But in the other bed, there was no relief.
Victoria was silent. Too silent. Her face was gray, drained of all blood. The pre-eclampsia was crashing her system. She was drifting in and out of consciousness, her eyes rolling back.
“She’s fading,” William said, his voice cracking with terror as he checked her pulse. “Beatrice, her pulse is thready. She doesn’t have the strength.”
Beatrice handed the second twin to Malcolm and rushed to Victoria’s side. She saw the tell-tale swelling, the lack of focus.
“Victoria,” Beatrice said sharply, slapping her lightly on the cheek. “Stay with us.”
“I… can’t…” Victoria whispered, her head lolling to the side. “Tired.”
Beatrice grabbed Victoria’s face in both hands, forcing her to look into her eyes. The hatred that had defined their relationship for years–the lawsuits, the poison, the rivalry–evaporated.
“You defeated Julianna Vane from this bed,” Beatrice hissed fiercely. “You survived an avalanche. You survived my son. You are the strongest woman I know, Victoria. Do not dare leave him now. Push!”
Victoria’s eyes focused. She saw the fire in the older woman’s eyes. She drew a breath that rattled in her chest, summoned the last reserve of her will, and pushed.