Chapter 105
Vouchers
“I can’t–I don’t-” I’m on my feet, pacing the small examination room like a caged animal. “I can’t do this, I can’t fucking do
this
The doctor remains calm, which is infuriating because I’m pretty sure I’m about to have a complete mental breakdown and she’s sitting there like we’re discussing the weather.
“Ms. Clarke, I need you to take a breath-
“A breath? You want me to take a breath?” I whirl on her. “You jus told me I’m pregnant with a baby that’s apparently fucking abnormal, and you want me to breathe?”
“I understand this is overwhelming-”
“Overwhelming doesn’t even begin to cover it!”
She stands, moving toward me with her hands out approaching a spooked horse. “Is there someone I can call? Someone who can be here with you? The father, perhaps?”
I freeze.
The father.
Alaric.
For one insane second, I imagine calling him. Imagine hearing his voice on the other end of the line. Imagine telling him that surprise! I’m not actually dead, I’m just hiding in New York and oh, by the way, I’m pregnant with your apparently abnormal child.
Would he want to know?
The question hits me.
Of course he would. He’d probably tear down half of New York to get to me. Would demand I come back immediately. Would wrap me in cotton wool and never let me out of his sight again.
And I’d resent him for the rest of my life.
I’d look at him every day and see my father’s killer, and that resentment would poison everything—our relationship, our child, whatever future we might have had.
“No,” I say finally, my voice hollow. “There’s no one to call.”
The doctor studies me for a long moment, and I wonder how much she’s piecing together. How much she can read in the panic written all over my face.
“Alright,” she says quietly. “But before you leave, there’s something else we need to discuss about the
Oh good. More bad news. Just what I needed.
“What now?”
pregnancy.”
She pulls up what I assume is my ultrasound on her computer screen. “The baby is growing at an accelerated rate. Now, werewolf pregnancies are typically shorter than human pregnancies–about five months from conception to birth—but this…” She points to something on the screen that looks like a blob to me. “This baby is developing even faster. Based on current growth patterns, I’d estimate you’ll deliver in three and a half to four months. Possibly less.”
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I stare at her is that bad? Is something wrong?
* 72%
6 yoschers
“Not necessarily wrong, just highly unusual. I’ve worked with werewolf pregnancies for fifteen years, and I’ve never seen development this rapid.” She turns to face me fully. “I’m going to refer you to a colleague of mine–Dr. Nathaniel Hayes. He specializes in complicated supernatural pregnancies. I want you to see him regularly, and if you experience any discomfort. any pain, anything at all that feels off, you call him immediately Understood?”
I nod numbly, because what else can I do?
She prints out a list—things to do, things to avoid, warning signs to watch for–and I take it with hands that won’t stop shaking
“Ms. Clarke,” she says as I’m about to leave. “You’re not alone in his. Whatever you decide, whatever you need–there are resources. People who can help.”
I want to laugh.
Because I am alone in this. Completely, utterly alone.
But instead I just nod again and walk out of the clinic into the chaos of Fifth Avenue.
I make it approximately three blocks before the tears start.
I keep walking, because stopping means collapsing, and I can’t collapse in the middle of a New York sidewalk surrounded by strangers who couldn’t care less about breakdown.
my
So I walk.
And walk.
And somehow end up back at Tessa’s apartment with no memory of how I got there.
The door closes behind me, and that’s when I lose it.
I slide down the door, pulling my knees to my chest, and sob like the world is ending.
Because maybe it is.
Maybe this is the end of everything I thought I could be–free, independent, unburdened by the past.
How the fuck am I supposed to raise a baby on my own?
I reach inward, desperate for my wolf’s presence, desperate for something to tell me this will be okay. Eris whimpers. Soft. Confused. Offering what little comfort she can, but she doesn’t have answers either.
I look toward the balcony where moonlight streams through the window, and I whisper into the silence.
“Mom.” The word cracks. “Mother. Goddess. Whoever you are–if you’re listening–I need help. Please. I don’t know what to do.”
Nothing.
No divine intervention. No whispered wisdom. No sign that anyone up there gives a shit about the mess I’ve made of my
life.
Just silence.
I press my hands to my still–flat stomach, and the reality crashes over me in waves.
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There’s a baby in there.
Alarie’s baby.
A baby that’s growing too fast, developing too quickly, probably arrying all his impossible strength and power and dominance.
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I could go back. Could swallow my pride, my grief, iny rage, and return to the Imperial Pack. Tell him I’m alive. Tell him about the baby.
And then what?
Live with him? Love him? Pretend I don’t know what he did?
The resentment would eat me alive.
I’d look at our child and see a chain binding me to my father’s killer. Would watch our baby grow up under the shadow of violence and war and all the things that made Alaric the Alpha King in the first place.
I could…
The thought forms slowly, horribly.
I could get rid of it.
Abortion is an option. A choice. My body, my decision.
I could end this before it begins. Could sever the last tie binding me to Alaric and start over for real this time.
My phone is in my hand before I consciously decide to reach for it.
I pull up Tessa’s contact, finger hovering over the call button.
Do it. Call her. Tell her you need help. Tell her you need-
The door opens.
Tessa walks in, still in her work clothes, and takes one look at my face before crossing the room and pulling me into her
arms.
“I can’t do this,” I sob into her shoulder. “Tessa, I can’t—”
“You’re pregnant,” she says quietly. Not a question.
I nod, unable to speak.
“Okay.” Her arms tighten around me. “Okay, we’ll figure this out
“How? How the fuck am I supposed to figure this out?” I pull back to look at her. “I’m hiding from the most powerful werewolf in North America, I have no job, no money, no plan, and now I’m pregnant with a baby that’s apparently growing at superhuman speed!”
“So we make a plan.” Tessa’s voice is steady, grounding. “Step by step. One day at a time.”
“I thought about—” The words stick in my throat. “I thought maybe I could… not keep it.”
Tessa doesn’t flinch. “Is that what you want?”
Is it?
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Chapter 103
I look over her shoulder at the canvases propped against the wall the paintings the galleries rejected, the art that’s supposed to save me, supposed to prove I can build a life worth ving
I don’t know what I want,” I whisper. “I just know I’m terrified.
That’s fair Tessa brushes hair out of my face. “You’re allowed to be terrified. But Sorin–you’re also allowed to choose. Whatever you decide. I’m here. I’ll support you. Always.”
And somehow, in the midst of the panic and fear and overwhelming grief, I feel something shift.
Not hope, exactly.
But maybe… possibility.
“What if I tried?” The words come out small, uncertain. “What if kept it? Raised it?”
“Then we’d figure it out together,” Tessa says simply. “You, me, and whatever crazy supernatural baby you’re growing.”
I laugh despite myself, the sound watery and broken. “It’s gonna look like him. I can feel it. It’s gonna have his eyes, his strength, his everything.”
“So we’ll love it anyway.” Tessa pulls me close again. “And we’ll make it work.”
I cry into her shoulder for what feels like hours, and when I finally pull away, my eyes are swollen and my throat is raw, but
my chest. something has settled in
A decision.
A terrifying, impossible, utterly insane decision.
I’m going to keep this baby.
And I’m going to find a way to make this life