[This post is from Marin’s point of view.]
Phelan moaned and I grimaced, trying to shift him to a more comfortable position in my arms. Realizing that there was no comfortable position, I half carried, half dragged him over to the wall and carefully lowered him until he was seated, leaning up against the wall. I slid down the wall to sit next to him, one hand holding his arm and the other pressed against my distended belly.
My son was moving in there, as if he sensed my distress. I exhaled slowly and ran my hand up and down my belly, trying to calm down—trying to calm him down.
The glow was fading from Phelan and his breathing turned raspy. I swallowed hard and looked toward him, heart trying to crawl up into my throat and my fingers tightening around his arm. A soft hiss escaped his lips and my heart began to beat again.
My voice still shook as I whispered, “Phelan?”
The glow faded completely except for the flesh around his eyes. Then, even that faded completely. He exhaled with a shudder, slumping against me. Touching him was like shoving my hand into an ice-cold pool.
I realized with a start that he’d begun to shiver, as if he were in that same ice-cold pool.
Shit.
I gave him a firm shake. “Phelan. Phelan! Snap out of it, dammit. Wake up.”
He sucked in one breath, then another. My stomach lurched and I shifted, moving to my knees so I could face him, squinting in the dim. He was pale, and even in the near-darkness of the tunnel.
Not good. Dammit, not good. My throat tightened further.
“Phelan, don’t do this to me,” I whispered. “Please, don’t do this to me—to us.
“We need you too badly.”
My fingers tightened more.
His eyes popped open.
