Gator

Poppy’s eight weeks pregnant when my luck runs out, and her doctor suggests she get an ultrasound because her blood test results came back strange. She’s been seeing a local OB-GYN, but so far the visits have been brief and routine. They weigh her, ask how she’s feeling, and then smear her belly with this gel goop so we can all listen in on the fast whup-whup-whup of our pup’s heartbeat. Poppy’s got the cutest little curve already. Fucking love cupping it with my hands, knowing there’s someone who’s the best of me and her growing just beneath her heart. Just don’t fucking know which of us that baby’s gonna come out looking like.

The pack doesn’t have much experience with breeding. When a werewolf knocks up his female, however, the girl pups tend to be non-shifters while the males are full werewolf. I haven’t figured out how to break that piece of news to Poppy, and I have to do it soon. Not the good kind of surprise to pop out a wolf cub in the delivery room, right? Not to mention that if it looks like she’s carrying a shifter, we can’t let her go to the hospital unless it’s an emergency. Keelie Sue’s planning on a home birth, but Poppy’s already made her preferences clear. She’s got a ten-page birth plan typed up and printed out, and it includes having a team of doctors and an anesthesiologist on call. She says natural is for masochists, and she plans on availing herself of every drug she can.

I don’t want her to hurt.

I want her safe as fuck, and that’s the truth.

She wakes up way too early in the morning for a wolf who’s spent most of the night on club business, but I’m learning. Because she’s not supposed to be mainlining caffeine, or so she says, I make us a pot of decaf every morning and then bring it up to our bed. We drink it curled up in the sheets, talking about what happened yesterday and how big the Bean is now. Not like he or she grows all that much overnight, but Poppy likes to imagine what he looks like (she’s convinced we’re having a boy) and compare him to all sorts of shit. So far that includes a lentil, a blueberry, a chickpea, Nerds, Skittles, and jellybeans. I’d think she likes food even more than she likes my dick, except that whole thing about pregnancy hormones? Not a myth.

I need to tell her.

I need to tell her now.

Instead we’ve got our asses parked in some fucking pink and cream doctor’s office while a technician paints Poppy’s belly with some kind of cold goop and then slides a plastic wand over the mess. Poppy clutches my hand hard enough to leave bruises because she’s been worrying ever since she got the call yesterday. Pretty sure Google’s about to fucking explode from all the searching she’s done. And yeah, I should have told her then. Just popped out the hey, honey, you’ve been knocked up by a werewolf explanation when she started working her way through a list of diseases and wondering which one she and the Bean had. But I wasn’t ready to let her go. Not yet. So I kissed her to distract her, and one thing led to another, and now here we are and she still doesn’t know.

The technician flips a switch or something because the big screen suddenly lights up, filling with grey and black fuzz.

“Let’s meet your baby,” she says, running her eyes over the image.

Poppy’s grip tightens, and I can’t stop looking at her. She’s wearing a white T-shirt with a vee that exposes the shadow between her tits. When she starts because that cold gel shit can’t be fun, I can see the lace edging her bra cups. Her tits are already bigger. Her hair’s scooped up in a ponytail, and she’s wearing yoga pants because she’s button-averse. Got to get her some more stuff.

My dick stiffens because it loves the view, and I wrap her ponytail around my fingers, staring at all the bare skin between her shoved-up shirt and tugged-down pants. Bright pink cotton peeks out of the yoga pants. Part of me just wants to get her back home and into bed. Always seems like we can work everything out when we’re naked.

At first, it’s all business as usual for the technician, who cheerfully announces that Poppy’s measuring eight weeks. I do some quick mental math and decide that definitely jives with our broken condom. Not like I really thought we’d knocked Poppy up some other night, but now it’s confirmed.

The technician points to a rapid flicker on the screen, kind of like a light bulb going in and out. “Baby has a nice strong heartbeat.”

I squint at the screen and the fast flicker-flicker of light.

No idea how it happens, but there’s an answering tug somewhere in my chest, like something there is pushing hard at my ribs because it recognizes the connection, and suddenly my head, my wolf, my heart… we’re all agreed.

Poppy and our baby come first.

Always.

Poppy

“What’s that?” I squint at the monitor. Thank God there’s a technician here to interpret the ultrasound because it looks to me like I’m carrying a blizzard of gray fuzz. And maybe some black blobs. There’s not too much that actually looks like baby bits.

Rather than chiming in with some helpful labels and pointing, however, the technician squints, too. Then she frowns and moves the wand, trying for a slightly different angle.

“I don’t know,” she says.

Gator sort of stiffens beside me, leaning in. Another time, another place, and I’d tease him for not knowing everything.

The fuzz and the baby bits on the screen sort of blip as we all stare, and swear to God, the peanut-sized baby I’m carrying shimmies and the lines on the monitor change. Gator’s hand sort of knocks the wand away from my stomach and the image vanishes, but I can’t stop thinking about what I saw. It’s impossible. But…

“I think I have wolves on the brain,” I joke. “Because I’d swear our baby looked like it had a tail.”

The technician frowns more deeply, leaning toward my belly again. “Let’s try that again. Maybe we’ve miscalculated the due date.”

Gator growls a negative. “We’re done here.”

Before anyone can protest, he’s lifting me off the table. Not that I can’t do it myself, but that’s how he rolls. I think he’d carry this baby for me if he could, but since he can’t, he’s determined to take care of me. Drives me crazy sometimes, how protective he is. He watches me with those eyes, his arms braced around me like nothing in the world can hurt Bean and me as long as he’s there.

It’s a fantasy, but I like it.

Damned if he doesn’t cradle me against his chest, my cheek pressed against his heart. My body warms up for him, which is what got us into this situation in the first place. At least I can’t get pregnant more than once.

Heat burns through me, building with each shift of Gator’s body against mine. He holds me effortlessly in his muscled arms, and I appreciate feeling light and special since from what I’ve seen of Keelie Sue, I’m going to swell up to the size of a small elephant. I wonder not for the first time if Gator will still find me attractive when I look like I’ve swallowed a beach ball’s worth of kid.

He hustles me out—guess he doesn’t want the ultrasound technician making a call to the insane asylum about the pregnant woman who thinks she’s having a wolf. Fang’s hanging in the waiting room, chatting up the receptionist. She’s explaining the difference between a baby doctor and a doula to him, and he’s nodding like she’s Einstein.

“We’re out of here,” Gator announces as we sweep past him.

Gator

Poppy’s lease is up at the end of the month, and she’s agreed to move into my place, at least temporarily. I hadn’t missed the hesitation in her voice—she doesn’t like accepting help. And while I’ve never wanted to make something happen more, some shit you can’t force. So I’ve nodded when she makes noises about having to work, and I’ve asked. Repeatedly. I need her near me. She’s been doing some freelance editing for a science magazine, and she can do that in my library just fine. Taking care of her is something I need to do, and it’s fair enough if she wants in on that action, too.

Since she’d mentioned wanting to finish packing up her stuff after the doctor’s appointment today, I’ve come armed with boxes and a plan. Telling her about werewolves is gonna go better when she’s in her own space. If I tell her out in the bayou, she’s in my territory, and there’s nowhere she can go if she feels she needs to leave. Not like I want her to take off on me, but I want her to have options. She shouldn’t feel trapped.

“We need to talk,” I tell her. Probably comes out way too fucking blunt, but I can’t change some shit. I take her arm and lead her over to the bed. Somehow seems like a cliché to suggest she sit down, but I drop down and open up my arms. She comes right to me, dropping onto my lap and letting me pull her against my chest. I cup her head with my hand, tucking her face against my shoulder. Fucking pet her too, because I love doing that for her.

“What’s up?” Her voice is sleepy, her body growing heavier and more relaxed against me as I hold her. We fit together in a way I’ve never fit with anyone before. Her hair smells like strawberries and sugar from the shampoo she uses. I breathe it in just in case this is the last chance I have.

Tell her.

The wolf is itching at my skin, wanting out. I breathe in and out, counting each inhalation as I sift her ponytail through my fingers. Don’t scare her. Don’t shift. Just love her and make it all good. Fucking fantasy, but I love it.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, and now she doesn’t sound so sleepy. She pushes up on my chest, and I cup the back of her head to keep her in place. She’s my mate. She’s carrying my cub. Why the fuck would I let her go? Instinct demands I flip her over, hold her down, and drill into her hard. Mark her so she knows exactly whom she belongs to. She likes it when I get just a little rough, although we’re gonna have to be even more careful now that we’re a threesome.

Focus.

Give her the truth.

I let go, roll away from her, and then stand up. I pull my shirt over my head, dropping it onto the bed. Then I unbuckle my belt, toe my boots off, and shove my jeans down. My dick’s iron-hard, which is gonna lead to misunderstandings.

“Gator, what’s—” she starts to say, but I’m done waiting. Done holding back. I tell her the truth straight up, like I should have done weeks and weeks ago.

“I’m a shifter.”

I take a step back from the bed. This isn’t getting any easier. Not like I’m precisely feeling calm and collected, either, because my mate’s looking at me like she thinks I’m crazy. Not sure what the fuck I expected her to say or do, but I guess part of me was hoping we’d get ourselves some kind of fairytale ending where she squeals I love furries! And then we’d get back to the business of making love and living happily ever after. Fuck, we’d probably make time for her to tell me that she loves me, and I’d figure out a way to give her those words right back.

“A shifter?” She blinks at me like I’m speaking Greek.

“I’m a wolf.”

Her mouth parts, but I’m done with words. I shift. I shuck my human skin, slipping into the wolf’s. I’ve been told it doesn’t sound so good to outsiders, what with the bones crunching and shit reforming, but for me it’s an easy sideways step from one part of me to another, as simple as choosing to step off a path and into wild, waist-high grass. The wolf fucking loves his freedom. He stretches, and I let the man go for just a moment. I put a paw on the bed and whine. Let us in.

Poppy yells, scrambling backward on the bed. Her face flushes as her breath catches. I see fear and adrenaline in her eyes, and her T-shirt pulls over her tits, sliding up her stomach as she launches herself off the bed. Something lands with a crash; she’s pushed over a stack of books on the bedside table. This isn’t a great start on our happily-ever-after.

I stalk toward her, trying to get closer. It’s like some kind of fucked up dance. She retreats, I push forward, trying to back her up against the wall. To make her let me get close again. Feels wrong, the same way it did when I shut down her research. This should be Poppy’s choice. It will be Poppy’s choice. She has to call the shots here.

Booted feet pound up the stairs, and then Fang slams open the door. “The fuck?” he bellows. He’s got his gun and his knife out, his eyes sweeping the room as he pulls my Poppy behind him. The wolf hates that as much as I do. We both growl, even though we know that our brother just has our mate’s back and that’s a good thing.

“He’s a wolf,” she shrieks at Fang. “How is that possible?”

The way she grabs Fang’s shoulders, she doesn’t expect an answer. She’s yanking him toward the door.

“You’ve got to calm down, honey.” Fang tucks the gun away in the waistband of his jeans.

“Are you crazy?” Her voice veers between panicked and outraged, her eyes glued to the casual movements of his hands as he stores his weapon. She hasn’t connected the dots yet, hasn’t figured out why a wolf in the bedroom isn’t bothering Fang. But she will. Poppy’s smart. Part of that’s the scientist in her, but most of it is just how she’s made. Fuck, but I love her.

Letting another male put his hands on my mate is wrong. My mate. The wolf doesn’t like the space between us and hates the way Fang’s scent fills the room. It wants to charge toward Poppy, to push her back onto the bed, and make Fang acknowledge who she belongs to.

“I know he’s a wolf,” Fang says. “He’s not gonna hurt you.”

“You can’t know that,” Poppy protests. Her eyes keep dancing toward me, and I see the way she’s inching toward the door. She wants out.

“Can,” Fang says.

“How?”

Fang’s a loyal son-of-a-bitch. He doesn’t hesitate. “Because I’m one, too.”

Poppy makes a strangled sound and sort of sways on her feet. Fang looks uncomfortable, but he grabs her, steadying her. Since I’ve made my point and Fang’s just hammered it home, I shift back and grab my jeans. She’s not gonna want to have this conversation with my dick hanging out. Plus, I can’t be naked around her and not want to fuck her, so I need to make sure we get the talking done.

Poppy sits down on the side of the bed hard.

“Gonna give you the short version.” I think about sitting down beside her, but she doesn’t look too welcoming, so I settle for leaning against the wall. Fang slips away while I’m yanking on my boots. He’ll have our backs.

“You’re a wolf.” Her eyes narrow. Poppy’s smart, and she’s catching up fast. “Were you the wolf I spotted out in the bayou?”

“Yes.” I think about trying to minimize what she knows, but we’ve gone beyond that. “But those tracks you spotted out in the bayou? Pretty sure that was T.D. and his boys. T.D.’s a wanna-be Alpha shifter who’s been building himself a new pack out in Rose Bayou.”

“Fang’s a wolf too,” she says slowly. “How many of you are there?”

“About forty.” I shrug. “In our pack.”

“Your pack,” she says slowly.

“The Breed MC.” That’s me—Mr. Really Fucking Helpful.

“This is—” She stops, clearly out of words.

“Complicated,” I admit. “I’m sorry to blindside you like this, but you need to know.”

I suddenly have a whole new empathy for T.D. and his attempts to recruit a pack. Guess T.D. got sick of being alone, too, and he’s done what he can to fix the problem and make himself a place where he fits. I’m still going to kick his ass the next time I see him, but I might also tell him that I get it because I don’t want to be alone anymore, either. But you can’t make someone stay. I think there’s a fucking song about that, some whiney, fucking country song that plays over and over in dive bars while men like me get drunk as shit and wonder where we went wrong. Except that I know.

I’m a lone wolf, and I forgot that for a handful of days.

If I don’t belong with Poppy, I’m not sure I belong anywhere.

Poppy

I’m having… a pup?

Everything I know spins like a Tilt-A-Whirl, knocking me off-balance. Good thing I’ve got the bed beneath me because I can feel myself going down. And of course Gator’s right there with me, his arms closing around me and controlling my landing. We’ve curled up here more than once, either before or after he’d had his way with me (or me with him—Gator’s all about equal opportunity fucking). Funny how the room still seems so normal and familiar. Just everyday pillows, sheets, and blankets—and, oh yeah, a werewolf. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry about that one.

A werewolf.

Gator braces himself on top of me. He’s careful—there’s no pressure on Bean. Shit—what kind of baby am I going to have? The doctor had mentioned anomalies in my blood work, and then there’d been that strange moment at the ultrasound when our baby seemed to sort of flicker in and out of being. I think about the possibility of having a wolf baby, while Gator watches me carefully. Does he expect this to be happy news?

“You got questions, ask.” He draws my hands up over my head, one big hand lightly shackling my wrists. “You want to know something, I’ll tell you what I can. Not too many humans know about the pack. Not like you can go figure us out in a library or something.”

I should be all over the facts he’s spewing, because facts and science are my bread and butter, but exactly what I’m carrying takes top priority.

“I’m going to give birth to a pup.”

Nope. Those words sound just as crazy said out loud as they do inside my head.

“Shifter,” Gator corrects. “From the looks of that ultrasound, baby’s gonna take after me and have a wolf form. Don’t suppose you can think of it as kind of a bonus?”

“Like a free gift with purchase?” I ask.

Gator gives me a tight smile. “Merry fucking Christmas.”

In some ways I appreciate the levity. Once I have a chance to really think this through, I suspect I’m going to freak out. I mean, I don’t even want to know what a werewolf birth entails. Is it like some bad science fiction horror flick where the alien chews its way out of the poor human’s belly? Will my baby come out with teeth and a tail?

“Werewolves can’t exist,” I say. “You’re like a bad sitcom. Will a vampire come through my window next?”

Gator’s face softens a little, but his body remains tense. It’s like he’s just waiting for me to do something. Not sure what I can do, to be honest. “No vampires. Not today.”

He doesn’t say they don’t exist.

Fuck. Me.

“So Bean’s like you.”

He doesn’t try to avoid my gaze. “Probably.”

“I’m going to have a wolf-baby?” My voice sounds a little hysterical, but I think I’m justified. The whole unexpected pregnancy thing was hard enough to deal with, but now my baby turns out to be a shapeshifter. Pretty sure What to Expect When You’re Expecting doesn’t have a chapter on cross-species pregnancies. What will he look like? More importantly, how will he act? Will the terrible twos be even worse when my kiddo can sprout fur and a tail?

“Poppy.” There’s something in the way he says my name. It sounds familiar, but this man above me? I don’t know him. He’s not the man I’ve held and loved. That first day in the bayou when I ran my boat into his and he fished me out of the water, he scared me. Then he’d demanded I trade him a week of my life for the right to carry out my research on his land. And I’d thought I’d seen a hidden side of him then, a part of Gator that not too many people, if any, got to see. I thought I’d seen a man I could love.

But he’s not a man, is he?

He’s a wolf and a liar and a cheat. Not only did he destroy my funding and tamper with my field research, but he lied to me. I told him that I wanted no secrets between us and he didn’t disagree.

I don’t know who he is.

“Get off,” I tell him. And then when he doesn’t budge, I tug hard at my hands. “I’m done here.”