The bond-weakening herbs are still in it. Have been this whole time.
I pause in the doorway, looking at the tea, then back at her—my pregnant mate, carrying my child, trusting me completely.
The herbs weaken the bond. I've been telling myself that's necessary—that the bond puts strain on her transforming body, that weakening it gives her the best chance to survive. But nowthere's a child to consider. My child, growing inside her while I feed her herbs designed to fray our connection.
What if the herbs hurt the baby?
The thought freezes me in place. I don't know. The texts don't say—warrior omega pregnancies are barely mentioned, just fragments and speculation. I'm acting blind, making choices that could destroy everything.
But if I stop giving her the tea, the bond will strengthen. Her body will have to sustain the transformation AND the growing bond AND the pregnancy. Too many demands on a system already pushed to its limits.
The tea is still the safest choice. For her.
I have to believe that.
I bring her the cup and watch her drink it, my chest tight with secrets.
"The nausea's almost gone," she says, setting down the empty cup. "Whatever's in this, it's helping."
"Good." The word tastes like ash. "That's good."
She studies me, amber eyes too sharp. "You've been strange since the rut. Guilty-looking. Like you're carrying something heavy."
"I'm afraid," I say—truth, if not the whole truth. "Of losing you. Of getting used to having you here and then watching you die like all the others. The rut made it worse—made me realize how much I need you. How empty everything would be if you were gone."
Her expression softens. "I'm not going anywhere."
"You can't promise that."
"No." She reaches across and takes my hand. "But I can promise I'm going to fight like hell to stay. I'm not the gentle omegas they sent you before. I'm not going to break."
"I know." She's the strongest person I've ever met. "Doesn't make me less afraid."
"Fear is just love with teeth," she says quietly. "Means you have something worth being scared to lose."
The words hit me somewhere deep. She's right. This terror that's been living in my chest since the rut—since I smelled what's growing inside her—it's love. The most dangerous kind.
I pull her close and kiss her, soft and desperate, trying to pour everything I can't say into the press of our mouths.
She's pregnant with my child.
She doesn't know.
And I'm going to have to tell her eventually.
Just not today.
20
Rhystan
A week passesafter my rut breaks.
A week of watching her, smelling the change in her scent grow stronger each day, knowing what it means and saying nothing. A week of bringing her tea every morning and evening, watching her drink it, thanking me for taking care of her while I poison the bond between us.
A week of my dragon rumblingprotect, keep, mineevery time she walks into a room.
She's started resting her hand on her stomach when she thinks no one's looking. Just briefly—a unconscious gesture, fingers splayed across her lower belly like she's guarding something precious. She doesn't know why she's doing it. Doesn't know what her body already understands.
