“You’re an alpha! Shouldn’t you know these things? Didn’t they teach you about this in alpha school or whatever?”
“Why the fuck would being an alpha make me an expert on childbirth?! That’s not part of the job description!”
“Both of you shut UP!” I screamed as another contraction ripped through me. The pain was blinding, all-consuming, the kind of agony that made everything else fade into insignificance. “Less arguing, more driving! I swear to the goddess, if you two don’t stop bickering, I will climb into the front seat and drive this car myself!”
“You can barely sit up,” Knox pointed out.
“Don’t test me.”
I grabbed Knox’s hand again, squeezing as the pain crested and crashed through me.
“Breathe, baby. That’s it. You’re doing so good.”
The contractions kept coming, each one intense but still spaced far enough apart that I could catch my breath between them. Knox counted, timed, tracked the intervals with focus. Hunt drove like a man possessed, weaving through the sparse late-night traffic with recklessness.
I must have dissociated at some point, because I had no clear memory of most of the drive. The contractions blurred together, pain and breathing and Knox’s voice in my ear telling me we were almost there. At some point I became aware that the intervals were getting shorter. Ten minutes. Then eight. Then six.
By the time Hunt slammed on the brakes in front of Ravenshollow Hospital, the contractions were hitting every four minutes.
“It’s okay, baby, we’re here,” Knox said, already opening the car door and scooping me into his arms like I weighed nothing.
I wanted to tell him I could walk. I wanted to maintain some shred of dignity and enter the hospital on my own two feet like a functioning adult. But another contraction hit and all I could do was curl into his chest and whimper, my fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt.
Knox ran, with me in his arms, through the automatic doors and into the hospital lobby. His footsteps echoed off the tile floors, loud in the quiet of the late-night hospital. A nurse looked up from her station, her eyes going wide when she saw us barreling toward her.
“Oh, Alpha!” she said, jumping to her feet so fast her chair rolled backward and hit the wall. “What can we do-”
“My wife is in labor!” Knox interrupted, his voice booming through the quiet lobby with enough force to make the windows rattle. “The baby is coming NOW! Six weeks early! We need Dr. Hartley immediately!”
Everyone jumped into action. It was impressive, really, the way the entire hospital seemed to mobilize in seconds. People appeared out of nowhere with wheelchairs and gurneys and medical equipment I couldn’t identify. Someone was shouting orders down the hallway. Someone else was on the phone, speaking rapidly about emergency delivery protocols. Hunt burst through the doors behind us, already talking into his cellphone, probably calling Noah and Sarah and Knox’s parents to let them know what was happening.
“This way, Alpha, Luna,” a nurse said, guiding us down a hallway lined with doors and medical equipment. “We have a delivery room ready. Dr. Hartley has been paged and is on her way.”
They put me on a bed and suddenly there were hands everywhere. Checking my blood pressure. Listening to my heart. Hooking me up to monitors that beeped and hummed with data I didn’t understand. Someone was putting an IV in my arm while someone else was asking me questions about when the contractions had started and whether my water had broken.
“She’s only thirty-four weeks,” Knox answered for me when I couldn’t get the words out through another contraction. His voice was tight with worry, his hand still gripping mine. “Is that... is that going to be a problem? The baby was supposed to come in six more weeks. We were supposed to have more time.”
“Let’s see what we’re dealing with first,” the nurse said calmly, her hands moving efficiently as she adjusted the monitors.
Dr. Hartley appeared in the doorway, her familiar face a welcome sight despite the circumstances. She’d been treating me throughout the pregnancy, had been the one to reassure me after the cake incident that the baby was fine. Seeing her now, calm and professional despite being called in at this hour, made some of the panic ease from my chest.
“Luna,” she said, snapping on a pair of gloves as she approached the bed. “I hear this little one decided they couldn’t wait any longer.”
“Apparently not,” I managed through gritted teeth.
“Let me take a look and see where we are.”
Dr. Hartley’s examination was quick and professional, her hands gentle but firm. When she finished, her expression was serious but not panicked, which I took as a good sign.
“Okay, Luna,” she said, stripping off the gloves and meeting my eyes. “You’re dilated to about seven centimeters. Baby is in position and ready to come. But we need to move quickly. The labor has been delayed, probably by stress and the car ride, and there are some signs of fetal distress on the monitors.”
“Fetal distress?” Knox’s voice cracked on the words, the calm facade he’d been maintaining finally showing cracks. “What does that mean? Is the baby okay? Is something wrong with the baby?”
“The baby’s heart rate is dropping slightly with each contraction,” Dr. Hartley explained, her voice patient but urgent. “It’s not critical yet, but it tells me that baby wants out and we shouldn’t make them wait any longer than necessary.” She looked at me with steady, reassuring eyes. “Luna, I need you to focus. When I tell you to push, you push with everything you have. Don’t hold back. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes,” I said, even though I wasn’t entirely sure I could do anything except scream and crush Knox’s hand into powder.
“Good.” Dr. Hartley gave me a brief, encouraging nod. “Let’s have a baby.”
