Page 58 of Tossed into the Mob
I felt the blood drain from my face. “What kind of complications?” Was this true? We were undercover, and now I was freaking out at what he was telling me.
“The baby's shifter instincts can kick in during delivery, causing trauma to both parent and child. In some cases—” He paused. “In some cases, we lose both patients.”
Treyton's hand found mine, squeezing tight. Okay, the guy was BS-ing, I was certain, because Treyton and I had discussed this with the cousins and their mates. And I was the product of a human and shifter mating. Now I understood how easily prospective parents were duped.
“But I've successfully delivered dozens of mixed babies over the years.”
Something about the way he said “successfully delivered” made my skin crawl.
“I'd like to examine you,” the doctor continued, “and run some additional tests. But I'll need your partner to wait outside during the examination.”
Treyton took hold of me. “It’s going to be okay.” He fanned himself and sweat stained his collar. How did his wolf do that? His voice rose."What if something's wrong? What if the baby dies? What if Brock dies?”
He grabbed the doctor by his white coat and shook him. “This is my fault. If he hadn’t been my fated mate, none of this would have happened. Our baby’s going to die and so is my mate, and I’ll be all alone.”
“Pull yourself together.” Gasper’s nostrils flared. “You’re a shifter. Where is your pride? You’ll always have your wolf, even if your human…” He spat out the last word. “Your human and child die.”
Hearing him describe my death and the baby’s in such clinical terms had my blood almost turn to ice.
Treyton yanked at Gasper’s tie, and the guy dragged him out of the office, shouting for the staff to intervene. I took advantage of being alone in the room and plugged the USB drive into the open laptop on Gasper’s desk.
Come on, come on, I thought as I watched the progress bar creep forward.
Treyton must have bumped something, one of the plants, or that tinkly fountain because there was a huge crash.
“I can’t bear it if they die,” he wailed.
Seventy-five percent. Eighty.
“Perhaps we should reschedule this appointment,” Gasper suggested.
“No!” Treyton said quickly. “Please, I'll be fine. I just need a minute. Maybe some water?”
Ninety percent. Ninety-five.
One hundred percent. I quickly ejected the drive and slipped it back into my pocket just before Gasper returned.
“I apologize. He's been so worried about the pregnancy.”
Gasper sneered, and I imagined I saw his wolf in his gaze. “Perhaps we should indeed reschedule.”
“That might be best,” I agreed.
“First-time father nerves.” Treyton got to his feet, and I steered him toward the door.
It wasn't until we were in the car and driving away that I breathed normally.
“Did you get it?” Treyton asked.
I patted my pocket. “Every file on his computer.”
“Thank gods. I was running out of ways to panic.”
“You were very convincing.”
Treyton glanced at me. “The thought of something happening to you and the baby keeps me awake at night.”
Awww. The trained midwife was worried about his mate and baby.
