Chapter 241: The Calm, The Storm Too

A few hours prior at the Nightshade pack compound

Snow lay thick across the roofs and courtyard, falling heavily accompanied by the howling of the wind.

Everyone remained in their houses due to the ongoing lockdown.

Lysander had insisted on moving Brynhild to the medical facility during the duration of the lockdown. She was on bed rest, but she was also in her final trimester, and he could not risk something happening to her during the lockdown with no resources available.

Brynhild had joked that he was being paranoid and that there was no need for him to move her to the medical facility, telling him her due date wasn’t near. But Lysander disagreed, telling her it was better she was safe. And even if her due date was still weeks away, anything could happen.

She had decided to choose her battles and not argue with him. This happened the day the lockdown was issued.

Lysander had carefully guided her to a room that he had chosen for her stay. It was modest but comfortable—a large bed with thick blankets, a small window that looked out over the snowy compound, and several shelves stacked with supplies.

Two other healers had already settled in, ready to assist her through the lockdown. Each had been briefed to remain attentive at all times, and their presence alone eased some of the tension in Lysander’s shoulders. Marta was available too, since she was in charge of the medical facility now that Lysander had been taking care of Brynhild.

Brynhild had complained about being coddled, but Lysander didn’t reply to her comment and insisted that he was keeping her safe.

She’d been in the facility for just a day now. The hours passed quietly. Snow fell steadily outside, wind howling along the edges of the compound, but nothing unusual broke the silence.

Inside her room, Brynhild slept, only stirring occasionally to adjust her position. Lysander stayed close, always checking up on her and making sure she was comfortable.

Every so often, he would place a hand gently on her belly, feeling the subtle movements within—a reminder of the life they were protecting.

By midday, the sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows across the stone floors. The wind continued its mournful howl outside, but the snowfall remained steady.

Brynhild remained in bed, adjusting her position at intervals, most times with help from Lysander, who didn’t sleep.

"Get some sleep. Your aura is one of a dead man walking," she told him softly.

He chuckled. "Since you can’t see me, it’s my aura you use?" he asked her.

She chuckled. "Yes. And please, get some sleep. I doubt this baby will come anytime soon, so rest. I’ll be here when you wake up," she told him.

Lysander didn’t argue. He was tired, so he succumbed to sleep.

Night fell, soft at first, and then fully, the shadows creeping along the walls of Brynhild’s room. Lysander curled beside her on the bed, one hand brushing over her hair, the other resting lightly on her shoulder. She stirred once, murmuring something incoherent, and settled again. He closed his eyes, feeling her warmth, letting the quietness of the night seep into his own muscles.

It was some hours later—midnight—when the peace shattered. A hiss, sharp and filled with pain, pierced the darkness. Lysander’s eyes snapped open, and his heart lurched.

"Brynhild?" he whispered, though the hiss came again, more desperate, more urgent.

He bolted upright, panic threading through him. Her face was scrunched tight, sweat pouring down her temples and cheeks, the faint sheen of blood from earlier injuries mixing with the glint of moisture on her skin. Her breaths came sharp and ragged, each one a struggle. Lysander felt a mirrored pain—the subtle, insidious echo of her own, though far less severe—thrumming through him, a sign of their bond.

"Brynhild!" he said again, reaching for her, his voice thick with fear.

Her eyes remained closed. Her brows scrunched up as she groaned in pain.

Then the storm hit the compound.

Lightning tore across the sky outside, illuminating the room in harsh, fleeting flashes. Thunder followed, rolling through and bouncing off the stone walls with force.

Rain began to hammer the roof with relentless fury, each drop drumming against the windows, the shingles, the wooden supports of the facility. Wind joined the assault, howling through cracks, rattling doors and windows—a predator testing its cage.

Lysander didn’t focus on the storm, because it was known that it was going to come; he was instead focused on the woman he knew as someone strong but who was now crying, and the sight hurt him. He knew at that moment that she was in labor, and the pain was severe.

He could feel a little of her pain through their mating bond. He placed a kiss on her head.

"It’s going to be okay, love," he told her. "I’ll be right back."

He got up from the bed and rushed through the medical facility as he started gathering supplies. Marta noticed and approached him.

"What’s wrong? Is something wrong with Brynhild?" she asked him worriedly.

"Yes..." Lysander said as he continued gathering everything. His hands shook as a ripple of pain went through him, and a bottle of herbs he was holding fell from his hands.

"Fuck!" he cursed.

"Lysander! What is going on? Is Brynhild in labor?" Marta asked him.

He nodded. "She... she’s in labor." He swallowed. "I think... I..."

Marta didn’t let him finish; she rounded up the other healers, instructing them to move Brynhild to the operating room.

"You want to be in charge?" Marta asked him, and Lysander nodded.

He wanted to be the one to birth their baby. That had been the plan all along, after all.

"Are you sure you can do it?" Marta asked him, and he nodded.

"Yes, yes I can."

Marta leveled him with a look. Lysander’s hands shook, but he was the best healer they had after all, so she only sighed. Besides, if anything happened, she would be there.