Page 93 of Fated to the Feral Wolf

This just didn’t happen. Unplanned pregnancies for wolves weren’t a thing, so how was he going to take it? We weren’t fated, as far as I could tell. We were just… I didn’t want to reduce it to a one-night stand, but fuck. He was a scorching-hot lay, but that was all.

Well, not all. He was now the father of my child. It was complicated, and when one of us did eventually find our mates, it was going to hurt like Satan’s asshole to watch.

I dropped a hand over my lower belly cupping the space where I thought she was hiding.

We’ll tell your daddy, just… not yet. I’ll take care of you, Petal.

A knock at the door dragged me out of the internal conversation and into the harsh reality of our pack’s situation.

“Leigh? The jet is ready. Do you need help with your bags?” Reed called cheerfully through the door, right as a wave of nausea burned up my esophagus.

Shit, shit, shit.Not now, please, not now!

I tried to swallow it down, but it was impossible. I abandoned the four pregnancy tests on the counter and ran for the toilet.

I dropped to my knees and heaved as quietly as I could but, with Reed waiting right outside the door?—

“Leigh?” He rattled the doorknob. “Leigh, are you okay in there?” He pounded the door, concern evident in his voice, even as I was stuck, every muscle locked in the tortured rictus of dry heaving.

I felt the smack of the door hitting the wall as much as heard it, dread filling me, while I was helpless to stop it.

He pounded through the door, crossing the threshold of the bathroom door in what felt like slow-mo, like a car crash you saw coming, but no matter how hard you slammed the brakes, you knew the collision was imminent.

“Leigh? Shit. Have you got the flu or something?” Reed, Goddess bless that man, dropped a comforting hand on my shoulder, not the least put off by a sick pack mate.

I sat back on my heels, finally through.

For the moment. This is officially morning sickness, not just airplane ick. Or the stomach flu. Or any of the nine thousand lies you’ve told yourself in the last month.

“I’ll get you a washcloth.” He turned to the sink, and my eyes fell closed.

There was no way he was going to miss?—

“Oh, fuck.” He froze, his hand on the tap, washcloth dry in his hand as he stared, jaw slack at the evidence, plain to see.

He didn’t say another word, though. He turned on the tap, quickly wetting, then wringing the cloth, before bypassing my extended hand and pressing it to my forehead himself.

His eyes were heavy with concern when they met mine.

“Does he know?”

I shook my head weakly, taking the cloth so I could wipe my clammy face and, finally, my mouth.

“Are you… keeping it?” I could tell it pained him to ask, but he didn’t say it with judgment. It was verboten among wolves to terminate a pregnancy because pups were so rare. But he was right. I did have that choice.

“Of course I am,” I murmured without hesitation.

His shoulders sagged with relief. I could imagine. It was one thing to keep my secret from his best friend; it was another entirely to keep a secret abortion from his best friend.

But if I had gotten to know Reed half as well as I thought Ihad, he would have kept that secret too if I’d asked it of him. He was a good man.

He extended a hand, helping me up from the cool tile floor—which wasn’t half bad, actually, when you were hot and sick—and guided me to the bed.

“You just sit here. I’ll run your bags to the plane and come back with one of those sodas. What kind is it?”

“Ginger ale.” The memory of Gael pressing the only drink that soothed my tossing stomach hurt, like a dagger to the chest.

He paused at the doorway, his eyes filled with compassion as he held my bags.

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