Page 67 of Fat Forced Mate

It succeeds in making her laugh. That sound could make flowers grow.

Outside, Silvercreek bustles with afternoon activity. Pack members nod respectfully as we pass—to both of us, I note with satisfaction. Near the training grounds, I spot Melissa watching Luna with poorly disguised curiosity. My sister has been making awkward but sincere efforts to connect with Luna since the attack, bringing her tea when morning sickness is at its worst, asking hesitant questions about her herb work.

"She's trying," Luna murmured the other day, after Melissa left. "I can appreciate the effort, even if we're never going to be best friends."

It's more than I expected from either of them, given their history.

"Alpha," a voice calls, drawing my attention. One of the younger pack members—Brady, I think—jogs toward us. "The supplies you ordered from Harbor Springs have arrived."

Luna looks at me questioningly. I try to keep my expression neutral, though anticipation bubbles beneath the surface. "What supplies?"

"Just something I thought might make you feel more at home," I answer vaguely. "Want to see?"

Her curiosity piqued, Luna follows me to the small building behind the pack house that once served as a groundskeeper's workshop. When I push open the door, her small gasp is exactly the reaction I'd hoped for.

The space has been transformed. Fresh paint brightens the walls, new shelves line one side, and sturdy tables provide ample workspace. But what makes Luna's eyes widen are the contents being unpacked from crates—her supplies from Herbal Haven, her workshop recreated here in Silvercreek.

"You did this?" she whispers, moving to touch the familiar mortar and pestle, the jars of dried herbs, the reference books she'd left behind.

"Ruby helped coordinate what to bring," I admit. "I wanted you to have your work, your space. Something that's yours."

She turns to me, eyes bright with tears she refuses to shed. "Thank you."

The words are simple, but the emotion behind them is anything but. I've learned that with Luna, the most meaningful sentiments often come in the smallest packages.

***

"There," Dr. Reynolds says, turning the small screen toward us. "That's your baby."

Luna's grip on my hand tightens as we stare at the grainy image. The tiny form is barely recognizable as human yet, butthe rapid fluttering heartbeat is unmistakable. My wolf surges forward at the sound, protective instincts nearly overwhelming.

"Everything looks perfect," the doctor continues, moving the wand slightly. "Strong heartbeat, good position, proper development for ten weeks."

Ten weeks. Our child has existed for ten weeks, conceived that day at Shadow Creek when everything between us was still broken and confused. Yet from that chaos, this miracle.

"Would you like printouts?" Dr. Reynolds asks, already knowing the answer.

Luna nods wordlessly, her eyes never leaving the screen. I press my lips to her temple, too overwhelmed for speech myself.

Later, as we walk back to our quarters, Luna says quietly, "It's real now."

I understand immediately what she means. Before, the pregnancy was knowledge, an abstract concept. Now we've seen our child, heard its heartbeat, have tangible evidence of its existence.

"Scared?" I ask, my arm around her shoulders.

"Terrified," she admits with a small laugh. "But not in a bad way somehow. You?"

"Same." I glance down at the printout she holds carefully, as if it might dissolve if handled too roughly. "I need to read you my list of names. You need to tear it apart.”

"We have time," she reminds me, but her smile tells me she's already considering possibilities.

That night, I hold her close as we drift toward sleep, my hand resting protectively over the slight curve of her stomach that's just becoming noticeable. She fits against me perfectly, asif her body was designed to align with mine. My wolf rumbles with contentment, finally at peace with its mate and offspring safely in our den.

"Nic?" Luna's voice is soft in the darkness.

"Hmm?"

"I don't want to wait anymore. For the mating ceremony."

---