Chapter Eleven

Eve

That healthy, frantic heartbeat. The tiny, curled-up life.

I gulp back tears. "They look good. A–are they good?"

Doctor Perez smiles, nodding at the screen. "Your NT-NB scans are clear. No chromosomal abnormalities. Organs developing beautifully. Everything is exactly where it should be."

I'm only half-aware of some of the words he just used, but judging by Marcus's big sigh of relief, I relax.

"See, princess?" Marcus points, indicating grainy, pulsing shapes. "Those are little fingers."

I gape. "Already?"

"Yup."

"That's so damn cute," Red grits out, clenching his jaw like he's trying not to cry. Riley pats him on the back.

The doctor says, "All in all, your pup is looking just how I'd want them to look at this stage. Better yet—" he clasps his hands together, "—we're past the proverbial ‘safe point'. Normally, this is when I'd advise you to start sharing the news with your family and friends, but in this case, I imagine most of them already know."

My alphas tense. Not hard to guess why. I didn't exactly heed the ‘safe point' rule before blurting out the good news to an entire courtroom—friends and family included.

My heart gives a little tug, reminding me of the Carsons who weren't present at the tribunal—my mother, and my sisters. A part of me regrets that they didn't get to hear it from me, assuming someone has told them at all.

Baxter goes on, "While we're on the topic of safety, I wanted to get your opinion on something."

Doctor Perez cocks his head. "Shoot."

"Given Eve's medical history—" Baxter's jaw flexes, "should we be taking extra precautions?"

The doctor seems to hesitate for the first time. "Well, some extra precautions may be wise."

Thorn snarls. "And you'd didn't think to mention that sooner?"

"Truthfully," he tells us, "you've already been very cautious, and your pup is making good progress, so, no, I saw no need to mention it." His gaze falls to mine, sympathetic. "No use in worrying more than you need to."

"Let's say we worry anyway," Baxter returns. "What should we keep in mind?"

Marcus kneels down beside me, taking my hand in his.

"Considering Eve's existing health conditions," Doctor Perez says measuredly, "she is at a greater risk of complications than most mothers."

"Complications," Red bites out.

"Pre-eclampsia, pre-term labour, miscarriage. Again—" he catches my horrified look, "you and the pup are doing great. I have nothing but glowing reports for the court. There's nothing on this scan that indicates trouble."

"But there could be," I whisper, "later?" What happened to the ‘safe point'?

He sighs. "Yes. It's a possibility."

"Because I'm a runt." My voice cracks.

"Alright." Baxter squeezes my shoulder, pumping out soothing pheromones. "You're alright."

It's not me I care about. It's my pup, and all the ways my stupid, useless body could fail them.

"I've been suggesting more time in the nest," Marcus pipes up. "And less, uh—" he blushes, "physical activity."

Red grunts. So that's what they were talking about, I realize, thinking back to a couple weeks ago when we cuddle-fucked in the nest. Since then, I've gotten the occasional knot from Baxter or Thorn to help me fall asleep, but definitely nothing of the hot-and-sweaty variety.

"Both prudent measures," the doctor agrees. "So long as Eve is still getting fresh air and being scented regularly."

"Obviously," Red snaps. If I weren't so anxious, I'd probably laugh—he rarely lets me go an hour without being re-scented.

"It'll also be important to stay on top of your medication and supplements. All these things give your body the best chance at a safe pregnancy and full-term delivery."

My eyes flash to the screen, blinking furiously past my tears to make sure the pup is still there, pulsing and growing, inside of me. Every instinct I have screams at me to protect them. Keep them safe and warm and loved. But how can my pup be any of those things inside a body as inept as mine?

I'm the one who's supposed to nourish this new life for our pack. If I can't even do that, how can I call myself a mother?

Shame slams into me, making me tear my gaze from the screen.

Baxter's hand on my shoulder brings me out of it. I nuzzle my face against him, breathing in his scent.

"Eve," he says, quietly. "You feeling sick?"

I start to shake my head when my stomach lurches, as if in response.

"Here we go," Doctor Perez hands me what looks like a plastic bag. I retch, and at once, there are gentle hands pulling my hair back. My alphas' scents waft out, settling me. It's over quickly, but that nauseated feeling remains.

"I'm sorry," I say, squeezing the bag closed. "R–really sorry about that."

The doctor waves his hand. "You're three months pregnant, sweetheart. Comes with the territory."

The air turns bloodthirsty, my alphas growling. The doctor blinks, then smiles apologetically.

"Sorry. Eve ."

I almost want to give my alphas a look—remind them that not only is this alpha thirty years my senior, but also visibly bond-marked—but I doubt it would do me much good. They're in full protective mode right now.

So when I ask to go back to loft to nest the day away—and maybe the next day, and the day after that—I know they won't refuse me.