Page 11 of Into the Dawn

She glares at me, angry now, instead of nervous. It's good to see the spark in her eyes, because it's easier to fight with her than cope with the warm feelings that surface every time I relax and drop my walls. Easier than dealing with how her changing scent is affecting my beast.

I want her to be as angry as I am.

Not sad. Not afraid. Not miserable. I can't deal with that. Can't let myself care, not when John needs me focused.

Vanessa sucks in a deep breath as she spoons sugar into both mugs, remembering that I've got as bad a sweet tooth as her. She lifts the kettle from its stand, pouring the scalding water on top of the two tea bags, then sets it back and finally lets out a long exhale.

With her back to me, she grips the edge of the counter and hangs her head, gathering her courage. Her scent spikes with determination and something else, something that makes my beast pace restlessly.

"I want... " she pauses and laughs uncomfortably. "I want a baby."

6

VANESSA

Well, that's not what he was expecting.

Ben blinks once, the only sign that his brain hasn't completely stalled.

While he gathers his thoughts, I pour some milk into his tea and press it into his hands, which close around it automatically. My beast sighs softly at the brief contact, savouring the spark of electricity that still jumps between us whenever we touch.

"A baby?" he repeats quietly, voice monotone, and expression completely blank.

He looks pale as he stares into the mug, unseeing, like he expects to see a baby in the swirling tan liquid. His beast's distress ripples through the mate bond we both pretend doesn't exist anymore.

Ben thought I was going to say a bigger house, a better job, or even just to get the hell away from here. I doubt a child was on his radar, though maybe it should have been. That's all I think about lately.

"I don't get it," he says, and I shake my head. I knew he wouldn't. His jaw clenches as his brain comes back online. "Why can't you have a baby if you want to?"

It looks like speaking those words nonchalantly nearly kills him. I get it. We're mates. Even with the bond rejected, our animals know we belong together. Biology is screaming at both of us that there should be no other option but each other.

Gesturing to my second-hand furniture and meagre belongings, I decide to take pity on him and spell it out.

"I met my mate, Ben. And even though we're... not together, my beast knows who she belongs with. You've been gone for years. Without you around..." I trail off, not wanting to spell out how thoroughly his absence has affected me. “Everything stopped.”

Ben's fingertips find the chair beside him, then steadies himself by leaning on it first before changing his mind and yanking it out and then dropping into it heavily.

I don't blame him for wanting to sit down for this one.

"I've been saving up every penny I have to pay for treatment so I can do it on my own."

Stunned, Ben lifts his gaze to mine, and I can see the conflicting reactions warring inside him. His beast rebels against the idea; the possessive gleam in his eyes makes that clear enough. But Ben's expression hardens, shuttering closed before I can read too much into it.

"No.” He growls, his beast's pain bleeding into his voice. "Absolutely not. We're here to save John, not play happy families."

The immediate rejection stings, even though I knew it was coming. My beast whimpers, but I force down the hurt. He's jumping to conclusions, assuming I'm trying to trap him into something. As if I'd use a child that way.

"I've told my dad about it, hoping he'd help, but he refused. Said if I was barren, it was the fates’ way of telling me I wasn't meant to have children. That it's better to let nature decide." I try to keep my voice strong, but it's no good.

Ben hears the crack, and I see the sympathy in his eyes. Nobody deserves to hear those words. Whatever the reason someone can't have kids, to say it's their fault or that they don’t deserve them, is unforgivable.

"You never told him about us," Ben says, knowing that I never would. His anger at my father bleeds through despite his attempts to remain distant.

"No, not outright. He'd have killed you. He might have suspected, but when you left, and I didn’t… he let it go. And everyone thinking I'm not able to have kids is the only thing that's protected me from being paired with someone else."

Ben's jaw works, and his fingers curl so tightly around his tea that I'm worried the mug will crack in his hands. His protective instincts war with his determination to stay detached.

"Does it... hurt you?" he asks carefully, guilt threading through his voice despite his earlier rejection.

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