The three of us remained in the hallway, positioned where we could see the door, watching through the gap for any sign of trouble. The exhaustion was catching up now, making my eyelids heavy and my limbs feel like they'd been filled with lead.
But we'd stay awake. Stay vigilant. Stay ready to protect her from whatever came next, whether that was more pack members looking for revenge or just the ordinary dangers of a world that had already hurt her too much.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Jasmine
The knock on the door brought me out of sleep. I yawned, tried to stretch, and then winced at the pain. A man in a white coat entered, and through the gap in the door, I could see my Alphas watching, their bodies tense with a protective energy that would have made me smile if moving my face didn't hurt so much.
“Ms. Jasmine,” the doctor said, moving to pull the curtain part way around my bed. Not fully closed, probably because he'd promised to keep the door open, but enough to create some privacy. “I'm Dr. Chen. I’m glad you’re now awake.” I nodded. “I performed your surgery."
I nodded slightly, the movement sending pain radiating through my skull. The swelling around my right eye had decreased enough that I could open it somewhat now. He was young for a chief surgeon, with kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, pulling a rolling stool closer to the bed and sitting so we were at eye level.
“Like I got stabbed,” I said, my voice coming out rougher than I'd intended. Speaking hurt, like my throat had been scraped raw from the inside.
A small smile touched his lips. “That's accurate. I wanted to talk to you about your injuries and what to expect during recovery.” He pulled up something on the tablet he'd brought with him. “The knife wound penetrated your abdominal wall and nicked your small intestine. We repaired the damage, and barring infection, you should heal completely.”
I listened as he explained the surgical procedure, the internal sutures that would dissolve on their own, and the external stitches that would need to be removed in about two weeks. He talked about physical therapy to rebuild strength, about watching for signs of infection, and about the timeline for returning to normal activities.
“You lost a significant amount of blood,” he continued. “We gave you a transfusion during the surgery. But you'll need to take iron supplements for a while.” He looked down at his tablet and tapped away at it. “Although looking at the most recent tests, your blood count is already improving.”
His clinical recitation of my injuries should have been depressing, but instead, I felt grateful. Grateful to be alive to hear it. Grateful that my body could heal from this. Grateful that Bane hadn't succeeded in taking everything from me.
“The bruising and swelling will take time to resolve,” Dr. Chen said, gesturing toward my face. “Several weeks, probably. You'll need to be careful not to strain yourself while the abdominal wound heals. No heavy lifting, no strenuous activity.”
I nodded, absorbing the information, thinking about the recovery ahead. Weeks of being careful, of letting myself heal. It seemed like a small price to pay for survival.
“There is one more thing,” Dr. Chen said, and something in his tone made me focus on his face more carefully. He was smiling now, a gentle expression that didn't match the gravity of everything he'd been discussing. “You don't need to worry though. The baby is fine.”
The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing what little breath I'd managed to gather. My mind went completely blank, then started racing so fast I couldn't catch a single thought. “What?”
“The baby,” he repeated, clearly thinking I hadn't heard him. “Given the trauma and the blood loss, I wanted to make sure you knew that the fetus wasn't affected. All the vital signs are good.”
“I—” My voice failed. I tried again, forcing words past the shock clogging my throat. “What baby?”
Understanding dawned on his face, followed quickly by concern. “You didn't know you were pregnant?”
I shook my head, the movement making the room tilt slightly. “No. I didn't—I couldn't—” Too many words tried to come out at once, tangling together into incoherence.
Dr. Chen set down his tablet and leaned forward slightly, his expression gentle. “You're approximately three weeks along. Very early, which is probably why you didn't know. The pregnancy test we ran before surgery came back positive, and we did an ultrasound to make sure everything was viable, given the trauma. The fetus is developing normally. Your hormone levels are good.”
Three weeks. I counted backward, my mind struggling to process through the shock and pain medication. Three weeks ago, during my heat. When all three of them had helped me, had taken care of me, had filled me over and over until the desperate need had passed.
Their baby. I was carrying their baby.
Joy exploded through my chest, bright and overwhelming and unexpected. A baby. I was pregnant with their child, and despite everything that had just happened, despite the knife wound and the blood loss and the trauma, the baby had survived. We'd both survived.
My hand moved to my abdomen without conscious thought, fingers splaying over the bandages covering my wound. Underneath the injury, underneath layers of skin and muscle, a tiny life was growing. Part of me, part of them. The family I'd never thought I could have.
Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and unstoppable. Dr. Chen reached for the tissue box on the bedside table, but I barely noticed. I was crying and laughing simultaneously, joy and relief and overwhelming emotion making my chest feel too small to contain everything I felt.
“The baby is, okay?” I asked, needing to hear it again, needing the confirmation.
“The baby is fine,” Dr. Chen said, his smile widening at my reaction. “Pregnancies at this stage are quite resilient. The fetus is well-protected. As long as you follow recovery protocols and avoid complications, there's no reason this pregnancy shouldn't progress normally.”
Normally. A normal pregnancy. The words felt impossible after what had happened with my last pregnancy, with Bane's pack. The memory of that loss tried to surface, the blood and pain and grief, but I pushed it back down. This was different. Everything about this was different.
