Chapter 82

"Breathe, breathe, breathe," I say as I hyperventilate.

I take another lap of the room and then curse the fact that it's not larger. I'm wearing a path in the rug as I walk from one end to the other, repeating myself like a broken parrot.

"I don't think breathing is a choice," Taran says sarcastically, then goes into a prolonged wince as another labour pain strikes.

"So, Doc Bishop is definitely on his way?" I ask, dropping to my knees next to the bed and taking Taran's hand.

It's damp with sweat.

"Yes," she gasps.

She clings to me, baring her teeth, then breathing a deep sigh as the pain releases. She settles back against the pillows and picks up her book as though nothing had happened. She'd raided the old paperback romance novels from the harem bookshelves and is steadily making her way through them.

Meanwhile, I have to swallow a few times to banish the dryness from my throat before I can speak.