The night Kai went into labor, the forest was too quiet.
Not a single owl hooted. Not a breeze stirred the trees. The air hung thick and damp, like the whole world was holding its breath.
Inside the small cottage Adrian had once fixed with his own hands, Kai gritted his teeth and clutched the edge of the kitchen table. A low groan escaped him half pain, half disbelief. He was alone, save for the ghost of Adrian's last kiss and the child determined to claw it's way into the world.
Sweat slicked his skin. His breath came shallow and quick. But he didn't cry. Didn't scream. Adrian wouldn't want him to be afraid. And besides, pain was no stranger. He'd loved a vampire. Had kissed fangs. Had bled beneath lips he craved more than sunlight.
This? This was just another threshold to cross.
The baby came just before midnight, wrapped in blood and moonlight. Kai held his tiny, wailing, beautiful frame and Kai broke down as he sobbed for the first time in months. It wasn't just the ache of labor. It was the emptiness in the space beside him.
He whispered, "Adrian," like a prayer, or a plea.
And the wind answered.
Not in words. Not in voice. Just... a shift. Like something had stopped to listen.
Kai swallowed thickly and kissed his baby's damp forehead. "We're safe," he murmured. "It's just us now."
But later that night, when the fire had died and the baby lay asleep in a cradle Adrian had carved months before, a new cry shattered the quiet.
Kai jolted upright. The baby still slept. Soundly. Peacefully.
But the cry continued low and guttural, from somewhere outside the window.
He rose, heart pounding, and stepped toward the curtain. Slowly. Cautiously. The moon cast silver light across the field.
Nothing.
Just trees. Still. Watching.
Until one of them bent.
No wind.
Kai's breath hitched. The tree straightened again like nothing had happened. But the sense of being watched didn't leave. It crept along his spine, crawled beneath his skin.
Then something brushed the window.
A whisper.
So faint he wasn't sure he heard it right.
But it sounded like a name.
"Kai..."
He stumbled back, nearly knocking over the cradle. The baby slept on, unbothered.
Kai grabbed the iron dagger from the hearth. The one Adrian always insisted he keep close. Just in case. Just in case of what?
The window remained dark.
But Kai didn't sleep that night. He sat in the rocking chair, cradling the baby and the dagger, whispering lullabies to drown out the voice that might have been the wind.
Or something else.
Something older.
Something that missed him.