Chapter 2My Unborn Son Told Me Everything

The next evening, Isabella was back, her eyes scanning my face for signs of "the change."

“How did you sleep through the day, honey?” she asked, setting a new thermos on the nightstand.

I leaned back against the pillows, having applied a layer of pale concealer to make my human skin look haggard and drained. “A bit nauseous. My stomach feels… heavy.”

A spark of triumph lit up her eyes. “That’s normal. The tonic is just doing its job.”

I took the thermos, the scent of copper and decay even more pungent today. “It smells stronger, Isabella.”

“I added more concentrated blood-herbs. For the baby,” she said, pulling up a chair. She wasn't leaving until she saw me "drink."

I repeated the performance—mouthfuls held, fake swallows, then spitting it into a hidden container the moment she left. I spent my midnights at the pig farm, feeding the sow the dark "blessing" Isabella intended for me.

On the third night, I overheard the farm manager talking to the clan's blood-witch near the stables.

“It’s the strangest thing,” the manager said, scratching his head. “That sow was showing all the signs. Big litter, you said. But tonight? She’s acting like she’s not carrying anything at all. It’s like she just… emptied out.”

The witch frowned. “That shouldn’t be possible without a hex. Let’s run another magical scan tomorrow.”

I rubbed my belly. “The piglets are gone, Mom,” the voice said. “She’s collected them all.”

I began to play the part of the fading human waif. I walked slower, leaned against walls for support, and faked dizzy spells whenever Isabella was near. She was practically vibrating with joy, her own undead skin taking on an unnatural, flushed glow.

By the fifth night, the entire clan gathered for the Midnight Banquet. My other sister-in-law, Penelope, eyed Isabella with suspicion.

“You’ve been awfully busy lately, Isabella,” Penelope said, swirling her goblet of O-negative. “I thought you ‘loathed’ the idea of being a nursery maid, yet you’re at the human’s beck and call every evening.”

Isabella didn't look up from her raw steak. “It’s a matter of clan duty. Nora is carrying the future of the Sinclairs. I’ve put my personal feelings aside for the sake of the bloodline.”

“How noble,” Penelope sneered, flashing her fangs.

Isabella turned to me, her voice dripping with fake honey. “You have to be so careful in the first trimester, Nora. One wrong move, one bit of bad luck, and everything changes. Right?”

I kept my head down, my fingers tracing the rim of my water glass. “Thank you for the reminder, Isabella.”

My husband, Ethan, reached over and squeezed my hand. His skin was ice-cold, but his touch was gentle. He looked at Isabella, his crimson eyes glowing with quiet menace. “Maybe you should focus on your own eternal life, Isabella. Nora has me to look after her.”

Marcus, the eldest, let out a harsh laugh. “She’s just being kind, Ethan. Don’t be so defensive. Unless, of course, the youngest branch of the family is getting greedy about the Clan Lord title.”

Halfway through the main course, Isabella suddenly gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. She scrambled up with unnatural speed and ran toward the restroom. We all heard the sound of her retching.

The grand dining hall went silent.

Penelope was the first to speak, her voice sharp as a blade. “Isabella? Don’t tell me you’ve caught what the human has.”

Isabella emerged a moment later, dabbing her lips with a silk handkerchief. She tried to look distressed, but she couldn't hide the smug gleam in her eyes. “It’s probably just a bad batch of blood. I haven’t been feeling myself lately.”

Marcus was at her side in an instant. “Call Dr. Miller. Now.”

The clan’s physician arrived within the hour. He took a dark, viscous blood sample from Isabella and asked a series of pointed questions. Isabella kept glancing at me, her hand resting firmly on her own flat stomach. I just took a slow sip of water.

At 3:00 AM, Dr. Miller returned to the gothic drawing room where the Patriarch, Lord Arthur Sinclair, was waiting. The air was thick with tension.

Miller cleared his throat, his expression a mix of professional confusion and awe. “Well, my Lord, this is… unprecedented.”