Page 117 of Prey

Ready to build something good in the middle of all this darkness.

“Yeah,” I tell her, squeezing her fingers. “I’m ready.”

41

JENNA

Iwake with bile rising in my throat, the familiar churn that’s plagued me for three mornings now. My body knows before my mind catches up—the tender breasts, the exhaustion that sleep doesn’t cure, the way certain smells make my stomach revolt.

Nikolai sleeps beside me, one arm draped across my waist. His face is peaceful in the pre-dawn darkness, stripped of the predatory intensity that defines his waking hours. I slip from beneath his arm, padding barefoot to the bathroom.

The pregnancy test waits in the medicine cabinet where I hid it yesterday. My hands shake as I unwrap it, the plastic crinkling too loud in the silence. Three weeks since the negative result that devastated him. Three weeks of him watching me with hungry hope every time I complain of fatigue.

The wait feels eternal. I sit on the closed toilet lid, staring at the white stick balanced on the edge of the counter. My heart hammers against my ribs, each beat echoing in my ears like gunshots.

Two pink lines materialize.

Positive.

The test tumbles from my fingers, clattering against the tile. I stare at it lying there, those two lines stark and undeniable. Real. Permanent. Binding me to him in a way even his conditioning couldn’t achieve.

A sob tears from my throat. Then another. The bathroom walls close in around me as the full weight crashes down. There’s a human being growing inside me—Nik’s child, made from violence and obsession and whatever twisted love we’ve built from our shared brokenness.

What kind of mother will I be? What kind of world are we bringing this child into?

I sink to the floor, knees drawn to my chest, and let the terror consume me. The sobs come in waves, ugly and raw. I press my face against my knees and try to muffle the sound, but it’s too late.

“Jenna?” Nikolai’s voice is rough with sleep. His footsteps cross the bedroom, then pause at the bathroom door. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

I can’t answer. Can’t form words around the panic lodged in my throat. The door opens, and he’s there, naked and disheveled, his pale eyes immediately taking in the scene—me crumpled on the floor, the pregnancy test next to me.

He drops to his knees, reaching for me. “Hey, breathe. Just breathe.”

“I can’t—” The words come out choked. “I can’t do this.”

His arms circle me, pulling me against his chest. His skin is warm and familiar, but it doesn’t ease the terror. “What happened? Talk to me.”

I gesture weakly at the test. “It’s positive.”

He goes utterly still. I feel his breath catch, his heartbeat stutter beneath my cheek. Then his hand is in my hair, tilting my face up to meet his gaze.

“Positive?”

The wonder in his voice makes fresh tears spill over. “I’m pregnant, Nik. We’re going to have a baby, and I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be a mother. What if I’m like my stepfather? What if I hurt?—”

“Stop.” His voice cuts through my spiral, firm but gentle. “You won’t hurt our child. You couldn’t.”

“You don’t know that. Look at what we do. Look at what we are.” I gesture between us. “We’re killers. We hunt people. We torture information out of them and leave bodies in our wake. What happens when this baby needs normal things? School pictures and birthday parties and?—”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“How can you be so calm?” The question comes out as an accusation. “This changes everything. Forever. No going back, no escape routes, no clean exits. Just this tiny person depending on us not to destroy their life.”

Nikolai’s thumb traces the tears on my cheek. “Because I’ve never wanted anything more.”

The simple honesty stops my spiral short. I search his face, finding no trace of his usual calculated control. Just raw, unguarded joy mixed with awe—protectiveness, maybe. Or love in its purest form.

“The Oklahoma facility,” I whisper. “Those children, what was done to them?—”