The scream came from inside my head, not my mouth, although I knew it was me doing the screaming. It was also me feeling the pain, which came in the form of a sharp stab to my belly. It was unbearable. Worse than making the change from human to gargoyle. Worse than the time I fell down the stairs and broke my arm. This kind of agony felt like death, not birth, and I knew if the baby didn't come soon, I would pass out.

"Reese! Open your eyes!" I heard Vincent's shout, but it didn't make the pain go away. In fact, I felt more pain, which bloomed from my cheek. Did he just slap my face? How dare he strike someone in the throes of labor. "Wake up, dammit!"

Another slap and I opened my eyes to glare at Vincent, ready to give him a piece of my mind, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. His face was white as a sheet. He looked like he'd lost his best friend. Was that blood on his hands? And a knife? What the hell?

"What are you doing, Vincent?"

"Saving your life." He took my hand and pressed it against my belly, causing more shooting pain, and I glanced down to find my shirt covered in blood. "Keep your hand there and don't let go. I'm going to pick you up."

"Where am I?"

"Don't talk." Vincent's commanding tone had me doing what he asked. Besides, it hurt to talk, but I couldn't stop the groan as he lifted me off the kitchen floor. Oh, I was in the kitchen. Clearly, there was no baby. I had been dreaming. Sleepwalking, as far as I could tell, and it seemed I had helped myself to a steak knife. Definitely not my norm.

With Bonnie and Clyde following on our heels, Vincent carried me out of the apartment and down the hall to the door belonging to his mother. Stained red like a zombie apocalypse movie, we barged into Wren's home. Fortunately, she wasn't napping. She was standing in her kitchen, and she came rushing out to greet us.

"Reese! Saints have mercy!"

She didn't ask questions. She just ushered us back to her guest room and quickly stripped the bed. Then she threw a towel over the mattress and directed Vincent to lay me on it. The next thing I knew, she had her suture kit in hand and a stack of alcohol wipes.

"How did this happen?" she asked finally, rolling up my shirt to inspect the wound.

"She was sleepwalking." Vincent crouched next to my head, pulling strands of hair off my face with bloody hands. The dogs had followed us in, and Clyde rested his chin on the bed to watch. "I woke up and heard her in the kitchen. I thought she was making coffee, and I was going to remind her that she agreed to curb her caffeine intake, but when I found her, she was on the floor trying to disembowel herself." Hovering over me, I could tell Vincent was getting his color back, but he looked shaken. "What were you dreaming about, baby?"

Yikes.

Did I really want to tell him where my thoughts had been before he found me? That I'd been imagining the agony of labor? Would he think I was using the knife to rid myself of the baby? We hadn't even confirmed I was pregnant yet, and he knew how anxious I felt about it. But I couldn't lie. Not to him.

"I thought I was giving birth. The pain was terrible."

Wren clicked her tongue as she inspected my wound with a magnifying glass. "Of course, it was. You were feeling the blade pierce your skin. It looks like a simple flesh wound, but I'll have to stitch it up. Do you need a numbing agent? I have some scotch in the cupboard."

Vincent scowled at his mom. "I don't think Reese needs..."

"A shot of scotch might help," I said, wishing Wren had offered morphine instead. Simple flesh wound, my ass. There was nothing simple about the pain.

Wren glanced at Vincent, raising her eyebrows. "Do you mind fetching that for our patient? You know where to find it."

Pursing his mouth, Vincent pressed a tight-lipped kiss to my forehead before taking his judgments out of the room.

"He'll be fine. He's just concerned about you." Wren talked as she prepared the sewing needle, and I tried not to look. I was already feeling nauseous. "So, you're afraid of this potential pregnancy, are you? I can't say I blame you." Wren never pulled any punches, and her level head calmed me somehow. Still, I felt embarrassed at being found out.

"How did you know?"

"Well, it has been a week since the wedding, and despite the nudges of your domus sisters, namely Amelia and Adele, you still have not confirmed the pregnancy."

"What about Vincent? Has he said anything to you?"

"He has not mentioned anything to me, but I'm sure he is thinking about it."

Ah, guilt. Thou art an unrelenting pain in the backside.

"I know he is, and I feel terrible about it. I'm just worried it will change us. I wasn't ready for this to happen so soon."

Wren's eyebrows tweaked, but she said nothing more. She didn't need to. It was no secret Vincent and I had been fucking like bunnies. She continued her prep as she silently judged me, tearing open an alcohol wipe and cleaning the needle before swiping the cool cloth around the wound. When I flinched, she shushed me.

"Don't worry. I won't stick you until you've been properly sedated."

Just then, Vincent arrived with my sedative in a lowball glass, and he helped me raise up. "Take it in one shot. It'll work faster." 

"I know. I've done this before. Bottoms up." I threw the liquid past my lips, feeling the cold burn on my tongue before it coursed roughly down my throat. I had to work hard not to cough. "That'll clean the pipes out."

I handed back the glass, and Wren gave me a couple of minutes to focus on the warmth radiating from my chest rather than the needle she placed against my skin. The sting was nothing compared to the knife, and as I laid there feeling like a bloody fool, I cursed my subconscious for letting me dissect my stomach. Apart from the near-fatal incident on the balcony years ago, I had never tried to hurt myself during a sleepwalking excursion. Sylvie was going to freak out when I told her about this.

As for Vincent, he looked lost as he stared at me, although he was more capable than anyone I knew. The wounds he'd received at the hands of Marco Bourdain, my murderous father, were slowly fading, including the one on his cheek. It wouldn't bother me if he ended up with a scar there, although I suspected he wouldn't appreciate it. There were scars on his body he never talked about.

"I don't like this," he said as his fist came down on his leg. "We need to stop this sleepwalking problem."

"The episodes aren't that frequent anymore," I told him. "Believe me, they were worse when I was with Heath. Maybe now that I've embraced my gollum nature, they'll go away completely."

He shook his head even as I explained. "This was bad, Reese. You could have... you could have... Fuck!" He dragged his fingers through his hair as he stood to pace, and Bonnie broke into a trot beside him.

"We could put a bell on the bedroom door," I said. "My parents did that for me after I fell down the stairs during a sleepwalking incident." Even as I tried to stop it, the memory of that painful ride to the hospital came rushing back.

"That sounds less invasive than tying you to the bed frame every night," he said.

Wren's head snapped up to scowl at him. "Don't you dare, Vincent Valentino."

Vincent didn't acknowledge her. He just kept pounding the floorboards with his feet. The alcohol had finally kicked-in fully when the front door creaked open and Colin called out. "Mom? Are you alright?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" she called back.

"I heard a commotion in the hall, and when I came out to investigate, I found blood on the carpet in front of your door." Colin spoke as he rounded the corner into the bedroom, and his mouth dropped open when he saw me and my fancy stitches. Two giant steps later, and he was sticking his fist in Vincent's face. "What the hell did you do to her?"

"Fuck off, Colin," Vincent growled.

"That's enough, you two," Wren scolded them. "Reese injured herself while she was sleepwalking."

"Shit." Colin breathed out a curse as he crouched in Vincent's previous spot, capturing me with those big, sympathetic eyes. "That looks bad. How did it happen?"

"Steak knife," I said.

"Damn. What were you dreaming about? Were you battling someone?" Colin turned to glare at Vincent.

"No. The dream was unrelated to the knife. I don't know why I went for it."

I left my explanation at that, and no one mentioned anything about babies. The rest of my field surgery proceeded without further judgment, but I wasn't so lucky as to get a reprieve from my overprotective husband. As soon as we got home, Vincent put the dogs on couch duty, making sure I didn't leave it while he made breakfast.

"Tell your mother we won't be at the auction," he said as he balanced an egg on a spatula. "I don't want you tearing open your stitches."

"It's an auction not a dance marathon. I'll be fine."

I arranged my feet so I could see him better and managed to catch his resigned head shake. "Fine. You want coffee?"

"I'd love some coffee, but I thought it was on the naughty list."

"Consider it my gift to you for not bleeding to death." He turned so I couldn't see his concern. The guy had been scared shitless.

Join the club.

"Have you heard from the Bourdain's?" I asked. "Has Paolo confirmed he'll be at the hearing?"

"I haven't heard a word, but that doesn't surprise me. Paolo will keep everyone guessing until the last minute. Have you packed for Europe? It's going to be cold in Verona."

"Don't tell me they're expecting another blizzard?" I kept my tone casual, but it didn't stop me from recalling the storm that nearly took Vincent from me. Not to mention my run-in with a horny gollum sporting a dagger and a grudge.

"No. Just your usual bitter cold. I'm actually looking forward to the hearing. I can't wait to punch Stanhope in the face."

"I don't think the acting high magister would appreciate a brawl breaking out in his chambers. What's his name, again? Rudy?"

"It's Rudolph Montaglia. If you call him Rudy, he's likely to throw you out of his chambers."

"Good to know. I might need a scapegoat if things get too hairy. At least I'll have the London tour with Griffin to keep my spirits up."

"Not just any London tour, a haunted London tour," he corrected me as he slid our breakfast onto a pair of plates. "I hope you don't scare easily. It's definitely creepy."

"I can do creepy, as long as there are no bugs involved. I draw the line at swarms of roaches."

"Don't worry about that. We won't be hitting those parts of London."