by Jessica Sims
Our baby?
Full of worry and no answers, I scoop her up into my arms and carry her to the bedroom. I lay her gently on the bed and then rush back to the bathroom, wet a face towel, and bring it back to the bedroom. I press it on her brow and check the pulse in her wrist.
It’s not racing. If anything, it’s sluggish. She’s not taking good care of herself, then. My protective wolf instinct rises fiercely. I’m here now, and I’ll take care of her. I press the wet cloth to her forehead again, and then decide I need to feed my mate.
I race downstairs and raid the kitchen. What I see in the fridge is a little surprising. In addition to juices and the usual sweets, there’s a lot of red meat. A lot. It sets me to thinking, and I put a skillet on the stove, crank it up to full blast, and pull out a package of sirloin steaks.
By the time I have the steak seared into the barest version of ‘rare’, I’ve grabbed a bottle of water, a protein bar, and some pickles, because I don’t know what pregnant ladies like. I might be all wrong about the red-meat thing, but maybe not. I fill a plate, grab the waters, and then head upstairs.
As soon as I open the door to the bedroom, Savannah is sitting up in bed, looking at me in bleary confusion. She’s utterly beautiful, and it makes my heart stop anew when her gaze focuses on me.
“What happened?”
I sit next to the bed and hand her the plate with the rare, bloody steak. “You fainted.”
“I did?” She looks shocked, but stares at the steak, and I can hear her stomach rumble.
“You did,” I agree and nudge the plate toward her again. “Eat.”
“Fork?”
“Didn’t bring one. You can use your fingers. I won’t judge ya.”
She lifts the steak delicately to her mouth and takes a bite. I watch with satisfaction as she scarfs the entire thing down in less than a minute, and hand her a bottle of water as she licks her fingers.
“I’m sorry I fainted,” she tells me, a small grimace on her full lips. “I don’t know what happened.”
“Have you been feeling bad lately?” There’s so many things that can go wrong with a pregnancy and I don’t know enough about them. I feel fucking helpless. “What can I do?”
She shifts on the bed and puts her hands to her lower back, stretching. Her breasts are swollen and full, and jesus. I thought she was a dream before, but her pregnancy body is utterly beautiful. Those gorgeous tits would overflow my hands—
“I’ve been feeling fine, actually,” she says, distracting me away from my dirty thoughts. A guilty look crosses her face. “Maybe I shouldn’t have shifted and did a run tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Dr. Lamb says it’s not good for pregnant shifters.”
I snort. The doctor’s an otter and otters are, well, jackasses. “Dr. Lamb’s an idiot. I’ve never heard of that crap before. My ma used to shift all the time when she was pregnant with Gracie. Never did her any harm.”
“Well it’s not as if I can ask a regular baby doctor, can I?” She glares at me.
Thinking about my long-gone mother actually makes me think of something else. “What have you been eating lately?”
She licks her lips. “I’m eating just fine, you know. The doctor said I’m gaining too much weight and I need to cut it back.”
“Bullshit. You’re gorgeous.”
Her startled gaze flies to my face. “Thank you.”
Her praise warms me. She’s my mate, and I’m going to take care of her, damn it. I tuck the blankets close around her. “You finish drinking that bottle of water and I’m going to be back soon. I’m going to get a few things for you at the grocery store. You stay here and take a nap, okay?”
Savannah shakes her head. “I should get up. I need to clean—“
I put a hand to her shoulder, stopping her. “You stay right there. When I get back, I’ll handle any cleaning, all right? Let me take care of you.”
I’m dying to take care of you. Let me take care of my mate. Let me be there for you.
I expect her to put up more of a protest. Instead, she just stares at me, wide-eyed, and then nods. “Okay.”
And I feel another surge of fierce satisfaction.
I push the water bottle into her hand and pound down the stairs. I’ve got my keys in my hand before I realize I’m not wearing a stitch of clothing.
Whoops.
I race back upstairs, grab the dirty clothing I have with me, shove my feet into my shoes, and then race back out to my truck. I know what Savannah needs, even if she doesn’t. She needs oysters, and liver, and chocolate. My ma lived on those when she was pregnant. Said it was a wolf thing. That wolf babies always needed a ton of iron and she had to stockpile.
I bet it’s the same for Savannah.
I slide into the truck cab and then put the keys in the ignition. I don’t start it just yet. Instead, my hands clench the wheel tightly as I try to work through the mixture of joy, pride, and frustration surging through me.
That baby in her belly - my baby - is a wolf. Does she know that, I wonder? She can’t shut me out forever. Only wolves know how to raise other wolves. Savannah can try to stick a wolf in with her kitten cousins, but pack is ingrained in our souls. He’ll come find us, no matter what.
I need to make Savannah understand that she’s mine, and so’s our child.
First, though, I need to feed my mate.
I drive at a breakneck pace to the closest grocery store, and buy every can of oysters they have on the shelf. Next, I clean out the candy bar aisle, and then swing back to the meats, looking for fresh liver. I toss in a few onions for cooking, some bottled water, and then head to the checkout.
The woman at the register blinks at my random foods, and then looks at me. “Pregnancy cravings?”
I nod, unable to stop the beaming smile from crossing my face. I’m taking care of my mate.
The woman smiles back. “Aren’t you a sweetheart. She’s a lucky woman.”
Someone should tell Savannah that.
I load the truck up, already feeling as if I’ve spent too much time away from Savannah. I tear back down the highway again, open the gate to my farm - our farm - and then roar down the gravel path. I screech to a halt in front of the house, grab my groceries, and race back inside, somehow worried that Savannah’s gotten it into her head to get up while I’ve been gone and fell down the stairs.
But the house is silent when I get inside, so I set everything on the counter except for a chocolate bar, a can of oysters, and a bottle of water. These, I take upstairs — food offering 2.0.
Savannah’s curled up in bed still, all belly and breasts, her hands curled around her stomach. She gives me a sleepy smile when I return to the room, and my wolf growls low inside me, full of yearning. How long has it been since she’s smiled at me?
“I’m fine, Connor,” she says as I return to the chair next to her. She yawns. “And I’m not really hungry anymore.”
“I want you to eat this anyhow,” I tell her, and peel open the pop top metal container of oysters.
She sits up, her nostrils flaring as the scent hits her. “What on earth is that?”
“Oysters,” I say, and offer her the container. “It’s a wolf thing.”
Her gaze flicks away from my face.
“It’s a wolf thing,” I repeat again in a low voice. “I don’t know if you’re carrying a wolf cub inside you. All I know is that when wolf females get pregnant, unless they eat a lot of this stuff, they tend to vomit a lot. They crave red meat. And they take a lot out of the mom.”
She blinks rapidly, and I watch as a tear spills down her cheek.
“Hey, hey,” I whisper, putting aside the oysters to cup her cheek. “You’re going to be okay. I’m here and I’m not leaving you.”
“Twins,” she says with a sniff.
“What?”
Her wet gaze finally meets mine. “I’m having twins. And I’m pretty sure they’re wolves.”
Chapter 12
&n
bsp; SAVANNAH
I snuggle further down into my pillows, not quite ready to wake up and face the day yet. If I do, I have to think about the whole Connor thing. And I’m not sure what to do about that yet.
There’s no denying that he’s excited about the babies. When I told him they were twins, I thought he’d fall out his chair in sheer joy. I’d loved seeing that. It’d made me feel…relieved? Better, knowing that he was excited to be a dad two times over.
The fierce, possessive pride in his gaze over them being wolves, though? I don’t know how to take that. I mean, I could be wrong and I might just have the world’s most ornery cougar twins in my stomach, and Connor will be disappointed. But I somehow doubt it. I don’t think Connor would be disappointed if I gave birth to twin girls with cat ears. He’d love the hell out of them. But…I’m still pretty sure they’re not cats. Labeling my children as ‘wolf’ has put to rest so many questions that I had.
Even stupider? Eating those oysters last night settled my stomach. He was right.
I guess I can’t hide from the day forever. I yawn and slowly open my eyes, the scent of wolf all around me. Early morning sunlight is peeking in through my blinds, sending dust motes dancing. Connor’s across from the bed, drowsing in a chair. One of my pregnancy magazines is spread across his chest.
He’s stark naked.
“Um, Connor?” I venture.
He snorts awake, then gives an oddly wolf-like little whuff as he sits up. “What? What is it?” One hand steals across his eyes and he rubs them.
“Why are you naked?”
He tosses the magazine aside and rubs a hand down bare, tanned chest. The grin on his face tells me he’s not sorry in the slightest for the morning wood he’s sporting. “I borrowed your washing machine and cleaned my clothes off. Didn’t bring a change with me.”
There’s a retort about wearing a towel on my lips, but it does a quick death. Instead, I ask him, “So you weren’t planning on staying?”
Connor gets to his feet. “Nah. Was just going to check on you. I’m glad I did, though.” The look he gives me is reproachful. “You stay there and I’ll get you some oysters to start the day.”
That should make my stomach turn. Instead, I settle back in the pillows with a yawn. “And some water, please.”
“Oysters and water, coming right up.” He jogs out of the room and I watch his tight ass flex as he heads down the hall, then thumps down the stairs. I mean, if he’s shoving it in my face, I might as well look, right?
I daydream in bed for a bit, and by the time Connor thumps back up the stairs with my breakfast, I’m a little disappointed to see that he’s put on his still-wet jeans. Oh well.
I sit up and he hurries over to fluff my pillows. “Let me help with that.”
“Thank you.” I adjust the covers over my big belly and he hands me the water and the oysters. For some reason, the scent of oysters makes my mouth water and I scarf them down quickly, then sip my water. This might be the first morning that I haven’t wanted to puke my brains out in a long time.
Go figure.
“How are you doing?” he asks, looking me over. “Do you want more oysters? Some toast? Coffee?”
I wave a hand at him. “I’m fine. Really.”
“You want a foot rub? I read in your magazine that women’s feet get swollen and it helps if they get rubbed.”
I start to protest…and then stop. If a handsome man — even one as irritating as Connor — is offering me a foot rub, who am I to turn it down? “I guess so.”
He grins at me like I just gave him a present, and sits on the edge of the bed. I try not to feel weird about things as he peels back the covers, takes one of my non-swollen feet in his hands, and begins to rub. And then I have to stifle my moan of pleasure, because god, that feels incredible. His fingers knead my foot, and I nearly come off the bed with how intense the sensations of pleasure shooting through me are. Nothing on earth should feel that good.
I…might have to request a foot rub on a regular basis.
“That feel okay?” he asks, massaging my sole.
‘Okay’ is an understatement. “Yeah,” I say, but it comes out breathy and sexy. Dammit. My nipples are starting to react, too. It’s just a stupid foot rub.
All right, it’s the best foot rub ever, but I still shouldn’t be acting like a horny teenager. I’m six months pregnant with twins. I’m not exactly at my hottest.
As if he can sense my train of thoughts, I watch his gaze flick down to my belly as he rubs my foot.
“What?”
“Can I…touch your stomach? See if they’re kicking?”
“They’re always kicking,” I grumble, and as if on cue, someone jabs me in my bladder. I wince and adjust my seat on the bed. “But okay, sure. Come on over.”
A masculine grin of delight crosses Connor’s face and that makes my hormones jump all over again. He puts my foot down and slides a bit closer on the bed.
As a pregnant lady, I’m used to having my stomach grabbed by everyone and their brother. It’s like wearing a sign that says “touch me”. But this feels way more intimate. Like it means something.
This is Connor, meeting his children for the first time.
My eyes get a little misty at the thought and I push the covers down, exposing my stomach. I’m still in my sundress from last night, but the material is thin and cool, and my stomach definitely protrudes.
Reverently, he places a hand on one side of my stomach. His fingers are light as they trace the swell of my belly, and then he lays his palm on the top of my stomach. Disappointment crosses his face. “I don’t feel anything.”
“Just give it a minute,” I tell him. “Someone’ll move. Just be patient.”
“I was never a very patient man,” Connor tells me. “Just ask my family about Christmas.”
I smile despite myself. “You’re a snooper?”
“I’m not a big fan of secrets, and Christmas felt like one big secret. I hated not knowing what was in the presents, so I’d steam the tape open, unwrap just enough to see what was inside, and then reseal it.”
I laugh. “You sound like a horrible child.”
“Child? I was talking about last year.” He gives me a wink.
Laughter peals out of me, and I’m unable to stop giggling. As if responding to my amusement, a foot kicks my belly sharply. I wince at the same time that Connor jerks his hand away.
His eyes are wide. “Holy fuck.”
“Felt that?”
“People two cities away felt that.” He gingerly puts his hand back on my belly, and one of the babies shifts, my belly feeling as if it’s turning over. “Holy…this is amazing, Savannah.”
I nod, a knot forming in my throat. “Yeah. It is.”
“Do they move a lot?”
“All the time,” I say, and the baby kicks in response.
There’s awe on his face as he puts both hands on my stomach, feeling the babies move. “Hi there,” he whispers. “I’m your daddy.”
Guilt twinges through me, that I’ve cut Connor out of my life for the past few weeks, determined to move forward alone. Like it or not, he’s part of these children, too. My own sense of hurt and betrayal wars with the wonder I see on his face as he talks to my stomach. He’s their father and he needs to be in their lives, especially if they’re going to be wolves.
Me shutting him out is just selfish. Even if we’re platonic, he needs to be involved with the kids.
I settle back in the pillows, content to let him press his ear to my stomach and listen to the babies. His hair is tousled, and my fingers itch to play with it, to smooth the errant cowlick sticking up on one side of his head.
“What names?” Connor murmurs, and his hand strokes my belly as if touching one of our children.
“Huh?” My skin prickles at his touch, distracting me. A simple stroke should not feel that good.
“What names did you pick out?
Oh. “I haven’t really thought about it yet. There�
��s been a lot going on.”
He sits up, looking concerned. “Other health issues?”
“No.”
He looks like he doesn’t believe me. I should point out to him that the only health issue left is if it’s safe to get into a shower after one of the Primordials. But we’re keeping things on the down-low with the Primordials, and I don’t want to tell Connor all about it because, well, I don’t trust Connor. He’s lied to me before.
“It’s nothing,” I say and keep my voice light.
“Why don’t I believe you?”
“Because you’re a dick?” And just like that, our little truce is gone. I’m getting cranky at the way he’s stepped in like he owns the damn place.
Then I remember he does own the place, and that makes me even crankier.
I glare as he sits up and reaches for one of my feet. When he takes it in his hand and starts to rub it, I want to melt into the mattress. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to soothe you. It’s clear you’re being hormonal and not thinking straight.”
Oooh, that jerk. I resist the urge to kick him and wrestle my foot out of his hands. “I need to get going.”
“Why? Where are you going?” Connor’s eyes narrow at me. “You don’t work until the night shift. Which is also something we should talk about. I don’t think you need to be on the night shift up there. You’d be better off during the day shift. More people around. Plus I can pick you up after work.”
I get to my feet and rub the small of my back. “Well, that sounds like incentive for me to never change my shift. No one said you had to insert yourself into my life, Connor. I’m doing just fine without you.”
“Clearly,” he says, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “That’s why you moved into my house and then fainted in the bathroom.”
I flush at the reminder and walk (okay, waddle) over to the closet to get fresh clothes. I don’t work until late, he’s right about that. But I have Primordials to pick up and educate. Today we’re supposed to be going to Wal-Mart to test out how they do in public. If they don’t behave…well, it’s Wal-Mart. “I’m doing just fine, thank you.”
