Chapter Sixty

Baxter

Night-time comes back around, but with it, not much sleep.

Eve turns onto her side, then onto her back again. I can tell the pup bump is bothering her, restricting her movement, but she does her best not to disturb anyone.

"Eve," I murmur, gently resting a hand on her stomach. "Is it happening again?"

Her pheromones thicken with shame. "Did I wake you?"

"No, little one." Like I could sleep, knowing she can't. "The pup giving you some trouble?"

"They're okay."

"And you?"

She offers me a taut smile. "A little achy."

I move my hand to her forehead. She feels warm, but no worse than before. "How about a walk? Get you some fresh air?"

I expect her to leap at the opportunity—she's been confined to the nest all day—but instead she bites the inside of her lip. "I dunno."

Her soft, milky skin has a hardness to it that indicates she's holding back. Bottling something up—whether it's pain, or sickness, or anxiety, I'm not sure, but it's definitely becoming an issue.

"Hey." I prop myself against my elbow, not caring if I wake my packmates. "If something doesn't feel right …"

Eve swallows. It's so dark I almost don't realize she's fighting back tears.

My inner alpha springs to attention. I start to pull her towards me, flooding the nest with soothing pheromones, when Eve whimpers and resists.

That single whimper stops my heart cold.

Thorn sits up, his eyes sucking in the dark. "She's shaking."

One by one, our urgency rouses my packmates. Riley and Marcus jostle awake, Red a few sharp breaths behind. Eve's eyes are all I can see—a pale, quivering glow.

Her breathing is short. "Feels weird," she gets out.

I snap at Riley to grab the inhaler. Marcus has already swapped places with Thorn, purring softly as he feels Eve's stomach, searching for her pain. I coax her to accept the nozzle of her inhaler, but she barely gets one puff in before squirming away.

"Okay, it's okay," Marcus says. "Your stomach just feels a little tight, princess."

"Is it the pup?" Red demands. "Sometimes when they've been kicking a bunch, she gets all tense."

Eve nods. "Kicking … a lot."

We all seem to share some relief in this. Kicking is good—means they're active, healthy, growing. Is that all this is?

Then Marcus says, "Thorn, can you draw the bath?"

Thorn stands. "Hot or cold?"

"Tepid."

He disappears into the ensuite. The sound of running water filters out through the door.

I go to draw Eve into me, my inner alpha twitching at her every whimper, but again, she resists.

"It's okay," Marcus says, probably to both of us this time. "Eve, let's get you in the bath. Take some of the weight off your joints."

"I can't—nothing is comfortable. I—I—"

"We'll fix it," Red cuts in defiantly. "You'll be riding high in that tub. I promise, baby girl."

Tearily, she accepts, offering mine and Marcus's hands to sit up. We get her to the edge of the mattress before she groans, pressing her head into my shoulder.

I shoot Marcus a look as I stroke her hair. What the fuck is going on? Is Eve just at her wit's end? No-one could blame her—eight months pregnant, feverish all day, up half the night, constantly aching in one way or another. But even at her most hormonal, Eve isn't the type to fuss over pain. She's too familiar with it.

No. This feels more like the work of her omega, telling us something is wrong.

Marcus must realize it, too, returning my look with a firm knowingness.

"There you go." He rubs the small of her back. "In and out, princess."

Behind me, I don't think Red and Riley know what to say. The only way to knock them out of their panicked stupor is to give them orders, so that's exactly what I do—murmuring for Red to grab Eve's meds, and for Riley to call the midwives.

If something is wrong, I want them both on standby.

"That's it, nice and steady," I coax Eve into the bath. The water is still running, neither hot nor cold, and she sinks right in, desperately seeking relief. I crouch down by the side of the basin, refusing to let go of her hand.

Marcus tests the water. "Good. Feeling a little lighter?"

"Yeah," Eve says hoarsely.

"Red's getting you some more Tylenol for that fever. But if there's something else bothering you, it's important you let me know."

The water keeps running, filling the silence as Eve thinks. She shifts her weight back so only her stomach pokes above the surface. She seems a little calmer already. Thank god.

"Meds," Red bursts into the ensuite with about seven different pills and vitamins, not to mention three different drinks. "I—wasn't actually sure which ones."

Riley clambers in after him, phone pressed to her shoulder. "I called." She looks at me. "They've asked to speak with you."

"Give them Marcus," I order.

She passes him the phone and he stands to answer, drifting out of the room. Riley takes his place, crouching down next to me and putting a hand over Eve's protruding bump.

"We're here, pretty girl," she says, "everyone's here."

Eve does some deep breathing, if not a little shaky, clearly forcing herself to recall everything Marcus taught her. My adrenaline spikes as I realize these are techniques he also taught me—Lamaze techniques—which means … what? She's going into labor? Why else would the training be kicking in?

Take it easy, Baxter. I can't lose my head right now. Especially not over something as innocent as breathing .

Marcus darts back in, covering the phone's receiver. "Eve, I know it's hard, and you're probably a little scared, but I need you to describe the pain. Where is it?"

"Why?" Red demands. "What'd the midwives say?" A low growl from Thorn quiets him.

Eve considers, her face pale. "I think my back is the worst. But my stomach is also really tight."

Marcus nods. "Okay, that could be the false contractions. Do they feel any different?"

"Not … physically? I'm sorry. It's weird."

"Shh, shh," I sooth her before she can start crying. "You're doing great, little one. Take some more deep breaths."

Marcus mutters something into the phone, relaying what we know so far. Then, to Eve, "Is it something your omega is telling you? Something she's unhappy about?"

Eve sinks deeper into the water, but before she can answer, her breath catches, and she suddenly grips my hand.

"Another one?" Thorn asks.

She nods. "Hurts."

"Fuck," Red mutters, running his hand through his hair.

"Where, Eve?" Marcus crouches down. "Show me where."

Shakily, she gestures low down on her stomach. The skin looks hard and swollen, and a little bit discolored by stretched veins and hardworking blood.

"Like before?" Marcus presses. "Tightening, crampy feeling?"

"Mmhm. And my omega, she's—like you said."

I frown. "She's worried?"

"She's some thing." Eve winces. "I feel like she's screaming at me but won't use her words."

Marcus keeps speaking lowly into the phone. Thankfully I don't think Eve can hear a single word, if she's even aware of the phone at all. He suddenly gestures for me to follow him outside. I look up at Thorn, who takes my spot holding Eve's hand without hesitation. She's too out of it to ask or argue.

Marcus leads me to the nesting room, just out of Eve's earshot. "Midwives are on their way," he announces.

My blood turns cold. "They think something is wrong?"

"It's possible the fever triggered preterm labor. But they can't confirm until they're here, so I thought it was best to invite them."

I clear my throat, regaining composure. "You made the right call. What did they suggest we do in the meantime?"

"Keep her hydrated. Cool. Honestly, anything that helps calm her omega. It'll be a huge barrier to us if she's stressed."

I think back on Eve's words— like she's screaming at me but won't use her words —and resist a shudder. "I think it's safe to say she's pretty damn stressed right now."

"Her omega could be trying to tell us that something is happening."

Something is happening. Fever. Contractions. Preterm labor. Fuck, if this is the real deal—

A loud whimper from the ensuite snaps me out of it. Marcus and I race back in to find Eve pressing her face into the side of the tub, Riley stroking her hair, while she squeezes Thorn's hand. Her features contort in pain, her breathing taut and measured.

"Good girl," Thorn rumbles. "There you go."

"Bax," Red blurts, finally stopping his pacing. "What the hell's going on? Can I time this? She said not to, but I—"

"Time it," I confirm. All eyes but Eve's snap up to me, my packmates instantly registering the gravity of my command.

"Baxter," Riley breathes. "Is this …?"

"Just time it," I bark.

From that point on, no-one hesitates.

And no-one questions their head alpha.