Amelia
The cabin was warm. Morning sunlight streamed through the windows, casting long bands of gold across the hardwood floor. A kettle simmered somewhere behind me. The scent of coffee lingered in the air.
For a moment, I stood there and watched Kane as he sat in an armchair near the fireplace with our son, asleep against his chest. He couldn’t have been more than a few months old with black hair like his father. He had one tiny hand curled around his finger.
The sight of him hit me so hard it hurt.
I couldn’t stop staring.
Every detail felt impossibly precious.
Kane looked up.
For a second, I expected him to smile back. Instead, Kane’s face was stone. His eyes were cold in a way I had never seen before. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
The words gutted me. I tried to step forward, but my legs wouldn’t work. My arms felt heavy, useless. The collar around my throat tightened until I could barely breathe.
“Please,” I whispered. My voice cracked. “He’s mine. Let me hold him.”
Kane’s gaze never softened. He stood and adjusted our son against his shoulder.
“He was yours.”
The correction hollowed me out. “Kane.” My voice sounded desperate.
Kane turned away. “You’re not his mother anymore. You’ll hurt him. Just like you hurt everyone else.”
I shook my head so hard it hurt. “No.” The word tore out of me. “No.” I lunged for them, but the floor tilted beneath me. My fingers brushed empty air. Kane walked out of the room without looking back. The door shut behind him with a final, heavy sound.
“Kane.” This time, another voice answered. It sounded muffled and distant.
“Amelia.”
The voice came again, and it was closer now.
I woke up gasping. My heart slammed against my ribs. Sweat soaked the sheets and the back of my neck. My legs were tangled in the blanket like I’d been fighting it. My hand flew to my throat before I could stop it, fingers pressing hard against bare skin, searching for the silver collar that wasn’t there.
I was in our bedroom.
The mountain house.
Kane was already sitting up beside me with one hand cupping the side of my face while the other remained wrapped around my wrist.
His emotions hit me immediately. Concern settled around me first, followed by the familiar worry he’d carried ever since bringing me home. Beneath both was anger that hadn’t existed when we’d gone to sleep. Not directed at me. Directed at the fact that he’d felt my fear through the bond and still hadn’t been able to stop it.
“You’re okay.” I stared at him. “It wasn’t real,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
I couldn’t speak. The look on his face inside the dream. The certainty in his voice. ‘The rejection’ was one of Nyxroth’s favorite illusions to torment me with. Compared to some of the others, that one was easy.
Some days, it felt like I spent the entire day seeing pieces of that vision.
None of it was real.
All of it hurt anyway.
Kane’s thumb brushed across my cheek. “How bad?”
He didn’t ask what I saw. He never did. Kane just wanted whatever kernel I’d give him to carry with me.
The runes on his torso are enough of a reminder of all that he carries for me.
My throat burned. My skin felt clammy and too tight. “It was one of his.” Understanding moved through the bond immediately. Kane’s jaw tightened.
His hand slid down from my face and covered the one resting against my throat.
Only then did I realize what I’d been doing.
My fingers were pressed against my neck, searching for the collar again.
I looked away.
Kane didn’t comment on it. He covered it with his own and pulled me closer against him.
I lay there listening to his heartbeat against my back, trying to let it drown out the echo of the baby’s cries still ringing in my head.
The nightmare wasn’t real.
And some part of me still waited for the door to close behind Kane.
Morning came, and my body felt like it had been dragged behind a horse. Beside me, Kane slept on his side facing me. One arm rested across the mattress between us, close enough that his fingers brushed my hip beneath the blankets.
I watched him for a moment.
Sleeping was one of the few times he ever looked younger, less burdened.
I slipped out of bed. The movement barely registered before a flicker of awareness touched the bond. I paused, waiting to see if he would wake, but the feeling faded again as quickly as it had come. I pulled on a shirt and slipped out of the bedroom.
I moved quietly, bare feet cold against the stone floors as I headed to the kitchen. I made tea I didn’t want, then sat at the kitchen island staring into the cup. The steam curled up and disappeared. The kitchen was quiet. Most of the mountain still slept after the gathering.
I should have been enjoying that. Instead, I couldn’t seem to settle on a single thought for more than a few minutes. A moment later, my hand found my stomach, palm resting lightly over the small, firm curve that had started showing more in the last few days.
A familiar presence stirred through the bond.
Awake.
Looking for me.
He didn’t speak right away. Just walked over, brushed his fingers across my shoulder, and leaned down to press a slow kiss against the bite mark on my neck — the one he’d left after the battlefield. I shivered at the contact.
He pulled up a chair next to me and sat down. He didn’t ask about the nightmare. He never did.
“Gwyn wants to see you,” he said after a long silence. His voice was rough from sleep. “Today, if you’re up for it.”
I stared at the tea I wasn’t going to drink.
“For what?”
“According to her? Everything.” A faint, tired twitch pulled at the corner of his mouth. “She said you’re overdue.”
Gwyn arrived without warning in the late afternoon.
One moment, the house was quiet. Next, a sharp knock echoed through the room. I opened the door, and Gwyn stepped inside, carrying a large leather satchel over one shoulder. Her silver hair was braided back from her face, already looking me over like I was a problem that needed solving.
“You look like hell,” she said, stepping inside before I could speak.
Kane appeared at my back almost immediately, close enough that I felt the heat of him. His hand settled low on my waist, thumb brushing once over the small, firm curve of my stomach like he couldn’t help it.
Gwyn closed the door behind her. She walked further into the room and set her bag on the stone dining table. For a moment, she just looked at us. “How are you feeling?”
The question should have been simple.
Instead, I found myself staring at it.
Tired.
Nauseous.
Relieved.
Anxious.
Hungry.
Not hungry.
Guilty.
“I don’t know.” Gwyn nodded like that was a perfectly acceptable answer.
“How have you been sleeping?” she asked.
I didn’t answer right away. My fingers drifted up to my neck again, pressing against bare skin.
Gwyn watched the motion but didn’t comment. Instead, she turned her gaze to Kane.
“Drop the wards,” she said to Kane before turning back to me. She motioned toward the bedroom with her head. “Let’s get you more comfortable.”
She followed me down the short hallway to our room. I took a seat on the edge of the bed. Gwyn stopped in the middle of the room and looked at Kane.
“Wards,” she said again.
Kane’s hand tightened on my waist for a second. I felt the hesitation through the bond. Then he exhaled once and let the wards drop.
The absence hit me like a door slamming open. A faint, rhythmic flutter that made my breath catch. A warm, steady pulse bloomed low in my stomach, small but unmistakable. The nausea worsened immediately. My breasts ached. My lower back throbbed. Every pregnancy symptom that was dulling under the wards came rushing back at once.
I pressed my palm harder against my stomach, feeling the warmth and the small, insistent movement beneath it. Gwyn sat down on the bed beside me.
“Any bleeding?”
“No.”
“Dizziness?”
“Sometimes.”
“Nausea?”
“Yes.”
“That’s normal.”
“It shouldn’t be.”
“It is.”
I sighed. She went through the exam with quick, efficient movements. Cool fingers on my wrist. Listening to my breathing, pressing gently along my stomach. Every time her hands moved, I braced, waiting for pain that never came. But my body kept expecting it anyway.
She finally stepped back.
“The pup is steady,” she said. “Smaller than ideal, but the heartbeat is strong. You’ve lost weight. Not surprising after everything. I’ll give you something for the nausea.” She dug through her bag and pressed a small pouch of herbs into my palm.
“How are you feeling about the pup? Have you allowed yourself to be happy yet?”
The question landed like a stone in still water.
“I…” My voice cracked. “I don’t know.”
The words felt pathetic. I loved the baby. I would die for the baby. But happy? The word felt dangerous. Like if I let myself feel it, something would come and take it away.
But happy? I hadn’t let myself get there. Not really.
Gwyn waited. She didn’t push. She just watched me with that unflinching, practical stare.
My voice came out rough. “I’ve been too busy trying not to lose it.”
She nodded once, like that was the answer she expected. “You’re worrying about the wrong things,” she said quietly.
I laughed once. The sound held no humor. “Am I?”
Immediately, a memory surfaced of a wolf bleeding, begging me for his life. I closed my eyes like that would rid my mind of the horrific memory. I could feel Kane’s worry as well as Gwyn’s determination thread through me.
“What if I hurt the baby?” I whispered. “What if something is wrong with me?” My throat burned. “What if I lose control again?”
The words sounded ridiculous once they were out loud.
Gwyn leaned forward. “Amelia.” I forced myself to look at her. “The entity is gone.”
Kane’s pain moved down the bond. The idea that I could still believe that after everything we’d survived together hurt him in a way he couldn’t hide. His hand tightened around mine.
“I know,” I whispered.
“Do you?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. A part of me wasn’t sure.
Not logically.
Emotionally.
“You keep acting like survival comes first.” Her thumb brushed lightly across my knuckles. “The pup is already here. “The hard part now is letting yourself believe you’ll get to keep it.”
I looked away. The words should have helped me. Instead, they hurt. For a moment, I couldn’t speak because all I could think about was the wolves who hadn’t gotten a chance to protect their families from me.
Gwyn shakes her head. “Everyone else is excited, and you haven’t had a chance to be.”
I frowned. “What?”
Gwyn’s gaze held mine. “Everyone else is talking about names. Nurseries. Whether the pup will look like you or Kane.” A faint smile touched her lips. “Whether it’ll inherit his temper.” The small curve beneath my shirt suddenly felt different.
Gwyn seemed to read the realization on my face.
“You haven’t had a chance to be excited,” I’d spent so much time thinking about survival, I hadn’t spent any time imagining what came after.
Names.
A nursery.
Tiny clothes.
Whether the pup would have Kane’s dark hair or my eyes.
The thought appeared unexpectedly and stayed.
For once, it didn’t hurt.
Gwyn squeezed my hand once before standing. “I’ve given you a lot to think about. I will be by next week, sooner if needed.”
I nodded as Kane walked Gwyndolyn to the door.
The pup was healthy.
I was home.
The nightmares would come back.
I knew they would.
But as I sat there, I found myself wondering whether the pup would smile like Kane.
And somehow, that felt like a beginning.