Page 28 of Lost and Pound

“You okay, Donner?” Shilo winked at me, using that awful name the pound had given me a year ago nearly on the dot.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m trying to figure out where to put that fancy baby swing my father sent.” I put my hands on my hips and stared around. There were so many things in the room already that everyone assured me I’d need. I was happy with what I had for my little brothers: a rocking chair, a good bassinet, diapers, bottles, and an unreasonable amount of receiving blankets. They truly were the all-in-one item for all babies.

“Put it in the living room. If they’re going in the swing, they’re probably being fussy, and you may want to sit down to relax a bit.” Shilo shrugged, and I nodded in agreement.

“I know baby stuff tends to spread, so I was hesitant to—”

“This is our home, our baby, and our life. Feel free to spread out, love.” Shilo picked up the swing, and I reached for it, dead set on doing everything on my own.

He turned away from me and waltzed off. “Nope. No more lifting for you.”

“Fine!” I huffed and crossed my arms while he went to place the swing. He also came back and snagged one of the bassinets I had.

My brow furrowed, and he hoofed it to his office, placing it by his desk. “There, when Papa needs some me-time and naps, I can watch the baby in here.”

“Oh, you won’t have to do that. I’ll take—”

“No, I’ve told you a dozen times. Half of this baby is mine. I’ll take equal part in raising.” Shilo rolled his eyes and put his hands on my shoulders. “You. Are. Not. Alone. I do not have a stable of omegas I’m breeding with. I can handle my children. I’m not your father. My time isn’t rationed out like favors.”

I hated when he pulled that card, and I gave him my fiercest glare over it. Of course, he wasn’t my father! He was everything I never knew I needed. He was perfect.

Wordlessly, he scooped me into his arms and toted me off to the living room. I assumed he wanted to watch TV or fool around, but when he tucked me in and kissed my forehead, I blinked in surprise. “I want to order some takeout for us. What’s on your mind?”

The thought of food made me blanch, and it was clear that he understood my reaction. My increased appetite for lust, the nesting, my lack of desire for takeout—it all meant one thing. Shilo wouldn’t let it go unsaid.

“I’m texting Paul,” he said, holding up his phone with Dr. Finnegan’s name clear on it.

I scoffed and settled down on the couch. I’d seen omegas in labor before, and the process went by so quick that oftentimes,there wasn’t time to get professionals involved. It was more of acall the pack doctor when it’s donekinda deal.

Sitting down didn’t suit me, and I rose shortly after, pacing back and forth. Standing in place seemed to make my anxiety rise, and Shilo was gracious enough to give me my space.

As I spent my time pacing from one room of the house to another, I had an inkling that my wolf was driving things. It wasn’t until I was collecting quilts from our bed and pitching them into the nursery closet, did I realize what I was doing, fully.

Of all the things. I had a full bedroom, huge bathroom, an entire nursery, guest bedroom, garage, office, and screened back porch. I had anywhere in the house, and of all places, I wanted there. Such was life for an omega, without rhyme or reason that we were conscious of. I’m sure there was some philosophical or scientific reason we chose the places we did, but it was merely a whim of the wolf, at the end of the day.

I stripped, each article of clothing constricting me in ways I found repugnant. My shirt brushed over the swell of my belly; the pants hugged my ass too tight. My socks squeezed my perpetually puffy feet.

That didn’t matter as I ripped it all away and bundled myself in the dark confines of the closet amid all the things my baby would need. A contraction rippled through my belly then, something I’d been doing my best to ignore as it hadn’t exactly hurt.

As I willed the pain away, bundling myself tighter, I closed my eyes and tried to rest.

Soft laughter drew me out of my fugue and I opened a single eye as a growl pushed free of my throat.

Shilo.His gaze met mine and the scent of another omega milling about drew my attention. Dr. Finnegan. I supposed it wasn’t as quick for me as it had been for my father’s other omegaconsorts. Stepparents? It said a lot that I didn’t even remember half their names.

Everything seemed so dreamlike in the confines of my safe little hideaway. Shilo’s warm arms surrounded me from behind and I lay on my side, a leg propped up, knees bent. Dr. Finnegan knew what he was doing and thankfully, everyone stayed quiet. I dreaded the questions and comments to come, but it all appeared so superficial at that moment.

I bore down as the urges came to me, pushing through my tightening belly as I ignored Dr. Finnegan’s low murmur and Shilo’s answer. If that’s what birthing felt like, I didn’t think I’d mind doing it again. Though, the crying-pup phase would be the test.

I pushed again, and my previous thoughts about the process being tolerable went out the window and I cried out. My entire belly ached, knotted up in the world’s worst charley horse. I vaguely held on to awareness long enough to stifle my swears and not draw claws at those trying to help me.

Shilo’s warm hand cupped my belly, held me tight, and whispered sweet, unintelligible things through the contraction and long push.

Time lapsed, sweat pooled despite the cold outside and the moderate heat inside. I should have been chilled, but my nest of blankets in the warm confined space with Shilo’s body heat kept me stable. I should have been screaming. But I couldn’t. Aside from the initial cries and swears of shock, my instincts said to keep quiet, to defend my nest and pups with silence. I was vulnerable. Too much so.

When I finally pushed again, my body flowered open, if my sensations were to be believed. My insides spread, becoming my outsides—I tried my best to ignore it. Again, I pushed, and again, the agony becoming my normal. I could bear it. A thousand-thousand omegas before me had bore the pain of birth. A thousand-thousand more to come would, too.

“Doing good,” Dr. Finnegan said, my awareness coming in and out.

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