CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

It was in the last days of her pregnancy that an idea began to germinate in the back of her mind. It was a plan of desperation, her way of taking a stand and finally doing what needed to be done.

As her time drew near, Michael had become increasingly solicitous, which drove Selene mad. Never one to coddle or be coddled, she didn't know how to react to his tender ministrations. Over and over she reminded herself not to rebuff him. Realistically, she knew a time would never come when she would welcome or encourage loving gestures, whether from Michael or any other. It simply was not her nature. She struggled not to feel guilty that her temperament was so remote. In the quietness of her heart, she could admit she loved Michael. She could admit that she would give up the last six hundred years…hand those long, long years back to the infinite universe if she could start over…if she could have walked another path.

If…if…there were so many ifs, so many desires to have been someone other than the warrior who pulled Michael back from the brink of death nearly two years ago. Perhaps if he had evolved into a fierce soldier such as she was. But no, that was not his temperament. She could no more expect him to be someone other than who he was then she could suddenly wake to find herself different. If she were honest, it was because of his openness, because of his tenderness that she had ever wanted him at all. He was not pretentious, had no hidden agenda and until he became entangled in her life, he knew nothing of warfare. He was the polar opposite of all that she was. And if she could admit this was what drew her to him, why was his gentle nature also the thing driving them apart?

It was late March, on the cusp of spring time in New Orleans. The shutters were open. Michael stepped up onto the brick porch and walked inside the house. It was his habit not to use the door, instead passing in and out of the ceiling to floor-length windows. A warm, steady rain was falling, dripping from the branches and leaves of the huge oaks. Not finding Selene in the house, he walked back out onto the side gallery. She was sitting in deep shadow and even deeper thought. Michael crouched beside her, first dropping a small kiss on the top of her head. He laid his hand on her belly and smiled when the baby responded to his touch with a nudge. He leaned forward and briefly rested his cheek against his child. Selene sighed and shifted uncomfortably as the baby's feet pressed her ribcage. Together, they listened to the rainfall.

"This is such a beautiful place," Michael said. "The leaves never even bother falling from the trees. It's green all year long."

"Hummmmm," Selene murmured in agreement.

"By this time next month, the baby will be here," Michael mused.

"I know," Selene quietly agreed. She pushed up from her chair clumsily. She detested the heavy weight bearing down on her. She hated the need for rest, hated the feelings of lassitude and weariness that frequently stole over her. She felt invaded, preyed upon by the child swimming within her. In nine months, she had never reconciled herself to her condition. All she wanted was for it to be over. She wanted her body back, dreamt of the day it would be hers alone. As she was entering the house, pain gripped her, leaving her breathless. She stood still, waiting for it to pass. She had been experiencing Braxton-Hicks contractions for the past two weeks. This feeling was different, deeper.

"Are you alright?" Michael asked.

"Yes. I'm going to lie down for awhile."

"OK. I'm going hunting across the lake," he said as he stood and leapt off of the porch, all in one fluid motion.

"Michael," she called his name as she reconsidered….despising herself for doing so. Despising herself for giving in, for showing weakness.

He turned back to her, his hand on the wrought-iron gate. "Yes?"

She took a deep breath through clenched teeth and said, "Please stay. I think I am going to need you."

Hours later found Selene writhing upon a bed upstairs. She waved away Michael's repeated suggestions of contacting Cylen. She did not want the presence of the man the New Orleans vampires called 'their healer'. She wanted to give birth undisturbed. She turned inward, seeking strength and listening to her body's instincts. The clock on the mantel ticked loudly as time seemed to grind down and stop. She gave herself over to pain that washed over her in rolling waves. She made no sound, except to gasp for air.

Michael took her hands and she pulled against him, struggling to bring their child into the world.

At last, in a rush of blood and water, the baby was born. Selene fell back against the pillows and wept. Her hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat. She pushed it back and put her hands over her eyes. She didn't want to see…didn't want to know.

Michael took the squalling baby into his arms, his hands shaking too badly to cut the cord that still connected it to its mother. He was crying, laughing, kissing the baby's face. Filled with a perfect joy, he stood that way for nearly a minute. Then he carefully placed the baby on the bed and cut the umbilical cord. He wrapped the baby in a blanket and held it up for Selene to see. She slowly brought her knees back together, curled into a ball and turned away. She reached behind her, blindly patting across the bed for the sheet. Finding it, she pulled it over her body, covering her head. Michael's joy turned to ice.

"I…" he began. He held the baby closer. "I'm going to examine her and clean her up a little."

"Selene? Honey?"

She didn't answer so he tried again. "Don't you want to see your daughter?"

Under the sheet, she shook her head. The room was spinning. She had a brief glimpse of the first time she had ever seen Michael…of the first time they had made love…and then of the last.

"I'll take a look at you in a minute, OK? The afterbirth…"

"I'm fine," she said faintly. "Take care of the baby."

He thought she might be in shock. In fact, he hoped she was, instead of something much more painful to contemplate. He took the baby into the next bedroom and sat down on the bed. He could scarcely believe he was holding his own child. He kissed her damp brow, his heart overflowing with love for her. In all of creation, he knew she was something the world had never before beheld. She was something he must nurture, something he must protect at all costs. He was filled with both excitement and an overwhelming sense of responsibility. He was torn between the sweet weight of her, cradled in his hands and the need be at the side of her mother.

When he finished with the baby, he returned to Selene. He was walking on clouds. He found her sitting in a chair by the bed, her fists clenched at her sides. She didn't look as if she had ever been pregnant, let alone given birth less than fifteen minutes before.

"I need to talk to you," she said.

Still elated from the birth, Michael was grinning. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"I can fly back to Europe tomorrow."

Stupidly, he stood still. His hands fell limp at his sides and he wondered if he'd heard her correctly. In many ways he'd been waiting for this from the second Kraven had shot him.

"Oh, Selene…" he said sadly. "No."

Tears rolled down her face. "You know I can't stay here, Michael."

"For Christ's sake, don't do this!"

"No!" she yelled. She stood up. "Don't you do this!" She stalked to the armoire and yanked out a suitcase. Haphazardly, she began shoving the contents of the double dresser into it. She scrubbed at her streaming eyes and kept stuffing clothes into the case. Michael roared and raced across the room. He pulled the suitcase from her hands and threw it into the wall. He tried to touch Selene and she pushed him away.

"It's over, Michael! I'm not pretending anymore."

He shook his head stubbornly. "You don't mean that."

"Yes I do. Yes I do! I sat in the park today and watched women pushing babies in prams. I'm never going to be one of those women! I saw nannies pushing children in swings and I thought to myself, those are never going to be my children!"

"I don't understand you! Why didn't you worry about getting pregnant until it was too late to do anything about it? I mean, if you didn't want children with me?"

"I didn't think it was possible!"

"What? Why?"

She crossed her arms. "Because you weren't a vampire."

"So you were wrong. So it's possible. Just like Sonja and Lucian. But it doesn't have to happen again." Michael hated his pleading, panicked tone.

She cut him off, "No, you listen to me! I've watched you since we came here. You spend hours with the vampires and lycans of this place. And what are you doing? You sit around planning soirées and fucking cotillions while our kind is being slaughtered across Europe! The coven here is a joke, if you can even call it a coven. I'm considered some kind of freak….or, or…some kind of anachronism because I'm a warrior! I don't have a place or a purpose here. Well, I am done. Do you hear me? I am done! I'm going back home and I'm taking up the fight before there isn't a single vampire left alive. I'm going to do what Viktor created me to do, to fight. And I'm going to fulfill Alexander Corvinus' dream. I'm… "

She stopped shouting and just stared at Michael. Her eyes were blazing with anger and misery. When he didn't say anything she walked to the dresser, picked up his iPod and shook it in her fist. "You filled this thing full of music from your school days and you walk around here morning, noon and night with earphones stuffed in your ears, trying to hold onto your old life. I have news for you, Michael. You can't go back and you can't turn yourself into a human. When you aren't with your new friends, you're lying to me and we both know it. You're sitting in a lab downtown, dreaming up ways to 'cure' our little problem. I read about the research on your computer last week. It isn't going to work no matter how many magic potions you are willing to swallow and then heave back up. We can't be turned into some little mortal family pushing a baby in a carriage. If that's what you want, you need to find someone else. That isn't me!"

"I know it isn't," Michael said. "I just thought…"

"You just thought that giving me a ring would make me into someone like Samantha."

"Is that what this is about? A ring? Fucking throw it away, then!" he shouted.

"This isn't about a piece of jewelry, Michael!"

"You don't want the baby, is that it?" To Michael's chagrin, a tear ran down his cheek and splashed onto his shirt.

"I've been saying that all along. In all kinds of ways. You just chose not to listen. Listen to me now…I do not want that baby. I am never going to be its mother. I am not going to choose a name for it or even look at its face. I don't want any part of it. You need to let me go and find somebody else to make a family with."

"I can't believe this!" Michael cried.

"Believe it," she hissed. "You can think what you want, believe what you want about me. It doesn't matter anymore. I'm going back to Budapest."

"Then we'll come with you," he tried to reason with her as she picked up the suitcase from the floor.

"No." She didn't turn around.

"I love you," Michael whispered.

Selene stood still. "I know you do. That's why I'm going. I'm leaving before you can learn to hate me."

At last she turned. "And I'm leaving before I stop loving you. Please…just let me go."

The insistent wails of a newborn drifted into the hall. For a moment, neither of them moved. Michael looked toward the door and back to Selene. He let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding and walked out of the room. When he returned with the baby, Selene was gone. He caught a glint of something on the bedside table. His ring. Rain was blowing through an open window.