"That's absurd. I'm just an Omega." My voice shakes, thin and sharp, as I stare at Caleb, his words still ringing in my ears.
"Are you, now?" He shuffles to the window, gazing out at our scrappy garden, moonlight glinting off the wilted herbs. "Tell me, Evie, when'd you first catch it? Someone's fear, their joy, just from a whiff of their scent?"
My mouth goes dry, a desert in my throat. He's right. I've always sensed it, anger sharp as pine, sadness heavy like damp earth, reading people through their smells. I thought it was normal, something every wolf could do. I blink, words stuck.
Caleb turns, his weathered face stern. "And your healing. Folks mend too fast under your hands, cuts that should fester for weeks, gone in days. You called it skill, a knack."
"It's just, " I start, grasping for denial.
"Your birthright." His voice cuts, firm, unyielding. "Your blood carries the first wolves' legacy, the ones who ran with the Moon Goddess herself. That's why your awakening hit so hard, why Adrian couldn't stay away."
"Nonsense," I snap, but it's weak, a whisper. Deep down, something stirs, a quiet truth I've dodged my whole life, a flicker of being… different.
"Why tell me this now?" I ask, arms crossed tight, a shield against his words.
"Because tonight, Adrian's engagement, it's not about you falling short." Caleb's eyes bore into me, sharp as a hawk's. "It's fear, child."
"Fear of what?" My heart stumbles, a frantic beat.
"Of you. Of the power in your veins." He grabs his walking stick, the wood scraping the floor as he heads for the door. "The Alphas, the ones who rule us, they've built their world on keeping Omegas down, small. But you, Evie… you could upend it all."
"I don't want to upend anything!" My voice cracks, raw. "I just want, "
"Adrian." His smile is gentle, sad, knowing. "I see it. But what we want and what we're meant for? Not always the same." He pauses at the threshold, moonlight silvering his hair. "It's your choice, Evelyn. Stay quiet, stay safe, or claim what's yours. Choose fast. That child in your dreams, she's restless."
He's gone, leaving me with his cryptic warning, a storm churning in my chest. I pace my room, boots scuffing the worn floor, Caleb's words spinning like leaves in a gust, power, bloodline, change. By dawn, I've talked myself down. He's an old man, lonely, weaving tales from thin air. That's all.
But morning brings nausea, a sour twist in my gut, and his words gain weight, heavy as stone.
"You look awful," Lilah says, finding me hunched over the bathroom sink, retching. The cold porcelain bites my palms, the tang of bile sharp in my throat.
"Thanks," I mutter, sarcastic, wiping my mouth. "Really lifting my spirits here."
"I'm serious, Evie." She frowns, pressing her hand to my forehead, her skin cool against my clammy heat. "You're pale as a ghost. Fever?"
"Don't think so." I splash water on my face, the chill a shock, trying to steady my shaking hands. "Probably just… last night. Stress."
"From Adrian's big announcement?" Her voice softens, careful, like she's stepping around broken glass. "I saw you run out, Evie. Everyone did."
My cheeks burn, humiliation flaring. "Great. I'm sure they're all chuckling over the sad little Omega who thought she could win the Alpha."
"Not really." Lilah leans against the doorframe, studying me in the mirror. "Most seemed worried. Lucas looked ready to chase you down, and some pack folks asked if you were okay."
"How kind," I say, dry, bitter, staring at my reflection, pale, hollow-eyed, a mess.
Her gaze lingers, too sharp. "You're hiding something, aren't you?"
I want to spill it all, Adrian, our stolen nights, the mate bond aching like a bruise in my chest. But the words won't come, locked tight. "I'm fine," I lie, voice thin. "Just need time to sort it out."
Days crawl by, and the nausea worsens, a relentless churn. I blame heartbreak, the banquet, anything but the truth creeping closer. Three weeks late, three days of no food staying down, and I can't dodge it anymore. My body's screaming what my mind won't face.
"I need tests," I tell Dr. Morrison, the pack's old physician, my voice wobbling as I stand in his cramped office, the air thick with antiseptic and herbs.
"What kind?" He peers over wire-rimmed glasses, gray eyes calm, his gnarled hands already dipping into his battered medical bag.
"Blood. Hormones." I swallow, throat tight. "Pregnancy."
His brows lift, a quick flicker, but he doesn't pry. Forty years tending wolves, nothing shocks him. The needle's a quick pinch, blood dark in the vial, but the wait stretches, endless. I sit in his exam room, staring at faded posters, wolf joints, pack wellness, my mind racing, dodging the what-ifs I'm terrified to name.
Dr. Morrison shuffles back, a file in hand, his face unreadable, lined like old leather. "Well?" I whisper, barely a sound, heart hammering.
He eases into his chair, the creak loud in the quiet, and opens the file slow, deliberate. "Blood shows high hormones, consistent with early pregnancy. It's positive, Evelyn."
The words slam me, a wave I saw coming but couldn't brace for. My breath catches, hands trembling. "How… how far?"
"Based on levels, I'd say six weeks, give or take." His voice is steady, kind.
Six weeks. That night in the grove, Adrian's hands, his breath, our bodies tangled under the oaks. My hand drifts to my stomach, still flat, and reality crashes in, sharp, heavy, real. I'm carrying Adrian Blackthorn's child. His, while he's set to wed another in two weeks.
"You okay?" Dr. Morrison leans forward, concern etching deeper lines in his face.
I nod, mute, words lost. How do I say my world's tipped upside down? The mate bond, the one I thought he shattered, now ties us through this tiny, fragile life.
"You'll need regular checkups," he says, voice gentle. "Prenatal care. And you'll want to tell the father soon. These things… they show, Evelyn."
The father. Adrian. Who stood before the pack, claiming Serena, while his child grows in me. My chest tightens, the bond pulsing, alive, new.
"Doctor," I rasp, forcing the words. "Keep this quiet, please. For now."
His brow furrows, worry flickering. "If there's complications… "
"There won't be." I cut in, desperate. "I just… need time to figure this out."
He studies me, eyes searching, then
nods, slow. "Confidentiality's my oath."