"But I can't—"
"You can," Fritz said, moving to stand beside her. "And you will. If you're a friend of Presley's, then you're family. And we look after our family."
"We'll make sure you're safe," Etienne added. "No matter how long it takes."
"The bond severing process can be brutal," Hastings said, his voice gentler than I'd ever heard it. "You'll need time to heal. Physically and mentally. This is a safe place to do that."
Maeve's eyes filled with tears. "You're all insane. You know that, right?"
"We've been told," Fritz said, grinning.
Maeve looked at me, then at the three alphas who stood around us like guardians. "You're going to be wonderful parents," she said, her voice thick with emotion.
My hand went to my belly, settling over the place where our child was growing.
"We're going to try," I said.
And as Maeve finally broke down crying—this time with relief instead of fear—Mr. Cheddar jumped from Hastings' arms and curled up on the cream sofa like he owned the place.
Which, apparently, he did now.
Just like the rest of us.
We'd all found our home.
32
Etienne
I tapped my fingerson the doorframe of the medical suite, watching a wand push against Presley's pale skin. The gel glistened under the harsh overhead lights, and she flinched slightly at the cold.
Hastings stood like a statue at Presley's head, his hand wrapped around hers so tightly the bone in his knuckles looked like they were going to pop out. Fritz leaned against the wall opposite me, his arms crossed, his eyes fixed on the monitor with an intensity I'd only seen on the rugby pitch.
The room smelled of antiseptic and something floral, probably the diffuser the sonographer had plugged in to make the space feel less clinical. It didn't work.
The beige walls and fluorescent lights still screamedmedical procedurerather thanmiracle in progress.
But then the first pulse echoed through the speakers.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
It was fast, strong, impossibly real, and it had to be mine.
My heart skipped a beat, stumbling over itself to catch up with the rhythm coming from that tiny life inside Presley's belly.
"We have a healthy heartbeat," the sonographer said, her voice warm and professional.
The tension left Hastings' shoulders, his whole body sagging with relief.
"Oh," Presley whimpered as a tear slid down the side of her face, tracking across her temple and landing on the bed beneath her head. Her hand tightened around Hastings, who didn’t flinch. He just stroked his thumb across her knuckles in slow, soothing circles.
Could she have ever been able to leave the baby once it was born? This started as an arrangement, a business deal with a surrogate, but standing here listening to that heartbeat, we'd all been lying to ourselves from the start.
I strode to Presley's side, needing to touch her, needing to ground myself in this moment. I reached out and rested my hand on her arm, feeling the heat coming off her skin.
"Princesse–" I whispered, my throat tight. “You’re–”
But I couldn’t speak because as the sonographer moved the wand in a slow arc, the image on the screen shifted, and the grey shapes morphed into something that looked almost recognizable.
