Chapter Sixty-One

Thorn

She's not listening to me.

It's not the first time, and I'm sure it won't be the last, but when I tell my pregnant, feverish omega to lie down , I expect her to comply.

Instead, she grips the hallway banister, hanging her head, as she sways on the spot. "You're hovering," she grits out.

"You're dizzy," I return.

She cuts me a glare. "I'm swaying on purpose."

That's not what I'm talking about , I want to bite back, but stop myself. I want Eve on my side as much as I want to be on hers. The only way that's going to happen is if I show her I trust her—and trust her omega.

"Mm," she grimaces, squeezing the banister.

Red doesn't even have to ask. He starts the timer without so much as a confirmatory look from Baxter.

Automatically, my hand travels down to Eve's lower back, anchoring her, as she pants and sways more erratically. By my count, this contraction makes a grand total of five—two in the bath, two in the nest, and now one out here in the hall. It's barely been an hour since we started keeping track.

They shouldn't be this regular. Not when she's feverish. Not when she's only eight months' pregnant.

I sneak a look at Marcus. By the time the midwives finally get here, god knows how much she'll have progressed.

He has to do something. Has to stop this.

"Good job, beautiful," Riley hums, closing in on Eve's other side. "Just ride it out."

The pain reaches its usual peak. Normally Eve shuts down at this point, clenching up so hard she completely silences herself, so I'm surprised to hear the choked gasp that escapes her instead.

"Easy," I purr, "just keep breathing."

She squeezes her eyes shut. Those trained, measured breaths carry her the rest of the way through as the pain finally ebbs away.

"That sucked," she sighs, leaning against me.

"They're getting worse," Baxter notes. He eyes Red's phone. "And closer together."

Despite the fact we're closing in on two a.m., my packmates look more alert than I can ever recall seeing them. Even the least educated among us realizes what Baxter is saying. Anticipation hangs over the den like storm clouds about to break, the air taut with electricity.

"Where are the midwives?" Baxter demands. "Marcus—call them."

To my astonishment, Marcus shakes his head. "There's no need."

Baxter's lip curls. "It wasn't a request."

"They're only going to tell us what we already know." Marcus's gaze is trained on Eve. "It's starting."

He's right—I already suspected as much—and yet the words sink in my stomach. I don't stop stroking Eve's back, concerned she'll panic, but if anything, she seems to relax, like this is exactly what she's been waiting to hear. Finally, someone to confirm what her inner omega was trying to tell us.

"But it's too soon," Red blurts out.

"Her fever," Riley adds, "are you sure it's even safe to—?"

"The pup has made up their mind," Marcus says. "We have to support them, and Eve." He smiles. "That's all there is to it.

That smile is reassuring enough to make Red and Riley stand down. Only Baxter and I remain on edge, not missing the sharp glint in Marcus's eye. His medical training is probably the only thing holding him together right now. Without it, he'd be as much a wreck as the rest of us.

I guide Eve back towards the nest, relieved by her lack of resistance. She moves with delicate caution, as if one wrong step might set off the next contraction.

"Marcus," Baxter growls. The two of them hang back, speaking quietly enough that Eve, Red, and Riley can't hear. I tune my senses.

" —might be safer ," Baxter mutters.

I note the calculated tension in Marcus's response: " Going to the hospital now will only stress her out. Might even increase her fever ."

" The pup is premature, Marcus. Are we really equipped for that ?"

Marcus hesitates, then answers, " Yes. Or we will be, once the midwives get here. "

"Thorn?"

My attention snaps back to Eve, perched on the edge of the nest. "Omega." I try to lie her down. "You should try to rest."

"Everyone seems worried," she says. "Should I be worried?"

"No," Riley cuts in defiantly. "You're in good hands."

But Eve's eyes don't leave mine, like out of everyone, she trusts me to give her a straight answer.

So I tell her, "We're just caught off guard." I stroke her cheek. "We'll get over it."

Eve laughs under her breath. "I guess the pup wants to keep you on your toes."

"How are you so calm?" Red demands. I shoot him a dark glare which he probably doesn't notice, on account of being elbowed by Riley, but once again, Eve is surprisingly unfazed. She smiles.

"Marcus and Baxter have been teaching me to trust my instincts. Trust our pup." She rubs her stomach. "If they're ready to come, then … I'm ready to meet them."

Like a dense, swirling mist, all the panic stored up inside of me rises over my head, dispersing into the atmosphere. I've been so occupied by my own fear, I let myself forget the most important thing: this isn't just another of Eve's health crises. It's not a freak episode. She's in labor with our pup . After all these months of waiting—one month early or not—it's finally happening.

We're becoming a family.

Her omega is right to be calm. If the pup wasn't ready, she wouldn't be having regular contractions. Her fever we can deal with. Any other complications, we'll manage. Like we always do.

This time, when Eve leans over the side of the nest, I don't try to lie her back down. I crouch down in front of her, my hands on her thighs, holding her glimmering lilac eyes in a silent vow.

I'm here. No matter what happens, I'll be right here.

Baxter enters the nesting room. Behind him, Marcus is darting off downstairs.

He announces, "The midwives are here."

***

Our omega doesn't quite take to the midwives like Baxter and Marcus hoped.

She seemed perfectly happy to have them on board during the interview process a few weeks ago, but now they're here—two betas, impressively scentless, and definitely well-qualified—Eve can barely look at them without baring her teeth. Just inviting them into the nest is a struggle.

For us as much as her.

"Watch it," Red snaps for the dozenth time as Grey, a thirty-something beta with big brown eyes and slicked-back hair, checks Eve's IV.

"Am I too close?" he asks innocently.

"You nudged the tube," Red says, "gonna rip it out of her arm if you're not careful."

"Oh." Grey looks down at Eve, nodding apologetically. "Sorry about that."

"You're fine," Eve says, though her voice is clipped. "Red is just—"

"A crazy alpha?" Riley supplies. Red grumbles.

Marcus smiles tautly. "I'd think Grey and Rosa are both used to that by now."

Rosa, the other midwife—an older beta with faded auburn locks tied up into a bun—laughs. "We do see our fair share of antsy first-time parents."

"Who're you calling antsy?" Red growls, but I can tell—being called a parent instantly softened that seething exterior.

"Alrighty," Rosa says, turning to Marcus. "I think Eve's about ready to have her dilation checked. Would you like to do the honors?"

My packmate swallows. I know for a fact he's been training for this—training for everything, just about—but that self-doubt creeps in nonetheless.

Sensing Marcus's hesitation, or more likely, sensing Eve's discomfort, Baxter asks the midwives to give us the room. The last thing our inner alphas need is to have two insiders privy to this particular check.

I pass Marcus a blanket to hang over Eve's knees. Red stands guard at the nesting door.

"Alright." Marcus slaps on his gloves. "Take a breath, princess. This will be a little uncomfortable, but it'll only take a second."

Eve presses her head back into the pillow. Baxter strokes her hair while Riley pats her down with a cool flannel. She's still more flushed than we'd like, but holding steady.

Then she snaps, "Wait."

I jump to attention, ready to tear Marcus away if need be. But he pulls back in an instant. "Omega?"

She groans, trying to roll onto her side. "A–another one," she gets out.

Fuck, already ? That's barely ten minutes since the last one.

I glance over my shoulder, making sure Red's got his timer out, then go to Eve, massaging around the small of her spine. She groans again, and for the first time, I don't know if it's in appreciation or pain.

"God," she whimpers. Her grip on Baxter's hand tightens. "Alpha."

"I'm here," he rumbles. "Just breathe. You're doing well."

"It—hurts."

"I know, little one. It'll be over soon."

Soon is not soon enough. The contraction stretches on and on—definitely longer than the others—until Eve's entire body gleams with sweat.

Finally she starts to relax, and Red swallows. "Is it done?"

Her voice is croaky, like she's been holding back her cries. "Yeah."

We all loose a breath. No-one says anything—it doesn't need to be said. Even before Marcus checks Eve's cervix and announces she's three centimeters underway, it's obvious to every alpha in the room.

We're in the thick of it now.