Baby

~ SASHA ~

Sasha's heart expanded until she thought it might fill the room. Completely forgetting the gun at her temple, or anything else, Sasha made a small cry and rushed forward, leaning over the lowered side of the crib to reach in and scoop him up. She'd only held babies a few times in her life, but she knew enough to support his head and lift him to the crook of her arm.

"Baby, my sweet boy," she breathed.

The smell of him was what she noticed first. Like milk and freshly bathed skin.

He was a lot bigger than the doll had been, an armful for Sasha. When she lifted him, his eyelids fluttered, and his little eyes opened, squinting, and he made a tiny, indignant squawk.

"Oh, baby, my sweet baby," Sasha crooned, and the moment she spoke, his eyes opened wide and he stared at her.

Really stared at her.

He blinked against the light and made more complaining noises, but his eyes never left hers. As if he knew her face and searched it.

That couldn't be right… could it? How could he possibly know her?

Then he yawned again and the little squeaks and whines became a full-throated cry.

Without thought, Sasha lifted his little baby bean to her shoulder and began to rock him slowly, resting her head against him, inhaling his scent, her tears dripping off her nose and onto his blanket.

"My boy, my boy," she breathed. And he settled. He settled for her. Sighing heavily, then going quiet. Sasha was stunned.

"This is very sweet," Nathan drawled from behind her. "But we have work to do. And very little time. Our negotiations must be finished before your mate wakes up, because if I'm going to have to kill him, I'd really rather do it when he's asleep. It's just a lot cleaner. So let's get to it."

He was still behind her, so Sasha just stood there, stunned, holding her son, her mind spinning. How were they ever going to get out of this?

Nathan didn't seemed disturbed at all. "I want you to be clear that you will not be allowed to bring us all down. I will kill you before I allow you to leave, especially with a baby—or babies, as the case may be."

Sasha shuddered with a wave of hate, but turned her head and gently kissed his fat little cheek. "I understand," she breathed. "Just… let me hold him. I don't want to hurt him."

"If you want to hold him while we speak, I'll ask you to take a seat in that chair over there and I'll strap your ankles to it."

"Strap—what?"

Sasha turned to see what Nathan was talking about and found a thick, wide, metal chair with a faded burgundy seat-pad next to the crib. At the base of the legs, and on the wide arms, thick leather straps with wicked-looking buckles were riveted to the metal.

She shuddered to think why it was there normally. Who had they forced to come here? And for what purpose?

"You'll be glad to know, I'm sure, that we are not unaware of a child's needs. We've been cycling females through every two hours to hold and nurture him. We know that those of our young that are allowed to bond with adults grow up far healthier and more robust. So, I guess you'll take this shift. Take a seat, Sasha," Nathan said quietly.

Her blood running cold, her baby pressed to her chest, Sasha prayed that somehow, somehow they'd get through this. Then she sat down in the chair and held her son as Nathan quickly and efficiently strapped her ankles to the chair legs.

"Now, I'll give you a moment just so you understand your motivation to help me, as you so wisely put it. But in a moment we're going to have a conversation, you and I. We're going to figure out how you can help me. And in exchange, I'm going to let you and your mate and your son stay alive."

Sasha stared at the man with his slicked back hair and bright eyes and sighed heavily. "Okay," she said, her voice dead. Before he could respond again, Nick appeared in the doorway. Nathan straightened, still keeping the gun trained on her, but turning to look over his shoulder as Nick, looking tense, stopped in the doorway, the tranquilizing gun in his hand.

"He's waking up."

"What? That thing's supposed to last at least an hour!"

Nick's face went tight. "I told you, the Chimera metabolism… anyway, I need to put him under again."

"So do it!"

"You only gave me one dart," Nick said through his teeth.

With a frustrated growl, Nathan dug into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a cylinder that looked glass, and contained another feathered dart. He tossed it across the room to Nick, who caught it in one hand, but scowled.

"Risky much?" he snarled, popping the top on the little tube and tipping it on it's end into his hand, feather first.

"It's in a case, idiot," Nathan growled. "It's not like it's going to stab you through the glass."

Nick's lips thinned and he shook his head, but his eyes were on the gun in his hand as he reloaded it, then checked the chamber, blowing on the feathers of the dart.

"Go for the neck this time," Nathan said as he turned back to Sasha. "If you can hit the jugular it will enter his bloodstream faster and work longer."

Nick raised the gun, his eye on Sasha. "Will do," he said tightly.

Then he pulled the trigger.

Sasha sucked in a breath to scream. But the dart bloomed on Nathan's neck. He clapped a hand to it with a curse, his brows pinched over his nose.

"What the fffff…. Wha' the…."

Nathan glared at her, then his hand holding the gun dropped to his side. It clattered to the linoleum a second before Nathan crumpled to the floor like the bag of trash that he was.