Page 8 of Betrayed Pregnant Mate

When Byron almost caught me with her, I realized it would never work. We wouldn’t be able to have kids, be together publicly without me facing major ridicule from other shifters. They would dig into our sexual lives, asking how it was possible for us to be together. We would have to justify our relationship, constantly.

On top of that, Veronica had no idea I was a shifter. She was so scientifically minded, one of those humans who laughs at the idea of an axe murder house being haunted, or of things existing outside their realm of understanding.

Those humans would swim right past a river nymph and assume it was just a weird fish, or feel the cool touch of a wraith on the back of their neck, and assume they were catching a cold. There were many times that Veronica ignored any sort of supernatural explanation, even when it was the only plausible choice.

After seeing a new teen movie in the theaters that focused on werewolves and vampires, Veronica and I walked back to her place hand-in-hand, enjoying the comfortable silence.

“What would you do if you ever saw a werewolf?” I’d asked, cutting my eyes at her and trying not to be too obvious.

“Assume I was drugged,” she’d laughed, shrugging and cuddling into my arm.

“But, like, if you were stone-cold sober, and you saw one, and there was no other explanation.”

“There is always another explanation, Percy. Werewolves aren’t real, so you can just rule that out right off the bat. Haven’t you ever seen Scooby-Doo?”

“Sometimes the monsters are real,” I’d pointed out, my heart racing. “Like Scooby-Doo and Zombie Island.”

“Forgive me,” Veronica had laughed, “I don’t think I’m as current on the Scooby-Doo catalog as you.”

That was true. What was also true was that I didn’t have a clue how to tell her about the whole “shifting into a wolf” thing without her just assuming I had a severe mental illness. She might have checked me into a hospital ward or assumed the drinking water was poisoned.

Her reaction last night clearly indicated how tightly she would cling to her version of reality, even when faced with clear evidence to the contrary.

The door to the clinic bursts open and Maisie jumps, spinning around. We watch in horror as Ado and Byron rush inside, a limp woman in their arms. The woman has long, shiny brown hair that’s so dark it’s nearly black, but not quite.

When her head lolls to the side, and I see her face, my heart rate spikes enough that the machines I’m hooked to start setting off warning noises. The fine features, strong chin, dainty cheekbones. I watch Ado lay her down gently on a cot, arrange her arms so they’re not hanging off the sides.

“What—” I start, but Maisie is already moving toward her.

“What happened?” she asks, starting to look her over, checking for any wounds. I watch closely, my heart beating like it’s where my throat should be.

I feel every single bit of the mating connection to her that I felt in the first place. That undeniable tug, the sense that I could slot right into her. We’re fitting puzzle pieces, matching silverware, and stacking chairs.

Except that we’re not, I remind myself. We’re a shifter and a human, and we can’t be together. That’s why I left in the first place.

When Maisie pushes her head to the other side and lets out a gasp, I draw up, sitting and looking to see what’s making her gasp like that. Smooth, pale skin, and then, like two mistakes on a perfect canvas, the puncture marks of a vampire, sinking its teeth into Veronica’s neck.

A wave of nausea rolls through me, and I sit back, trying to breathe through my nose so I don’t get sick. I want every bit of Maisie’s attention on Veronica.

But even as I think that, I know the truth—even though I left Veronica all those years ago to keep her safe and protect her from this world, she’s here anyway, and in worse shape than I ever could have imagined.

“We have to go,” Byron says, bouncing on his feet. His hair—normally some bright shade, typically blue- is now fading, practically back to its natural color. “Aris wants us to scope out the rest of the town, make sure the vamps didn’t follow us back here.”

I can’t talk—if I open my mouth, I might vomit.

Veronica lets out a low moan when Ado and Byron hurry from the room, making my heart skip a beat. From what we know about humans and vampire bites, there are only two things that can happen to her now: either she survives the bite, and turns into a vampire, or she dies from the poison. Typically, one in ten bitten humans will survive in the first place, and many of them go on to take their own lives when they realize what they’ve been reduced to.

Despite common conception, being a vampire is not some divine gift. You’re frail, incredibly flammable, sickly to the point of near death, and unable to go in the sun. The only exception to this rule is when you drink fresh human blood, straight from the source. Then, a vampire has power, but only until the next time they need to feed.

Veronica wouldn’t be able to stand that reality. It would go against everything in her—her instincts as a nurse—to hurt others in order to feel better herself.

“Percy,” Maisie says, appearing at my side, her hand resting on my arm. “You need to calm down; you need to try and take a deep breath.”

When she says this, I realize I can’t breathe, and I sit up, desperately trying to get a lungful of air.

“Can’t,” I wheeze, “breathe.”

“It’s okay—” she starts to say, putting her hand on my arm again, but the touch feels all wrong, everything feels all wrong, and I yank my arm back, jerking backward so hard that I catapult halfway off the cot.

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