Page 121 of Lost Girl

Yeah, she’s slightly panicking now, and I can’t blame her. I showed up here on a whim, clearly panicking myself. I don’t even know where to start, though. How to say it. Hell, I still don’t know how to believe it. I’m still in shock, so is Hook...

“I’m pregnant,” I spew hurriedly, cringing the tiniest bit as her head jerks back, and her entire expression falls slack.

“Whaaat? No, wait…How?”

That’s the same thing I’d asked Ward.

“Yeah, I know.” I scoff a wee chuckle. “Evidently, it can happen. Ward explained it as the immortal rendition of wolves and their fated mates. Vampirism doesn’t rule out procreation, it just lowers chances greatly. Halflings and hybrids naturally have higher chances, too, and well—I’m both.”

“So wait, you’re telling me that all along what we’ve known about immortality and procreation is a crock of shit?”

“Not exactly. It really is rare. Like I said, chances are low, but there’s exceptions to the rule.”

“Oh my god…” She’s speechless, and again—I can’t blame her. If Hook and I are stunned, imagine what’s running through her mind. “This is...this is exciting, right? I mean, the universe is basically telling you that Hook is your great love.”

“Yes? Maybe?” I try sounding enthusiastic, but the slump in my shoulders says it all. “I don’t know, honestly.”

And I don’t.

Callan, yes. My heart could explode, knowing he was always meant to be mine. The baby, though… I love kids, but if you’ll remember, friends—I hadn’t wanted them any time soon, and once I completed my transition to immortality, I took them off the table altogether. I’d already accepted the fact I wouldn’t be a mother one day, and I was quite okay with it being just me and my Captain forever.

“Shit, okay,” Tigerlily hisses and glances around the kitchen, quickly reaching for the burnt orange teapot on the stove. “How about I make us some tea, and we can talk about it?”

“Is she… Is she here?” I question simply.

She knows exactly who I’m talking about, nodding in accordance. “She is, but they’re still sleeping. My dad finally let her stay in the house.”

A good thing, obviously. Callan told me all about the Chief’s thoughts on his son’s new infatuation.

The same infatuation who miscarried a baby not long ago.

Cutting my gaze out the window, I point toward the outdoor seating. “Think we should go outside to talk?”

“Why?” Tigerlily asks as she goes about filling the pot and igniting the burner. “They’re sleeping, and even if she does walk in on the conversation, I don’t foresee her being triggered by your news if that’s what you’re worried about.” She says it knowingly, too, as intuitive as ever.

That’s exactly what I’m worried about. Yes, she confessed feeling relief at the loss of the child, but it’s still quite fresh. Wouldn’t it be painful to some extent? Not to mention, I’ve ensured the girl will have enough triggers because of me. I’m not looking to add another one to that list.

My face must say something I can’t feel because Tigerlily gives me this thrown look. “What?”

Do not cry.

Do not cry.

Do not fucking cry.

“I just… I feel so awful.” Aaand I’m crying, face falling into my hands. Wendy may have accepted my apology or at least agreed to move one from what happened between us, but that’s done nothing to ease the newfound sense of regret and shame I feel on a constant basis. More so now that I have all these hormones raging through me.

“Tinks, you have to let the past go. If she’s trying to move on with her life, you need to do the same.”

She doesn’t get it. My eyes burn hotter as the tears seem to fall faster. “I don’t know how! I’m so plagued by regret, I can’t tell you when was the last time I got a good night's rest...”

“Tinksley, stop.”

“What? It’s true! She miscarried that baby from stress and trauma. I am that fucking trauma! And now here I am, carrying the very thing she lost.”

“Wow, you really are pregnant,” Tigerlily comments and the way it meets my ears bubbles a laugh in my throat.

“This is what almost three months looks like. I feel crazy, I swear. If I’m not crying, I’m laughing. Or eating. Feeding. There is no happy medium for me these days.”

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