Chapter Fifty-Three

Baxter

It's just as well Marcus has been training Red up in the kitchen these last few months—god knows he's been too busy to cook since labor-day preparations have begun in earnest.

The only respite any of us have is when he goes to work, which, admittedly, is less and less. I make a point to check in with him about his dwindling hours—I know for a fact his paternity leave doesn't start for at least another month—but he assures me he's been very careful. All those long shifts have been his way of accumulating time, preparing for this final stretch.

I have to say, I'm impressed with Marcus.

And, for the first time ever, a little intimidated.

I'm sitting at my desktop, scrolling through the private birthing suites at St Mercy's, when there's a knock at the door.

"Yeah," I call.

Red lets himself in, his expression dark. "Marcus—he's calling for you."

I stand. "What happened?"

"He's a bully is what happened."

At that I stop. "Marcus. A bully."

"Jerk won't even let me sit in on Eve's top-secret ‘ llamas ' classes."

"Lamaze," I correct him, then realize. "He wants me there instead?"

Red huffs. "They're upstairs. In the nest."

That's all I need to hear. Red gives me a sour look I choose to ignore as I brush by him.

Though Eve tried to convince us it was premature—she's not even having false contractions yet—this is the third ‘llamas' session Marcus has insisted on thus far. It's all about building up good habits, he explained, so the tools come naturally when needed.

I find them exactly where Red said, sitting cross-legged across from each other on the bed. Eve shifts, her pup bump protruding over her ankles.

"Baxter," she says, sounding relieved.

"Hey, omega." I let myself in. "How's that breathing coming along?"

"She's a little stiff," Marcus informs me.

I rub between her shoulder blades. "I'm guessing Red wasn't helping."

"He's … sweet," Eve says diplomatically.

"But he asks a lot of questions," Marcus says, "which makes it hard to focus."

I give Marcus a look. "You don't think I'll ask questions?"

"No-one asks that many questions."

Eve nudges him, but I see her smiling too.

"Besides," Marcus goes on. "You're our head alpha—the pack rock, for all intents and purposes. It makes sense that you should be here."

A bolt of fear betrays Eve's composure. "Are you saying—is it—are only you and Baxter going to be with me when—?"

"Of course not," I assure her. "The pup's birth is a pack effort." I squeeze her shoulder apologetically. "As much as it can be."

"Don't worry," Marcus adds, "I'll make sure the others know this stuff, too. But it doesn't hurt to create our foundation with Baxter. See what works for you, what doesn't work, and how things might play out."

She seems to relax at this, if only a little. I try to study her features, to pick apart what's going on behind those pretty lilac eyes, but she steadies herself before I get the chance.

"Alright." I sit on the edge the mattress. "Tell me what you need me to do."

Marcus puts a hand right beneath his sternum and explains, "We're practicing our diaphragm breathing right now, getting air all the way down to her stomach." He smiles. "To the pup."

He asks Eve to model it for me. I put my hand right at the top of her bump, as close to her chest as I can, trying to feel the breath for myself.

"Baxter—" she splutters.

"Shh." I press down a little harder. "Just breathe, little one, like Marcus showed you."

Finally, she falls into a deep and steady rhythm. I squeeze her hand, murmuring praises the whole way through.

Marcus runs us through a couple other exercises specific to pain management. I get the sense it's more for my benefit than it is Eve's. She well and truly knows the drill by now.

Marcus says, "Bax, think you can help her onto her hands and knees? I want to try something."

Eve looks at him dubiously. "Right now, alpha?"

I smirk. Marcus blushes.

"It's an, uh, a labor position," he explains, clearing this throat.

"If you say so." She kisses him on the cheek as I help her adjust, leaning onto all fours. I almost can't contain myself at the sight—her ripe, milky thighs exposed, her perky ass poking out against her dress. Thankfully Marcus is the one to pull her hair over one shoulder—I'm not sure I'd be able to stop myself from mounting her right here and now.

Only when I put my hand on the small of Eve's back, registering her knotted muscles, does the arousal fade. "Eve? What's wrong—not comfortable?"

She stiffens more. "Um … I don't know."

"That's okay," Marcus says enthusiastically. "That's good. We can rule this position out."

"No," she says quickly. "Don't. I mean—would it help?"

I frown. "Help what, little one?"

"The pup."

"Oh." Marcus looks at his notes. "This one's actually more about the mother—some women think it takes pressure off their back."

Eve grunts. "Okay … I am not one of them."

Enough said .

Next, we try her kneeling upright. Too much pressure on her knees. Leaning against the wall. Too lightheaded. Sitting with her back to my chest. A little better, but still, she can't quite relax. I start to worry that, at this later stage of pregnancy, there's no such thing as a comfortable position.

"I'm sorry," Eve says, somewhat out of breath. "This one is fine. Seriously."

"No it's not," I rumble, "you're still tense."

She gives me a sheepish look. "I think that's just a character flaw, alpha."

Growling, I nuzzle her face against mine. "You have no flaws."

"She's right," Marcus cuts in. At my sharp glare, he clarifies, "I mean, think the issue might be psychological—something that's holding you back, not letting you relax."

Psychological, huh ? I run through a quick list of all the things that tend to stress Eve out. Her family scars are, remarkably, healing, what with her new relationship with her sisters. Her identity crisis around being a runt is also improving as the pup grows. Maybe it's something much simpler than all that. Something right under my nose.

"Eve," I ask cautiously, "are you embarrassed?"

She freezes. "What?"

"There's nothing to be ashamed of," Marcus picks up on it, too. "Everything we're working on right now is to make things easier for you during labor. We're never going to judge you for that, no matter how you look, or think you look, trying out all these positions."

She shakes her head. "I know that."

Marcus and I share a frown. "Okay," I say at last, "then why are you still embarrassed?"

"Because it's not you that I'm worried about."

Marcus's brow pinches with thought. "What do you mean, princess?"

Eve rests her head back on my shoulder. Her eyes catch mine, and finally, I understand.

"It's the hospital," I say, "isn't it?"

Marcus snaps up to me. "The hospital?"

"All the nurses and doctors—everyone who's not us." I brush Eve's hair back. "You don't want them to see you like this."

It seems, if anything, my explanation is making Marcus more bewildered. "What? Why? We see deliveries every other day."

I frown at him. "Other packs let you in the room when their omega's in labor?"

"Well, no. They tend not to like having another alpha in the room, besides the doctor …" He returns to Eve. "But it's all normal, princess. So normal. No-one's going to judge you for a second."

Eve doesn't return his earnest look. I rest my palm on her stomach, rubbing the bump up and down.

"This moment we're preparing for," I tell her gently, "it's all about you. Your preferences. Your needs. Every single person in that delivery room is there to meet those needs. What we think doesn't matter."

"That's not true," Eve whispers. "The pup—"

"The pup," I say firmly, "is a part of you. As long as you're happy, and comfortable, they'll be safe." I hold her closer like it'll make the message sink in. "I trust your instincts, omega."

We both glance up at Marcus for confirmation, who nods warmly.

Still, I'm not sure how much Eve takes on board, as she shifts ever-so-slightly in my arms.

"Talk to me, little one," I murmur. "Still not convinced?"

She hesitates. "I just wonder … I mean, if this is about what feels right f–for me , then I … I …"

Both Marcus and I remain silent. Waiting.

Eve takes a deep breath.

"Then I want to have the pup here. In the den."