A/N: Thanks for reading! I'm learning how hard it is to get where I want to go in a story without it being too abrupt. It requires some slow-moving writing, which can be boring. Hopefully I can make up for it soon.

The characters this FanFic is based upon are owned by the magnificent Karen Marie Moning. My use is strictly for non-commercial purposes and is in no way intended to affect the value of her series.

"I'm pregnant," I spat out, then held my breath.

He froze. Crap. He actually froze in place. Crap, crap. It was eerie to see and it lasted longer than I thought was necessary. I still didn't breathe.

I'm not sure how I expected him to react. I can envision his outrage at the situation. I can imagine his grief, remembering his son and the millennia of pain and suffering they spent until Barrons was able to unmake him. And I can understand the anguish of sending your child into a state of non-existence when you know that life is continuous—actually that's not something I can even come close to understanding. But I can speculate that it's not a situation you would ever willingly place yourself in a second time.

It was in this moment that I finally allowed myself to consider the unfairness of it all. I'm a young, pretty American woman whose dreams of marrying a nice southern boy and settling down behind a picket fence were quashed the day I got the phone call that my sister had been murdered. I've fought and bled to save this world next to a man that I never expected to fall in love with.

And why wouldn't I want to have his child? It's perfectly natural to want a part of you to join with a part of the one you love to create a new life. And I can't imagine anyone loving someone as much as I love Barrons. Of course it would be happy news to me, even if the world has gone to hell in a hand basket.

Until now, I hadn't fully considered how I would handle his reaction, but I know, deep down, I had hoped he would be happy. Which is probably why my subconscious tried to bury that desire as deep as deep could go. This wouldn't be happy news to him.

I gathered all my strength and shoved him as hard as I could. I barely moved him, but it was enough for me to escape the death grip he had on my shoulders and roll out from under him. I climbed out of the bed and grabbed my robe that was draped over a chair and tied it snugly around me.

Barrons had surprised me with the robe a while back and it's now my favorite article of clothing. Made of fine white silk and colored with a pink and black pattern. The colors blur together and separate in an unconstrained form that reminds me of the tie-dyed t-shirts Alina and I used to make at summer camp. Hers were always perfect and meticulous, tight spirals of color flowing smoothly into darker hues. Mine generally came out a brown mess because of my determination to include every color in the rainbow instead of choosing colors that would blend into one another.

The pink and the black of my robe practically duel each other to be the dominate color. I swear on my spear, some days it seems mostly pink and other days it's mostly black. I know that seems a little ridiculous, or even impossible, but I've examined it closely on multiple occasions and I'm convinced it's true. It suits me perfectly. Besides, I no longer believe in "impossible."

The silk was cool to my skin, which was hot from my anger, and I stomped off toward the bathroom. A cold shower would do me good. I hesitated a millisecond, seriously tempted to turn around to see if he had even noticed me get up or if he remained a statue. My feet managed to keep moving and I didn't look back.

When I got out of the shower, he was gone. Crap. Crap. Crap.

I dressed quickly and made my way to the bookstore. I go through the Silvers, but Barrons showed me the short cut so I no longer travel through so many dimensions, or face off with whatever it is that he has guarding the path. When I neared the final Silver, I braced myself. The Silvers still rejected me and I was spit out unceremoniously into his study.

Barrons smoothly caught me with one arm and steadied me on my feet before I could tumble to the ground. In his other hand, he had his cell phone to his ear and carried on his conversation unfazed. His face was set in hard planes and he paused to stare angrily at the Silver I just exited. Glared at it is probably more accurate.

He looked down at me and his expression softened slightly. He released his arm around me, softly running his hand from my shoulder down my arm. I let out the breath I hadn't known I was holding.

"How the fuck do you think it happened? Do you need me to draw you a bloody picture?" he practically growled into the phone. He turned away from me and strode over to sit behind his desk. He began typing away at the keyboard to his computer. I couldn't help but crane my neck to watch, he was going at a ridiculously fast speed for using only one hand. I took a quick glance at the monitor and saw half a dozen windows open on the dual screens.

Barrons spun in his chair away from the monitors to face the wall behind him. "Do me a favor and make that accusation again when I see you in person. I would love nothing more than to beat the holy hell out of someone," he said calmly. Too calmly. My cheeks instantly flooded with humiliation as he ended the call. I didn't need to ask; I could guess what had been said. I probably should have braced myself for that even more than I brace myself to get tossed around in the Silvers. Someone was bound to bring up paternity.

He let out a huge sigh before spinning back around to face me. The temporary relief I felt when I first entered the study vanished. I was pretty sure anyone in a three-block radius could hear how hard my heart was pounding as I waited for him to say something.

He rubbed his hands over his face, a gesture that was too human for Barrons. "Mac, I…" he paused. I'd never seen him at such a loss for words. I wanted to cut him off and tell him that it was ok, he didn't need to say anything. But I couldn't. I had to hear what he would say.

"I fucked up, Mac. I'm so sorry." He looked at me with ancient eyes so full of anguish; I thought I would burst into tears.

I didn't though, because it was my turn to be surprised. I was prepared for him to be angry about this, even angry at me, but I never in a million years did I expect an apology. I could have offered to share some of the responsibility, but I didn't do that either.

"I'm going to take care of this situation. I swear to you," he vowed. He looked like Barrons again. Perfectly composed, his expression hard and impenetrable. He was the picture of power and confidence.

And his words might as well have been a stake to my heart.