Her scent has changed.
It’s subtle, barely there, but my bear knows. There’s a sweetness underlying her normal scent, a richness that speaks of new life, of cubs, of family.
My mate is pregnant.
The knowledge hits me like a freight train. My heart slams against my ribs. Pregnant. With my cub. Our cub. Or pup. Either will be incredible.
I press my face against her hair, breathing deeply, my bear rumbling with satisfaction. The motel. That night when we came together in heat-driven passion. It must have happened then. My hands tremble slightly where they rest on her back.
“Mmm.” Carla stirs, nuzzling into my chest. “You’re purring.”
“Bears don’t purr,” I say automatically, though that’s exactly what I’m doing.
“Liar.” She tilts her head up, eyes still heavy with sleep. Through our bond, I feel her contentment, warm and peaceful. “What’s got your bear so happy this morning?”
You. Our cub. Our future.
But I can’t tell her. Not yet. Not until I figure out how she’ll react. We’ve only just mated. What if she’s not ready? My stomach churns with the weight of this secret.
“Billy?” She props herself up on an elbow, and the sheet slides down. Through our bond, I feel her curiosity spike. “You’re thinking very loudly.”
“Sorry.” I pull her back down, needing her close, needing to breathe in this new scent that speaks of miracles. “Just processing everything. The bond. You. Us.”
She traces patterns on my chest, her touch sending sparks through me. “It’s a lot, isn’t it? Good, though.”
“The best.”
We lie there for a while, but my mind races. The magnitude of it makes me anxious. I need advice. Marcus has been through this with Leila.
“We’re having lunch at Marcus’s today,” I blurt out.
Carla pulls back to look at me, confusion flickering across her face. “We are?”
“He invited us. Wants to see how we’re doing.” Not entirely a lie. We talk most weeks.
“Oh.” She bites her lip nervously. “Do they know about us being mated?”
“I texted them last night.” I trace the mark on her neck with one finger, watching her shiver. Successfully distracted. “They want to meet you properly.”
“Okay. Lunch with Marcus.” She takes a breath, squaring her shoulders. “I can do that.”
The morning passes too quickly. Carla makes breakfast while I pretend to read, but really, I’m watching her. Looking for signsI missed before. The way she pauses at the smell of bacon, her nose wrinkling slightly. How she unconsciously rests a hand on her stomach while waiting for toast.
My bear wants to wrap around her, to protect her from everything. The protective instinct has multiplied tenfold with this knowledge.
“You’re staring,” she says without turning from the stove.
“Can’t help it. You’re beautiful.”
She laughs, but I catch the pleased flush that’s creeping up her neck. Through the bond, her happiness warms me like sunshine.
The drive to Marcus’s feels both too long and too short. I grip the steering wheel tighter than necessary, knuckles white with tension.
Carla notices, of course. She reaches over to touch my thigh. “Hey. What’s wrong? You’ve been wound tight all morning.”
“Just want this to go well.” I manage. “Family stuff.”
She squeezes gently. “They’re your brothers. It’ll be fine.”
