"It means I've loved you since you stood up to those bigots in the diner with coffee in your hand and fire in your eyes, staring them down like they were nothing while they spat their hatred and didn't even flinch. Maybe I loved you before that. Maybe from the moment you climbed onto the back of my bike and wrapped your arms around my waist and held onto me like I was the only solid thing in a world that wanted to break you."
She makes a sound that's half laugh and half sob, her hands coming up to grip my wrists like she needs to anchor herself to something real. "Knox."
"Take the test." I pull back enough to look at her face, to watch the play of emotions across her features—fear and hope andsomething that might be joy if she'd let herself feel it. "Whatever it says, whatever comes next, it doesn't change anything that matters. You're mine. I'm yours. The rest is details we'll figure out together."
The bathroom floor tiles dig into my knees, cold and hard through the denim of my jeans, but I couldn't stand right now if someone put a gun to my head.
Sarah sits on the closed toilet lid with her back pressed against the tank, her legs drawn up and her arms wrapped around her shins like she's trying to make herself as small as possible. Four test sticks line the counter beside the sink, white plastic wands with tiny windows that will decide our future in the next few minutes. My hand engulfs hers completely—her fingers so small and delicate wrapped in my grip, her knuckles white where she squeezes back hard enough to grind bone against bone.
The timer on her phone shows two minutes and twenty-three seconds remaining.
I feel her heart pounding through the bond, a rapid, uneven rhythm that matches the frantic pulse I can see jumping in her throat. My own heart hammers against my ribs, loud enough that she can probably hear it in the silence of the small room.
I know the answer before we look at the tests. My body knows it. The bond knows it. Something ancient and instinctive in myblood recognizes the truth even though my mind hasn't caught up yet.
"What if it's positive?" Her voice comes out small, almost lost in the quiet.
"Then I spend the next ten months being insufferable." I trace my thumb across her knuckles, slow and soothing, trying to ground us both in the simple reality of skin against skin. Every protective instinct I have will amplify until you'll want to murder me. I'll hover. I'll growl at anyone who gets too close. I'll probably try to carry you everywhere because the thought of you climbing stairs or lifting anything heavier than a coffee cup will turn me into someone she doesn't want to live with.
A wet laugh escapes her, some of the tension bleeding out of her shoulders. "Ten months?"
"Orc pregnancies run longer than human ones." I lift her hand and press my lips to her palm, letting my breath warm her skin as I speak. "Human women carrying orc children inherit the extended timeline along with other changes. Your body will adapt in ways that might surprise you. You'll heal faster from any injury. Your senses will sharpen even more than they already have. The bond between us will deepen in ways I can't fully predict—ways that go beyond what I've already claimed."
"And the baby?"
"Will be orc." I hold her gaze, searching for any sign of doubt, any flicker of hesitation that might tell me this is too much, too fast, too far outside the life she imagined for herself. "Children always take after the father's species in cross-pairings. Tusks, green skin, the whole package. Large, too—larger than a human infant, though your body will be strong enough to handle it by then."
Her face shifts through a dozen expressions in the span of a heartbeat—surprise, something that might be worry—but I don't see fear. Not the kind of fear that makes people run.
"Will it hurt? The birth?"
"You'll have orc resilience by then. And I'll be there for every moment, every breath, every second of it." The timer shows fifty-one seconds remaining. "Hey, look at me."
She does, her eyes shining with tears that haven't fallen yet, her lip caught between her teeth again.
"I need you to tell me the truth. Not what you think I want to hear, not what you think will make this easier. The real truth, even if it's hard." I hold her gaze with everything I have, pouring conviction through the bond so she can feel it in her bones. "Are you okay with this? With an orc child? With me as the father? With everything that comes along with carrying my blood for the next ten months?"
She cups my face with her free hand, her thumb brushing across my cheekbone. Her fingers drift lower, tracing the curve of my tusk.
"Knox." Her voice doesn't waver. "I want your baby. Tusks and all. I want your life, your world, everything you are and everything we'll become together. I'm scared out of my mind right now, but not of that."
The timer beeps.
Neither of us moves for a long moment, the shrill electronic sound echoing off the tile walls while we sit frozen in place. Sarah's hand tightens in mine, her breath catching, her whole body going rigid with anticipation.
I reach for the first test and turn it over.
Two pink lines in the little window. Positive.
The second test. Two lines again. Positive.
The third. Positive.
And the fourth. Positive.
Sarah makes a sound—part laugh, part sob—and her tears fall in earnest, streaming down her cheeks while her whole body shakes. The bond floods with emotion: fear and joy tangled together, and underneath them both, finally breaking free, hope.
I gather her against me, my arms wrapping around her waist, my face pressing against her stomach. She's still flat here, still soft—no sign yet of what grows inside—but I can sense it now. A flicker at the edge of the bond. New life. My child. Our child.
