kill them—slowly—to pay them back for what they did to you." But she shook her head again. Nuada was quiet for a long moment before asking, "How old were you?"

Those slim hands shook harder in his grip. Dylan flicked a glance at him, then stared hard at her toes, which were scrunching and un-scrunching in agitation. She drew several shallow breaths. In a voice that was barely there, she whispered, "I was twelve the first time."

The first time. Gods…twelve years old. Barely more than a child. She was just a girl. Just a little girl. And was it…could it have been…

"The adults at the institution?"

Her eyes widened. "No! Well…no. Not…not exactly."

His teeth sank into his tongue to bite back the vile words burning there, and he allowed her to continue, though it was like chewing glass to remain silent.

"It was two boys. They were patients there. They liked to…play games with people. Other kids. I don't know why they went after me. Maybe I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I don't know."

"And the adults?"

She shook her head slowly. "They didn't care. The boys' father had money. Power. Influence. They had a system, I found out. If they had someone particularly…fun, they told their father and he would come and see for himself. He wanted to meet me. He…liked me. So they kept me."

"Kept you?" The question was soft, vicious with horror and black fury. "Continued to hurt you?" She nodded. "For how long?"

Dylan swallowed. "Three and a half years."

Nuada jerked back from her and lunged to his feet, swearing savagely. He paced the length of the den at least a dozen times, while Dylan hunched her shoulders and shrank in on herself. He could scarcely keep a grip on his control enough not to drive his fist into the stone wall. His hands itched to wrap around mortal throats and hear the sweet snap of bone. Three and a half years. Three and a half years. Then to be gang-raped by a pack of wolves, and then to be caught in Eamonn's spidery web and used for weeks, only to be impregnated by one of her rapists…Damn it. He raked a hand through his hair. Shame and rage nearly choked him. Dammit!

A muffled sound jerked his attention from the crimson haze of fury. He turned sharply to see Dylan had drawn her knees up to her chest. Her face had dropped against her knees, and her frail shoulders shook with sobs. Her fingers twisted in the silk of the blue-and-silver tunic she wore, clutching so hard that her knuckles turned white, so hard the slim hands trembled. The rage ebbed enough for him to think a bit more clearly.

"Dylan?"

"I'm sorry," she wept. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm…I'm so…but I got out, I got out of there." Nuada took a step toward her. Fates, he didn't want her to cry. Hadn't he hurt her enough? "I got away," she continued through her tears, "and then he came here and did it all over again, used me, hurt me. Tortured me in my own house, in my own bedroom, just like…I'd never had a safe place in the institution, then I got out and had one, my own safe place, and then he ruined it. I'm not safe here. I'm not safe anywhere anymore. I'm scared all the time. I can't eat or sleep without remembering…thinking about…and you're here. All the time. I can't stop thinking about…"

He sank to the floor before he fell. The words burned like shards of ice against his bare flesh. You're here. All the time. It felt like she'd driven her fist right through his ribcage, to curl merciless fingers around his heart and rip it from his body. It drove the breath from him, shattered his strength. Dylan wasn't looking at him, so he couldn't see her face, but…

"You wish me to leave?" He asked softly.

Her head shot up. "What? No!" She scrambled off the loveseat and scuttled to him, grabbing his arm. It took everything he had not to cringe away from her. "No! You can't leave, you can't! You promised! Please don't leave! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, just don't leave. Please, Nuada." She pressed her face, wet with tears, against his bicep. "Please don't leave. I need you."

"But you don't want me here." He shook his head. He'd been so stupid, he realized. Stupid to think she could ever truly forgive…Not even a saint could forgive what he'd done. How dare he expect forgiveness from her? "I've often wondered how you can bear to have me so near when I, too, hurt you. Violated your body, took you against your will. I've often wondered how you could ever not despise me. It is merely justice that I should repulse you. I understand you wishing me gone, little one."

She lifted her teary eyes to his face. "What? That's not true. I know you don't want to be here, and I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm so messed up right now, but I can't do this without you. I didn't think I could do it at all until now. I can't do it without you. Please don't go." To his utter astonishment, she wrapped both of her arms around his arm, curled her body around his, and buried her face against his shoulder. "Don't go, Nuada. Please. I can't do this alone."

With a gentleness he did not feel, he smoothed back her hair. "You're not alone, Dylan." So that was why she wished him close; she was terrified of being on her own. And why shouldn't she be? If he'd been with her from the beginning, able to defend her from his enemies who'd sought to use her in twisted games against him, none of this would've happened. "I'm here. I will always be with you, so long as you wish me near." Even if it drove him mad; honor compelled nothing less from the crown prince of Bethmoora. "But…but if you truly wish me to stay, why did you mention my presence as causing you pain?"

Dylan shook her head. "Not causing me pain. You. Being here is causing you pain. I know you don't want to be here. I know you were hurt, he tortured you, I know, and I know that it's all my fault—"

"It is not your fault," he said sharply.

"Yes it is—"

"No." He wouldn't let her say that. Wouldn't let her believe that. But then a horrifying thought came to him. "Is that why you tried to hurt yourself? Because you feel responsible for what he did to us?"

She sniffled. "No." He waited for several long moments of agonizing silence before she whispered, "Maybe." The soft, single-word confession threatened to gut him. "Partially," Dylan amended. "And just because…Nuada, I couldn't take it anymore. The fear. It's like I'm choking on it. And I…I couldn't even shower without remembering…and it made me sick. And when I see you, I remember how you would…how I would…I remember being with you."

The Elven warrior swallowed bile. "I cannot imagine how hard that must be for you. Remembering…what I did." Because at least when he saw her, it didn't always make him remember the revulsion of what Eamonn had done to him, to both of them. More and more often, he only recalled what it had been like to bed her; the dreamy, drugged haze of yearning and ecstasy. "How I hurt you."

"You didn't hurt me," she whispered, and he jolted. "That's the problem. He hurt me. You…I mean, I got hurt because of quantity, and because he hurt me, then gave me to you. But I didn't feel the pain, and you…you were very…considerate. You didn't just take me and that was it. You made it…pleasurable. That makes it harder."

Oh, how well he knew that. He remembered very well how he'd crawled all over her body, caressing and exploring. It had fired his blood hotter than he'd ever thought possible, flooding his veins with molten gold, to hear Dylan gasp and cry out his name as he'd pleasured her. His world had centered around her, around her body, and around what he was doing to her: the feel of her pressed against him; the rich, oh so sweet scent of her invading his nose as he buried his face against her throat, nibbling and licking over her pulse; her moans of pleasure and desire; how she'd arched her back and sobbed his name, breathless with need…and all of that and more was what she remembered when she looked at him.

Need flared to life beneath his skin, pricking like needles along his spine. Nuada gritted his teeth, but he couldn't suppress the wicked spikes of lust. What was wrong with him? How could he want her? Want her now, of all times? She'd just learned she was pregnant, by the stars, and now his body tried to demand he roger her just to make certain of it.

He stroked Dylan's hair, needing to feel the silken strands beneath his palm. Something, anything, to soothe this sudden need. His voice was strained as he murmured, "I suppose I should be somewhat glad of that. I never want to hurt you, Dylan." He'd never wanted any of this to happen, stars curse it. If it hadn't condemned his entire kingdom to a slow death, he would have found a way to travel along the threads of Time back to the past, simply to cut his own throat to prevent this atrocity—or kill Eamonn, if he'd been able. Then there would be no torture, no ravishment, no dark Elf tormenting the two of them.

There would be no rape-spawn infecting Dylan's body. But Nuada did not say that. Couldn't say that. Couldn't possibly. He could only swallow the words, the regrets as bitter as vinegar and wormwood.

They sat in silence for a long while, until Nuada could take no more. Each word was a stone that left his tongue bruised and bleeding when Nuada asked, "So that night when I found you in the corner in the den…you tried to slit your wrists."

She nodded, and that hollow, bloodless feeling returned to him. Dylan added, "But then I thought of you. You'd think I was a coward. You'd hate me. I couldn't do it that first time. But then tonight I thought…I thought maybe I was strong enough, brave enough to finally do it…even though you'd despise me…"

Horrified at this sudden revelation, Nuada breathed, "You would have done that to me?" Her eyes shot to his face, her gaze cloudy with confusion. "After swearing you wouldn't try such a thing again, you would've…" He stared at her. "How could you? You would have taken your own life, without even a goodbye, and left me to discover your body when I awoke? Left me to discover that I'd failed to protect you when I owe you—"

"You don't owe me anything," she said sharply, pulling back a space to glare at the prince. "You—"

"I owe you everything!" Nuada thundered, making her cringe even further back from him. "I owe you my life at least a dozen times over! I owe you my sanity. You kept me from going mad with that monster's tortures. Thoughts of you, of how I had to protect you, see you safe…that alone kept me from losing my mind. And if you carry my child in your body…" His eyes, glittering topaz blades, warmed to honeyed amber as they rested on Dylan's middle before sliding back up to her face. "Then you are the mother of my firstborn, and for that, I owe you my very soul."

Because honor dictated such; because honor said that the mother of a man's child was to be revered by him above all other women; because his honor commanded him to offer her the protection of his body forever after, if she carried his child. But if Dylan carried his…if the rotted, putrescent fruit of his loins moldered in her womb and the creature were half-mortal…he knew what he would have to do then.

Nuada reached out, hand shaking, but pulled it back before it could touch her belly. His hand curled into a fist; a dull ache throbbed through his fingers. He didn't think he could bear to touch the nesting place of that…that disease.

Instead, he dragged his gaze back to Dylan's wan face. "You want to die, when I have sought to help you remember how to live…"

"I wanted to die. Past-tense. I don't want that anymore. I have a reason to live now. I…I have to live. For the baby."

Sharp slivers of resentment bit the Elven warrior, chilling deep in his belly. So that was where this new spark of life originated. She would live for this…this…creature, a child possibly of that depraved monster's loins, but not for him? She would not fight to live for the prince who'd fought for her, killed for her, nearly died for her. The prince who'd proven he would do anything for her…No. She would fight to live for that thing.

Dylan continued, "And I didn't go through with it tonight, either—obviously. I was lying awake tonight, thinking about it, wondering if I had the nerve to go in the kitchen and get one of the really sharp knives because you took your dirk back…when I realized I was suddenly really, really hungry. I haven't been hungry, I mean actually hungry, in a while so I went to get something to eat.

"It was so funny," she added with a little laugh. "Do you know what a sour pickle dipped in peanut butter and whipped cream tastes like?" Her little laugh swelled and blossomed into a true laugh after catching a glimpse of Nuada's face.

"No," he replied flatly. "I have not the faintest idea what that tastes like." And if he were lucky, hopefully he never would. Ugh…No wonder she'd been sick, after eating that.

Dylan grinned, and the sight was so startling in its brilliance that he simply stared at her for a second until she said, "It's actually pretty delicious. I kinda want another one. So I was eating and suddenly I felt so sick. It was so weird…Only when I was throwing up did I realize just what I'd been eating and how bizarre it was. Then I realized I was pregnant. There were other signs," she added, "but those could be chalked up to stress and the trauma from…from what happened. But those, in conjunction with the weird cravings and being sick…I knew. I knew I was pregnant and it was like this heavy fog had suddenly been ripped off of me, and I could breathe again." She shook her head. "I never thought I'd ever be able to say this again, but…but…Nuada, I'm so happy."

Topaz eyes widened. "You're…happy?" Because of that wretched…unnatural…intruder? The creature that had invaded her body against her will? How could she be happy about such a thing? How could she not dread it emerging from the womb with thick, black hair and empty, silver eyes? Dread it being of Eamonn's blood?

"Yes!" Dylan pressed her forehead against his shoulder, catching her bottom lip between her teeth, smiling. "Yes. I'm…I'm going to have a baby. I'm so happy. Of course I'm happy," she added, voice oddly brittle. "I have something to live for. Something I've always wanted. I've always wanted to be a mother, and I thought I'd never be able to. I used to think, if I had just one wish that I knew would come true, I'd wish for a child. Now my wish has come true. So I should be happy, shouldn't I? Of course I should. I'm having a baby." She closed her eyes. "I already love it so much." Her eyes flicked open and focused on his face. "I do. Really, I do. But…" Some of the strained light radiating from her eyes dimmed. "You never answered me."

"About what?"

"If…if it's your baby…will I have to give it up, to protect it? The child of the crown prince wouldn't be safe just with its mortal mother, would it? I know you have enemies. They might try to hurt your child."

Nuada clenched his teeth. She was right; the unholy thing would be at risk here in the mortal realm with her, if it was of his blood. But he knew exactly what Dylan would do if she was forced to give up the creature she carried; the same thing she would attempt if someone were allowed to hurt the creature. He thought of cruel, bleeding slashes across frail wrists. Thought of scarlet life spilling from gasping veins. Thought of cradling Dylan's cold, lifeless body in his arms…and the Elven warrior squeezed his eyes shut against the image and the clutching sickness in his belly. No. No, he couldn't break her that way. She needed this unnatural issue to reclaim her sanity. He'd wondered what was required to rekindle her spark and help her find her strength again. This…child…was it.

"If it is…not his offspring," he had to force the words out, "then I will do whatever it takes to ensure you two remain together." Anything, so long as she never felt such despair as to try taking her own life. But if the creature were half-mortal…and its magic was too powerful…did he dare keep such a promise? If the poisonous weed had taken root from Nuada's own seed, and it possessed the power of the heir…it would poison the kingdom if it became the crown prince after him, and then king. Poison the kingdom…and what then?

His fingers, twined in Dylan's hair, twitched. So many dangers loomed, so much threatened this thing Dylan seemed to want so much. Honor demanded he do what was necessary to protect both the mortal and her unborn offspring, just as it demanded he say what came next, though the words filled him with a sick sense of dread. "I can discover if…I can learn the paternity of the…child. By testing its magic. I can do it now, if you wish."

Silver-washed blue eyes lit with a pale imitation of hope, and Nuada was reminded forcibly that she still walked the tightrope between sanity and the black gulf of mind-shattering pain. Would this spawnling hold her anchored, or become the tipping point that broke her?

"You can?" She asked. "How?"

"I possess the gift of mind-touch," he explained tonelessly. "Do you wish me to do this?" Dylan nodded. "I need you to stand." When he'd helped her to her feet, he went down on his knees and lifted his hands to splay across her lower belly. The blue silk was smooth and cool beneath his palms. It unnerved him to think that beneath the layers of flesh and muscle, a new and mostly-unwanted life nestled in Dylan's womb. "You may feel warmth or a tingling sensation," he murmured. "That is perfectly normal."

"Okay," she said. She offered him an uncertain but brave smile that—in a completely different situation—would have lifted his heart. "Go for it."

Nuada closed his eyes. The carpet was rough through the silk of his trews; the toes of his boots flexed into the thick fibers as he forced himself to concentrate on what he was about to do. There was no room for dread, for uncertainty. No room for disgust at the thought of potentially touching the life-force of Eamonn's spawn.

Clearing his mind, he cast out with his senses in search of the life inside Dylan's body.

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Author's Note:oh you knew I wasn't gonna answer this question right now. Hehehe. Ya gotta sweat for it a little. Lol. So…thoughts? Questions? Comments? Smart remarks? I love you guys. Ta-ta! Leave me reviews, please, 'cause I'm at work, and it's hard. Hugs!