Page 21 of Omega on the Rocks
“I know it’s early,” I whispered. “But I can feel it. It’s like… my body isn’t mine anymore. Like something’s shifting—building. And it’s not just the symptoms, Keiran. It’s the bond. It’s different.”
His palm pressed gently, reverently over the slight swell that wasn’t there—but somehow stillwas. A potential. A spark.
“You're sure?” he asked, voice hushed, barely holding together.
“As sure as I can be without a test,” I said. “We both knew it could happen. I just didn’t expect it to happen this fast.”
His hand trembled slightly, then steadied. He leaned forward and kissed the center of my forehead—soft, sacred.
“You’re carrying my pup,” he whispered, more to himself than to me. “Our pup.”
The words hit me harder than I expected.
Ours.
I blinked fast, my throat suddenly tight.
“What do we do?” I asked. “What if something’s wrong? What if I’m not strong enough?”
He pulled me into his lap like I weighed nothing at all and wrapped his arms around me, holding me like I was something precious. Something breakable. Something his.
“You are the strongest man I’ve ever known, Malachi,” he said, pressing his lips to my temple. “And nothing—nothing—will happen to you or our baby. I won’t let it.”
I let myself lean into him, my body aching and raw and terrified.
But not alone.
Never alone.
Chapter Eleven
The next strange thing started with the blankets.
Not just any blankets—his. The ones Keiran used after long patrols. The ones that still smelled like him. The ones I’d clutched in the early weeks when the morning sickness was cruel and his work kept him away too long.
I dragged them into the corner of our bedroom without even thinking, piling them like a fortress. And then I needed more—more softness, more warmth, morehim. I stripped the sheets off the bed. Stole every pillow in the cabin. Emptied the linen closet and raided the laundry basket for the shirt he’d worn just that morning.
My body moved without instruction. Driven. Determined. It wasn’t a conscious decision, just aneed—a biological imperative humming in my blood that whispered:
Protect. Prepare. Comfort. Safe. Safe. Safe.
I built it in the corner near the fire, where the light was soft and the air was warm. Layer upon layer of softness and scent. Furs. Flannel. One of Keiran’s sweaters still dusted with pine needles from last week’s hunt. I arranged it, rearranged it, growled when something felt off and rebuilt it until itfelt right.
And gods help anyone who touched it.
I hissed when the front door creaked open.
“Preacher?” Keiran’s voice drifted in, casual, warm.
I didn’t answer.
He stepped into the room, pausing mid-stride when he saw me crouched in the middle of my pile like some sort of deranged dragon guarding treasure.
His brows lifted slowly. “You… uh. Got a project going?”
“Don’t touch it,” I said immediately. My voice was low. Defensive. Primal.
He lifted both hands in mock surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
