He did not shout.
He did not need to.
The image alone was enough, and the frightening part was that Cyrus knew he meant it completely.
If Isabella died, or if the children tore her body apart, or if this hidden demon blood ruined her, Zyran truly would do it. In fact, he might enjoy it.
Cyrus did not answer.
What answer was there?
He only looked down the corridor for one second, then back at the door, and his hands clenched harder.
Inside him, guilt and fear were tearing against each other now. One side wanted to rush back and stay by Isabella's bed and never leave again. The other side knew this was only beginning. If Zyran had sensed it, and if the suppression had slipped badly enough to make her body react like that, then the truth was simple.
She would give birth soon.
Very soon.
Too soon.
That thought made his chest tighten again.
