Chapter Fifty-Five

Marcus

My eyes have all but dried out.

It's been years since I spent this much time staring at the computer screen. Even back when I was a student, I preferred to alternate between my laptop and notebook, but I need to make sure these notes are legible. They're not just for me anymore.

I click on the next link.

If your pup is breach.

It takes me getting halfway down the webpage before I realize I've read this one before. I even copied the diagrams over to my Word document.

I huff, pinching the bridge of my nose. What time is it, anyway ?

Feeling a headache forming, I check the time in the top left corner. 1.13 am. Ouch . Eve is going to be very unhappy if she wakes up and sees I'm still gone.

But we're rocketing through month seven, and I've done barely half the research I need to do. Sure, the nursing is a helpful background, but it doesn't automatically make me a gynecology expert.

I soften, recalling Eve's response when I told her the same thing.

"Could've fooled me, alpha ."

Distracted. I am getting … distracted.

It turns out not even getting horny at my desk is enough to keep me awake, as my head lolls, and before I know it I'm slouched in my chair, drifting into a blue-lit slumber.

***

"Christ, Marc."

I startle awake, my back spasming.

Red looms over me. "Eve is gonna kill you."

Groaning, I sit up, stretching my locked joints. "Somehow I doubt that."

"Find him?" Riley asks, walking into the office. She stops when she sees me. "Christ, Marc."

If I weren't so groggy I'd probably laugh. Christ, Marc, indeed.

"Were you up studying all night?" Riley demands.

Before I can answer, yet another packmate joins us—Thorn slinking in through the door. He seems unfazed, save for the curious flicker in his gaze.

"Oh, good." I sigh. "You're all here."

"Yeah." Red snorts. "Eve sent out the cavalry. She wanted to come down with us, of course, but Baxter wouldn't let her go without putting some clothes on."

I raise my eyebrows.

Red grins. "Poor thing missed you last night. Thought it was only right we keep her distracted."

"You're welcome," Thorn voices, in true monotone charm.

"Eternally grateful," I mutter. My spine gives a series of satisfying cracks as I stand. Note to self: no more falling asleep at your desk.

Riley grimaces. "You okay?"

I stifle a yawn. "Yeah. Just busy."

"You do know Baxter's already hired, like, three midwives, right?" Red says. "You won't be the only person at the den who knows how to deliver a pup."

"Two midwives," Thorn corrects him.

How could I forget? Baxter's been almost as busy as me, making arrangements for our impromptu den birth. Okay, maybe ‘impromptu' is unfair—Eve did give us two months' notice—but every day is a reminder of time running out, and all the things still left to do.

Part of Baxter's planning has been finding prospective midwives. He invited a couple of them to interview at the den earlier this week—both betas.

"Eve seemed to trust them," Riley says, then quickly adds, "Not as much as she trusts you, but they'll be handy to have around."

She's right, and I know she's just trying to help, but my inner alpha is having none of it. Eve looked me and Baxter in the eyes and told us she wanted a pack birth. Family only. If we're committing to the birth she wants, then I have to prepare for the birth she wants.

"We gotta get you out of the den, man," Red's voice snaps me out of it. He clasps my shoulder. "You're looking a little pale."

I start to refuse— Can't, too much to do —when I remember. There is actually something I need to do.

"Alright," I say, surprising everyone. "After breakfast?"

My packmates look between each other. Riley nods. "Sure."

***

They are suddenly a lot less convinced when I tell them where I'm going.

"Seriously?" Red scowls. "Almo's Depot?"

I shrug, sticking a bowl in the dishwasher. "I need to pick up a few things."

"What kind of things?" Thorn asks, passing me the next dish.

"Uh … a yoga ball, for starters. Maybe an inflatable pool. Which, actually, reminds me—water-proof speaker."

"You can't get those things online?" Riley asks.

I give her a look. "Aren't you the ones who said I should leave the den?"

Perched on the barstool, Eve glares accusingly between Red and Riley. "You said what ?"

"Not in a mean way, princess," I assure her. "Just that I'm getting a little stiff, hunched at my desk all day."

"And all night," Red coughs loudly into his hand.

Eve takes a moment, processing this. "Okay," she says firmly. Before I can ask what she's okay'ing, exactly, she shimmies off the barstool, her feet searching for solid ground. Thankfully Thorn swoops in to steady her.

He growls. "That's it. No more barstools."

"Why not?"

"It's too tall. And your center of gravity is …" he considers his next words carefully. "Off."

"Is that Thorn-speak for ‘you're getting fat'?"

He growls louder, but it's clear from Eve's devious little smile that she's just teasing. We all breathe a sigh of relief, until I realize that Eve is now moving purposefully across the room.

Thorn calls out, "You're not going, omega."

She freezes. "W–what?"

"Almo's is big," he says, sidling up to her, "and crowded, and stressful. You're not going ."

Our omega is sometimes too brave for her own good. I can tell by that hot flicker in her eye that she has every intention challenging him, and I'm honestly not sure how Thorn will react—it's not easy to toss a heavily pregnant omega over your shoulder.

Eve's hands go to her stomach, like she's just come to the same realization. "O … kay," she relents. "But if I can't go, could you?"

Thorn bristles. "I don't need anything from Almo's."

"I know. But …" she casts her gaze back to me, giving me instant butterflies. "I'd feel better if you were with him."

A proper alpha might be offended by that, but if anything, her words just make me melt. I can tell by the inch lost in Thorn's shoulders that he feels it, too.

He purrs so softly I can barely hear it, tucking Eve's hair back. Their faces inch closer together, about a breath's distance from a kiss, when Thorn sighs.

"Marc," he calls. "Get your stuff."

Message received: Let's get this over with.