Page 49 of Mating Mia
They place me on a stretcher, carefully transferring my son to a separate one beside me. The bright lights of the emergency entrance hurt my eyes after the shade of the forest.
A nurse takes my blood pressure while another starts an IV. Someone else is examining my son, counting fingers and toes, listening to his heart.
“BP’s low but stable,” someone reports. “Mild tachycardia. Get a CBC and type and cross. Start fluids wide open.”
The medical jargon washes over me, but I start to get a little worried. All I can focus on is my son’s little face, now cleaned of birth fluids and pink with healthy color. They’ve put a tiny cap on his head and wrapped him in a proper hospital blanket.
A doctor appears above me, asking questions I struggle to answer:Yes, this is my first baby. No, I didn't have prenatal complications. About nine months along, I think. No, I didn't plan to give birth in the forest.
As they wheel us deeper into the hospital, I reach out and touch my son’s tiny hand. His fingers curl around mine instinctively, holding on with surprising strength.
“I’m right here,” I whisper to him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And neither is my mother, I remind myself. She’ll be waiting when we’re ready. After twenty-plus years apart, a few more days is nothing. We have all the time in the world now.
The thought comforts me as the medical team continues their work, checking vitals and assessing our condition. I’m in a daze, floating on the edge of consciousness, but I’m not afraid.
For the first time in my life, I feel complete. The circle broken so long ago has finally been made whole.
A thin, insistent cry pulls me from the depths of my deep sleep.
For a disorienting moment, I don’t know where I am, but the sterile white ceiling and antiseptic smell suddenly jolt me into alertness.
I look around and I see Kane standing by the window, cradling our baby son against his massive chest.
Hospital. Baby. My mom.
The events of yesterday crash over me in a wave of emotion so powerful I have to close my eyes briefly to contain it.
"I think someone's hungry again," Kane says, his deep voice softened to a near-whisper as he turns toward me. In the gray morning light filtering through the blinds, his usually fierce expression has transformed into something I've never seen before—tender, reverent, as he gazes down at the tiny bundle in his arms.
"How long was I asleep?" I ask, pushing myself up against the pillows. All my muscles still ache with the aftermath of bringing a new life into the world.
"About four hours," Kane answers, carefully crossing the room to place our son in my waiting arms. "I tried to bargain with him to let you sleep longer, but our little wolf has a mind of his own already."
The baby's face is scrunched up, pink with the effort of crying, tiny fists waving in angry protest at the world's failure to meet his needs immediately. The moment he's in my arms, his head turns instinctively toward my breast, his tiny mouth opening and closing in hungry anticipation.
"Definitely your son," I tease Kane as I adjust my hospital gown to feed the baby. "Just as demanding and impatient."
Kane's answering smile is so genuine, so unguarded, that it makes my heart squeeze in my chest. This man, who leads a pack of werewolves, who can rip throats out with his teeth when shifted, looks utterly transformed by fatherhood.
"You're going to be an amazing father," I tell him softly, reaching for his hand as our son latches on and begins to suckle.
"I hope so," he answers, unexpected vulnerability in his voice. “I’ve never had a great example.”
My gaze drifts across the room, where Jace is sprawled awkwardly across two hospital chairs pushed together, fast asleep with his mouth slightly open. His golden hair is a mess, his clothes rumpled from spending the night in the uncomfortable hospital furniture.
"They brought extra chairs," I observe, counting three in total. "That was nice of them."
Kane snorts. "They didn't have much choice. Finn told the staff that either they accommodate all three of us, or we'd be taking you home against medical advice."
The thought of my three alphas intimidating the hospital staff into submission makes me blush.
"Speaking of which, what are we going to name him?" I ask, looking down at our nursing son. "We can't keep calling him 'baby' or 'little wolf.'"
"We had a list, remember?" Kane says, perched carefully on the edge of my bed. "Top five names we all agreed on."
I nod, recalling the lengthy negotiations that went into creating that list. My three alphas rarely agree on anything without significant debate, but they'd been surprisingly united in their opinions on baby names.
