Nine months.
Alina had heard women say that pregnancy felt like forever. She hadn't believed them. Not until she was living it.
The first trimester had been gentle. A little nausea here, a little tiredness there. Dante had been attentive, bringing her tea, rubbing her feet, reading books about pregnancy that he pretended not to be reading. She had caught him once, late at night, hunched over a book titled Expecting the Unexpected: A Guide for Supernatural Fathers. He had hidden it behind a war strategy manual when he saw her watching. She hadn't said anything. But she had smiled to herself for the rest of the night.
The second trimester had been easier. Her energy had returned. She had felt the baby move for the first time, a small flutter like butterfly wings. Dante had been in a meeting when it happened. She had called him immediately. He had arrived in her room within seconds, his shadows still swirling around him, his crimson eyes wide.
"What's wrong?" he had demanded.
