Chapter 751: Chapter 751: Do you want to fight me while I’m in pain?

The first thing he did was feed the fire.

He added dry wood and bark until the flames climbed higher, because the water needed to heat fast and the room Isabella gave birth in could not be cold. Then he took two large clay pots, filled them with clean water from the covered jar, and set them over the fire. His hands moved quickly but carefully. There was no wasted motion. No confusion. Only urgency.

Warm water.

Clean cloth.

Soft furs.

Herbs.

Food.

Suppression medicine.

He placed everything into order in his mind as if repeating the list could keep fear from taking over.

He found the cleanest folded cloths first, the ones Isabella had taught them to wash, dry, and keep wrapped away from dust. They were softer than the rough hides most beast people used before, and he touched them once before placing them into a basket. Then he added thin strips of clean hide that could be used for tying when needed, and a small sharp bone blade that had been washed, heated, and kept wrapped in oiled cloth.

His hands paused on the blade.

The sight of it made the birth feel even closer.

He swallowed, then put it in the basket.

Next came the furs. He chose the soft ones, not too heavy, not too rough, and not carrying any strong beast scent that might make Isabella uncomfortable. One thick fur would go under her back. Another would keep her warm. Two smaller ones would be for the babies after they came. The thought of the babies made his chest tighten again, and for one moment his hand stayed on the fur longer than needed.

His children.

Their children.

Strong blood.

Dangerous blood.

He forced himself to move again.

He took dried redroot from one shelf, then pale moonleaf, then a small bundle of bitter black stem that helped keep wild blood calm. He hated that one because Isabella always made a face when she tasted it, but he needed it now. He crushed some of it in a stone bowl, added warm water, then mixed it with a small amount of sweet fruit paste so she might actually swallow it without threatening him later.

After that, he started the strength broth.

A birth could take time.

He knew that much.

Some beastwomen birthed quickly, especially if their bodies were strong and their young came in beast form. Others suffered for longer, and when the children were mixed blood or too strong, the female could lose too much strength before the end. Isabella was strong in spirit, but her body was still soft compared to the women born in this world. She would need warm food, sweet drink, and small bites that would not make her stomach turn.

He cut soft meat into small pieces and added it to a pot with broth. Then he added roots that could give warmth, crushed grain, and a little salt. He prepared another smaller bowl with mashed fruit and warm water, because if she could not eat much later, she might still drink.

While he worked, the kitchen seemed too loud.

The water bubbled.

The fire cracked.

The stone pestle struck the bowl again and again.

Outside, the wind groaned.

Every sound made him think of Isabella in the room, waiting.

What if another pain came while he was gone?

What if Zyran could not calm her?

What if the birth came faster than expected?

What if the demon blood rose again?

His fingers tightened around the edge of the stone bowl until the skin over his knuckles went pale.

No.

He could not think like that.

He had to prepare.

If he panicked, she would suffer.

If he forgot something, she might suffer.

So Cyrus breathed out slowly and kept moving.

He packed the basket carefully. Cloths at the bottom. Herbs wrapped in leaves. Bone blade in the side pocket. Small warm stones wrapped in fur so they could be placed near Isabella’s hands or feet if she grew cold. A cup. A clean bowl. A small skin pouch of sweet water. Then the bitter suppression mixture in a covered clay cup so it would not spill.

Only after checking everything twice did he lift the basket.

Then he took the pot of strength broth from the fire and poured some into a covered bowl. He would send for more later if needed. For now, this was enough to bring back quickly.

By the time he turned to leave the kitchen, his face was calmer.

His heart was not.

Back in the room, Zyran was doing his best.

Which, considering that he was Zyran, was both useful and dangerous.

He sat beside Isabella on the bed, one knee bent, his black hair falling over one shoulder, and his red eyes fixed on her face with a sharpness that did not match the lazy smile he had forced onto his mouth. The room was still warm, the fire still burning, and Isabella was lying against the furs with one hand on her stomach and one hand gripping the edge of the covering.

At first, she had been fine.

Or at least fine enough to glare at him.

Then another wave of discomfort had come.

It was not terrible yet, but it was stronger than the last one. It tightened low in her stomach and wrapped around her back, and when it hit, Isabella’s face changed before she could hide it.

Zyran’s smile vanished instantly.

"Isabella?"

She closed her eyes and breathed in slowly, trying to remember what Cyrus had said. "I’m fine."

"You are not fine."

"I said I’m fine."

"You say many untrue things."

Her eyes opened just enough to glare at him. "Do you want to fight me while I’m in pain?"

"No," Zyran said quickly.

Too quickly.

That almost made her laugh.

Unfortunately, the pain had not fully passed yet, so the laugh came out as a breathy little sound instead. Zyran did not like that sound.