Yes, I know. Just what loads of you have been waiting for.
The good news…I have finished edits on the whole series. I am NOT going to publish them on Amazon as I think they are too over-the-top for that distributor. But I am investigating another resource. They might end up strictly being a @Literotica thing. I don’t know yet.
What is more, I am almost finished with Chapter 11 of Ægir’s Wife. I have one final scene with Olaf and Petrine/Rachel to add. Then I know exactly what the ending in Chapter 12 looks like. That one should be a quick and easy write.
Bad news…I need to finish writing Chapter 10 before I can post any of that. And I may not be able to get to that until after I write Chapter 12.
I can hear the screams now. So, to be a total tease, I thought I would share this tidbit from Chapter 11 with you. Just to prove I actually have been writing it…
Bjorn inhaled deeply, his logical brain trying desperately to grasp his brother’s words like a lifeline. His mind recognized their truth, but his heart knew only fear. She was his everything. He had waited half his life for her. As silly as Svein might find that, not only was he not ashamed of it, he was proud to have gone to her bed a virgin. The idea of losing what he had worked so hard to find was paralyzing.
But the alternative was to miss their daughters’ births. Worse yet to abandon her when she needed him the most. It was not an eventuality that he could contemplate. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and focused on just one thought: her. Being the man that she needed at that moment.
When he opened his eyes again, he met Mikael’s glare with firm resolve, “Let’s go meet our girls.”
He turned to Svein, wrapping his arm around his eldest brother’s waist, “We don’t want to miss this one.” Svein nodded as he wrapped his arm about Bjorn’s shoulder, and they opened the door to the room that had greeted generations of husbands, wives, and babies.
Their mother looked up as they entered. Her calm soothed him as she took charge, “Mikael, since you know this routine, you help Kirsty kneel at the edge of the bed.” His brother nodded as he moved towards the bed.
“Bjorn, find Svein a comfortable place where he can see everything. Then help Mikael move Kirsty into position.” Their mother was smiling as she pulled on another set of sterile gloves and knelt next to her open bag by the bed, “We’re about to have some babies.”
His wife’s green eyes held pain, fear, and panic. It was always so easy to read her every thought and feeling in them. Olaf was right. She needed them. Needed them all now. He nodded as he dragged Svein across the room and lowered him to the mattress near where their mother knelt.
Bjorn met his brother’s gaze. In that look, something shifted inside of him. Compassion and empathy overcame old hurts. He remembered the words of a book his mother read him each Christmas, “and his heart grew three sizes that day.” For him, it was not just caring or kindness, but responsibility. This was his family. This was his home. And these babies their future.
His gaze shifted as he smiled down at her; his hand reached out to brush her hair back from her damp forehead. “You’re doing perfectly as always, sweetheart,” he assured her as he reached for one arm, Mikael took the other as they moved her to a sitting position on the edge of the bed.
Mikael knelt on his knees behind her, providing support. Svein was to her left close enough to hold her hand as her face contorted with another contraction. A low guttural groan rose from her depths as he moved around their mother to take his place on her right, grasping her small hand in his.
He feared that she might break the bones in his fingers as she squeezed. His eyes sought his mother’s for reassurance, but she was too busy.
What he saw tore the breath from his soul: a tiny grey-blue head extended from between his wife’s legs. His mother’s fingers worked quickly and expertly to clear thick goo from around the nose, looping her finger inside the tiny mouth, and drawing forth more of the muck that fell to the plastic mat on which she knelt.
“One more push, sweetie, and we’ll have a baby,” she smiled up at them.
Kirsty was beyond words as she nodded. Mikael leaned forward and brushed a kiss across her forehead, “You’re doing just fine, lilla gumman.”
She turned to Svein, who he noticed squeezed her hand, “Our perfect little sub.”
When she turned to him, he knew what she sought. “Everything is exactly as it should be,” and he felt that to the depths of his soul. How could he have ever thought that the cold, sterile hospital with bright lights, antiseptic smells, and uncaring doctors was a better place to greet their babies than the warm, loving home in which they were made and would grow? “Just as it was meant to be.”
She started to smile, but it turned into a grimace as her fingers once more tightened like a vice around his. He was not sure whose screams were louder their wife’s or their daughter’s as the baby slipped easily into the hands of her grandmother who wiped more of the pink-tinged goo from that perfect little visage scrunched in anger at her abrupt entrance into this strange new world.
Bjorn smiled as his mother’s tears unashamedly mixed with the goo on the baby’s body. “Bjorn, hand me that towel,” she nodded towards a stack near the electric heater. He reluctantly released Kirsty’s hand, knowing that his brothers would be there. After all those months of just the two of them, alone in London, that too felt right on some visceral level. He quickly grabbed the towels and passed one to his mother.
She rubbed more of that goo from the baby’s chest, arm, and legs before wrapping her tightly in the towel. Petrine lifted her tiny burden to Svein, “Take your daughter. Your wife and I have some more work to finish.”
A tiny flare of that old jealousy once more raised its head. Why should Svein be the first one to hold the baby? But he quickly pushed it aside as her face once more contorted in pain. He moved quickly back to his place beside her.
It was not though another baby that emerged from her spread thighs but a dark red blob. “Good girl,” his mother pronounced as she placed the thing in a bowl he had not noticed before. “Now, we can get back to the real work. One down and one to go.”
Things moved so quickly then that in the years to come when he thought back upon it, Bjorn was never sure what actually happened. It seemed that one moment, their mother was smiling at Kirsty, and the next, he was holding another tiny bundle.
The little red face with its tightly closed eyes and its mouth gaping wide seemed capable of producing a prodigious volume of noise. The tightness that constricted his massive chest as he pulled his daughter closer to his heart was unlike anything he had ever felt. Even when he had first laid eyes upon their wife. No, this was different. The same in some ways, an intense need to protect and nurture. To be a better human being. To be worthy of this gift. It was different, though — in some indefinable way.
He looked up, noting that Svein had begun to calm her sister to little hiccupping whimpers. Bjorn emulated his brother’s gentle rocking and crooning, but that only seemed to irritate this one more. He tried bringing her to his shoulder as he remembered Monika liking when she was a baby. That too only met with louder cries.
Something inside of him seemed to speak. He was not sure what. An ancient instinct, something primordial. Or as odd as it seemed, some psychic connection with this little human that seemed to communicate itself inside his mind and heart.
He turned his daughter so that her tiny head rested in the palm of his hand, her butt in the crook of his arm with a leg on either side of his arm. Her little face turned to the side so that she could observe it all.
She quieted. A bit more of that goo came up. A cough or projectile vomit cleared her lungs. She screamed once more but then relaxed. Her eyes seemed focused on her mother and grandmother.
Petrine smiled widely as another red blob slipped into that pan. Bjorn wanted to protest as she reached up and seemed to grab hold of the mound of Kirsty’s tummy that had once housed their daughters. She seemed much too rough.
Out of nowhere, as if he anticipated her needs, had done this hundreds of times before, Olaf held out a mug of some steaming concoction. His mother smiled and passed it to his wife, “Drink this, sweetie. It will help the contractions to tighten your uterus, so you don’t bleed too heavily.”
“Mikael, help her. While I check the placentas to make sure they are intact. Svein, Bjorn, take care of your daughters for a couple of minutes,” his mother commanded.
He nodded as he drew his daughter closer to his body, grabbing another of the towels, and wrapping it loosely about her body and his arm. She turned her head. Her eyes met his. And the whole universe was reduced to those intense blue spheres.
Perfect. Everything was perfect. Just as it should be. As it was meant to be. He thought of his latest mental puzzle, the Fatum Project Experiment. The theory that all people exist within their own tunnel of reality, shaped by their qualities, habits, and perceptions. The project sought to disrupt that by introducing random experiences into that tunnel of reality.
But what if your tunnel was perfect just as it is? Did it really matter then if reality was nothing more than a narrow tube of limited existence? Hell, even if we were nothing more than brains in a vat as popularized by those movies, did he give a damn? Why would he want to disrupt a reality as perfect as this moment?
He lifted his daughter higher and began to discuss the complexities of the theories and the universe with her as he paced the room. Those blue eyes gazed into his as if as spell-bound with his words as he was with her.