“Connor? Say something. Please. You’re scaring me.”
I try to speak, but no words come out. Instead, I feel something warm and wet sliding down my cheeks. Tears. I’m crying. Before meeting this woman, I can’t remember the last time I cried—maybe not since my mother died—but now I can’t seem to stop. They just keep coming, spilling over and tracking down my face.
“I could have lost you,” I manage finally. “Both of you. Today, in that office, I could have lost everything.”
“But you didn’t.” Fern reaches up and cups my face in her hands, her thumbs brushing away my tears with a gentleness that only makes me cry harder. “I’m here. We’re both here. And we’re not going anywhere.”
“I’m going to protect you.” The words pour out of me, fierce and desperate and more honest than anything I’ve ever said. “Both of you. I swear on my life, Fern. I will never let anything happen to either of you. Not ever again. I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care what I have to do.”
She pulls me closer until our foreheads touch, and I breathe in the scent of her. “I know you will.”
“I mean it. Whatever it takes. Whatever I have to sacrifice. You and this baby are everything to me now. Anyone who tries to hurt either of you will have to go through me first.”
“Connor, I know. I believe you. You don’t have to convince me.”
I close my eyes and let myself lean into her touch. She smells like the medical center—antiseptic and clean sheets—but underneath that, I can still catch traces of her own scent. Warm and sweet and distinctly Fern. And now, knowing what I know, I realize that the change I noticed in her scent over the past few weeks wasn’t my imagination. It was this. A new life growing inside her. Our child.
“How far along?” I ask.
“Skylar thinks about five weeks. Maybe a little less. Apparently, shifter pregnancies progress faster than human ones, so the symptoms hit earlier and harder. That’s why I’ve been so sick lately. I thought it was stress, or maybe something I ate. I never even considered…”
Five weeks. I think back, counting the days, and realize that it lines up almost perfectly with our first night together. The night of our mating ceremony, out in the woods under the stars. The night everything changed between us.
“The baby,” I murmur, opening my eyes to look at her. “Is it… Will it be…”
“A shifter?” Fern finishes for me. “Skylar doesn’t know yet. It’s too early to tell. But she said there’s a good chance, given that you’re the father. Apparently, the shifter gene is dominant in most cases.”
A shifter baby. Half me, half her. The thought fills me with a kind of joy I didn’t know I was capable of feeling. All my life, I’ve watched other pack members start families. I’ve seen the pride in their eyes when their children take their first steps, speak their first words, complete their first shifts. I always wondered if that would ever be in the cards for me. Now it’s happening. Now it’s real.
“I can’t believe this,” I whisper. “I can’t believe you’re really…”
“Believe it.” Fern smiles through her tears. “In about seven months, give or take, we’re going to be parents. Whether we’re ready or not.”
Seven months. That’s not a lot of time to prepare. We’ll need to figure out living arrangements. Baby supplies. A crib, clothes, diapers, all the things that new parents need. We’ll need to tell the pack, tell Nic, figure out how this affects Fern’s work at the clinic. My head spins just thinking about the logistics.
But underneath the panic, there’s something else. Something warm and steady that settles in my chest and refuses to leave. Happiness. Pure, uncomplicated happiness.
“Are you okay with this?” Fern asks with a hint of nervousness creeping into her voice. “I know we never really talked about having kids. I know this wasn’t planned. If you’re not ready, or if you need time to process—”
I silence her with a kiss.
It’s not a long kiss or a particularly passionate one. Just a firm press of my lips against hers, trying to pour everything I can’t put into words into the contact. When I pull back, Fern looks dazed.
“I want this,” I tell her. “I want you. I want this baby. I want everything, Fern. All of it. Whatever our future holds, I want to face it together.”
Her lower lip trembles. “Really?”
“Really.” I take her hands in mine and hold them tight. “I know I’ve made mistakes. I know I pushed too hard and moved too fast and probably scared you half to death more than once.But I swear to you, I’m going to do better. For you and for our child. I’m going to be the man you both deserve.”
Fern pulls one hand free and places it against my cheek. Her touch is soft, grounding, and I lean into it just like I did back in her office when she told me she was safe.
“You already are. You just don’t see it yet.”
Before I can respond, she leans up and kisses me again. This time, I let myself sink into it. I wrap my arms around her carefully, mindful now of what she’s carrying, and pull her as close as I dare. Her fingers thread through my hair, and I feel some of the fear and guilt and panic of the past few hours start to melt away, replaced by something warmer. Something that feels a lot like hope.
When we finally break apart, both of us are breathing harder than before.
“Luna is still waiting in the hallway,” she reminds me. “And I’m sure the whole pack is wondering what happened.”
