going to do if she’s pregnant . Had she ever known the statistics for pregnancy after unprotected sex? She ended up wiping her lips with two fingers of one hand, a nervous habit. God, her hand shook.
Harsh was in one of his thoughtful silences. “Under normal circumstances,” he said at last, “and depending where you were in your cycle, the chances of pregnancy after an incident of unprotected sex could be as high as nine percent.”
Oddly enough it helped that he was so clinical. She could be talking to her doctor in private. “But these are not normal circumstances,” she said.
“No.”
“What does that mean? Not normal circumstances.”
“For most human women in your situation, near certain, regardless of use of contraception.”
“But I’m different.”
“What data I have suggests you are unlikely to be different enough.” He went on, in his detached way, about how the demonkind reproduced with humans and about evolutionary strategies that had arisen over the millennia and really, she couldn’t listen to him. She couldn’t get her mind around what he was telling her. The enormity of what he was saying in no way matched the plans she had for her life, none of which had included having a baby. Under any circumstance.
She covered her head with her arms and there was no stopping the tears. They welled up, hot with despair and rage and fear and brought on the conviction that her body had betrayed her. She shook so hard she couldn’t breathe and maybe she would just die from that. But then this calm settled around her, and she caught a breath and then another, and then she was as free of emotion as she was free from feeling pain.
Harsh said, “There is a shower upstairs. Afterward, if you don’t object, I’ll take a look at your injuries. We’ll get some food into you and discuss what happens next.”
“I thought you weren’t supposed to take a shower if—” She was flailing mentally. At the limit of her ability to cope. “You know, because of evidence, I mean.”
Harsh crouched beside her. She flinched, but he didn’t touch her. “Please,” he said. “Shower. You’ll feel better.”
She had to crick her neck a little to look at him, too, and her heart turned to sand at the same time a corner of her soul burned away.
Harsh licked his lower lip, and she wondered if he had more than one physical appearance, and if he did, whether it was monstrous, too. He stroked the tips of his fingers along his forehead in what was, for him, a graceless motion. Like he hadn’t meant to move at all and when he had, he wanted to take it all back.
“For us, Awesome, justice works differently. We don’t need the kind of forensic evidence humans do, for one thing.”
She believed him. She believed him to the core of what was left of her soul. She nodded and met his gaze. “I’m going to kill Infante someday.”
His moved back and held out a hand to her. Offering. Not insisting. She didn’t want to touch him. Didn’t want anyone touching her. So she fisted both hands in the hem of her shirt while she stood. Kynan, still shirtless, stayed well back. “Up the stairs,” Harsh said. “First door.”
She saw the bottom of the stairs and walked out of the room, fingers gripping Kynan’s shirt as if it were capable of saving her life as long as she never let go. On the stairs, they were out of sight, but she couldn’t shake her awareness of the two men. They were beacons in her head, a vibration in the center of her chest. The world was different now. Her place in it had been shattered and remade. All the nerve endings in her skin and the receptors in her brain had been transformed in some fundamental way that was no longer mutually compatible with her previous reference points.
As she headed upstairs, her awareness of Harsh and Kynan remained in the back of her head and that echo in her chest wouldn’t stop. At one point, she stopped walking, a hand pressed to the wall and concentrated on
Harsh was in one of his thoughtful silences. “Under normal circumstances,” he said at last, “and depending where you were in your cycle, the chances of pregnancy after an incident of unprotected sex could be as high as nine percent.”
Oddly enough it helped that he was so clinical. She could be talking to her doctor in private. “But these are not normal circumstances,” she said.
“No.”
“What does that mean? Not normal circumstances.”
“For most human women in your situation, near certain, regardless of use of contraception.”
“But I’m different.”
“What data I have suggests you are unlikely to be different enough.” He went on, in his detached way, about how the demonkind reproduced with humans and about evolutionary strategies that had arisen over the millennia and really, she couldn’t listen to him. She couldn’t get her mind around what he was telling her. The enormity of what he was saying in no way matched the plans she had for her life, none of which had included having a baby. Under any circumstance.
She covered her head with her arms and there was no stopping the tears. They welled up, hot with despair and rage and fear and brought on the conviction that her body had betrayed her. She shook so hard she couldn’t breathe and maybe she would just die from that. But then this calm settled around her, and she caught a breath and then another, and then she was as free of emotion as she was free from feeling pain.
Harsh said, “There is a shower upstairs. Afterward, if you don’t object, I’ll take a look at your injuries. We’ll get some food into you and discuss what happens next.”
“I thought you weren’t supposed to take a shower if—” She was flailing mentally. At the limit of her ability to cope. “You know, because of evidence, I mean.”
Harsh crouched beside her. She flinched, but he didn’t touch her. “Please,” he said. “Shower. You’ll feel better.”
She had to crick her neck a little to look at him, too, and her heart turned to sand at the same time a corner of her soul burned away.
Harsh licked his lower lip, and she wondered if he had more than one physical appearance, and if he did, whether it was monstrous, too. He stroked the tips of his fingers along his forehead in what was, for him, a graceless motion. Like he hadn’t meant to move at all and when he had, he wanted to take it all back.
“For us, Awesome, justice works differently. We don’t need the kind of forensic evidence humans do, for one thing.”
She believed him. She believed him to the core of what was left of her soul. She nodded and met his gaze. “I’m going to kill Infante someday.”
His moved back and held out a hand to her. Offering. Not insisting. She didn’t want to touch him. Didn’t want anyone touching her. So she fisted both hands in the hem of her shirt while she stood. Kynan, still shirtless, stayed well back. “Up the stairs,” Harsh said. “First door.”
She saw the bottom of the stairs and walked out of the room, fingers gripping Kynan’s shirt as if it were capable of saving her life as long as she never let go. On the stairs, they were out of sight, but she couldn’t shake her awareness of the two men. They were beacons in her head, a vibration in the center of her chest. The world was different now. Her place in it had been shattered and remade. All the nerve endings in her skin and the receptors in her brain had been transformed in some fundamental way that was no longer mutually compatible with her previous reference points.
As she headed upstairs, her awareness of Harsh and Kynan remained in the back of her head and that echo in her chest wouldn’t stop. At one point, she stopped walking, a hand pressed to the wall and concentrated on
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