Page 13

I wake several times throughout the night, tossing and turning in my large, empty bed. Considering I have slept alone all my life, having only shared Tristen’s bed for a few weeks, sleeping alone shouldn’t feel so strange. And yet, it does.

After I stormed out, I walked around town, stopping at the bakery for some of Mrs. McCormik’s sweet buns before walking over to the refuge to share them with some of the young rogue witches.

To be honest, I just wanted to do something practical with people who wouldn’t ask too many questions about my situation.

I wanted to talk about their situations and completely ignore the fact I’d just found out I was pregnant, and Tristen practically rejected me and our baby on the spot.

I held it together remarkably well, staying at the shelter late into the night until it became too obvious I was stalling. Then, I headed back to the house, hoping Tristen wouldn’t be there—and he wasn’t.

The whole house was shrouded in darkness, which might have been a bit intimidating if it hadn’t been for the fact that Ryan had been stalking my every move all day and was right there if anything was off.

I may not have shifter senses, but I’m not sure Ryan is cut out for surveillance work.

He was the most obvious trail imaginable.

Presumably sent to follow me and make sure I don’t collude with my coven or run away before Tristen figures out what to do with me… and our baby.

Our baby.

And just like that, I’m wide awake again.

My hand flies to my still-flat stomach as I stare at the ceiling in the early morning light.

With no available distractions, I can’t run from my reality.

The saddest part is that when the healer told me, she sounded so happy for me, and for just a moment, although shocked, I found myself picturing a little child who looked like Tristen.

But as quickly as the daydream appeared, it was shattered the moment I turned around and saw his face.

I don’t know why I expected anything different. I’ve always known how Tristen feels about witches—the joke is on me. How many times does he have to reject me and everything about me before I take the hint?

But rejecting our baby, his baby. That’s a whole different level.

I try to listen for signs of him in the house, wondering if he’s going to come and check I’m here. The last thing I want to do is face him this morning. I’m angry, but I’m also wobbly as hell. I need to figure out my own head first.

I needn’t have worried about him wanting to seek me out; by the time I hear him, it’s the sound of the front door shutting.

I close my eyes and sigh, determined not to cry, before slipping from the bed and wandering over to the window.

I just about catch his retreating form as he gets into his truck and pulls out without so much as a backward glance.

I’m about to turn away when someone else catches my eye.

I roll my eyes at the figure sitting in his truck, drinking a coffee on the other side of the road and clearly watching the house and me: Ryan.

I guess no one got much sleep last night.

Sighing, I sit back down on the bed and pick up my phone.

Part of me wants to shove all of this deep down and not deal with any of it.

But becoming a mother isn’t something I can just ignore, and if there’s one person who will understand what I’m about to go through and what it means to be rejected, it’s Ava.

I almost hang up as soon as the ringing starts, but she answers so quickly I don’t have a chance.

“Hey Em,” she says, concern in her voice, “everything okay?”

I wonder how she knows, but then I glance at the time and realize I’ve called extremely early. Way too early. “I am so sorry,” I say, “I’ve just seen the time. I’ll call back later.”

“No, no,” she says quickly before I can hang up. “We’re up. The joys of being heavily pregnant.”

Ava laughs lightly, and I try to join in, but I’m painfully aware that it comes out more as a splutter as the reference to pregnancy hits me like a sledgehammer. Ava’s laughter trails off, and she pauses before continuing in a far more serious tone, “What’s wrong, Em?”

For someone who rarely opens up…to anyone, I spill the whole sordid ordeal to Ava in one long, emotional outburst, from the depth of my connection to Tristen and how I thought he was changing his mind about me, to feeling sick, the healer, finding out I’m pregnant, and Tristen’s awful reaction and accusations.

When I finally finish, there’s a long pause at the end of the line, and then I hear a male voice raised in concern. “Ava, are you there?” I ask uncertainly.

“Yes, honey,” she replies soothingly despite the hushed voice, which I know to be Callum’s, in the background. “Callum heard some of that and is about to bash his brother’s thick head in. I can’t believe he’s doing this. Are you okay? I…hang on.”

I hear more muffled conversation, and then Ava sighs and comes back on the line. “Okay, so Callum’s about to go have a proper chat with his idiot brother. I think Tristen’s about to get his ass handed to him.”

I cringe at the thought of Callum and Tristen arguing, “Is that a good idea? I mean, they’re both alphas, and this isn’t really Callum’s business…”

Ava cuts me off. “This isn’t alpha business; it’s family business,” she reassures me. “Besides, Callum is well placed to talk about rejecting a mate and child, even though he didn’t know about Harper. He’s missed so much, and it sounds like Tristen needs to talk through his stupid issues.”

I sink back into the headboard and run my hand through my hair. “I didn’t call you to get Callum to fight my battles, you know.”

“We know that, Emily. But that’s Callum’s niece or nephew you’re carrying; you’d better believe he’s going to have words for his brother if he needs to hear them,” Ava replies firmly. “I need to know you’re okay.”

I smile at her words, feeling the warmth of someone else’s care wash over me.

Having lost my mother as a baby, I was looked after by the coven, but I wouldn’t say I was cared for.

I was passed around among several families who raised me with their children.

It wasn’t all bad, and until I became a teenager and realized how much I truly lacked in the magic department, I had some happy memories.

But true warmth isn’t one of them. As I chat to Ava about pregnancy, I find my hand resting on my stomach again, almost in awe at the thought of having my own child.

I won’t let Tristen or anyone else ruin it.

A singular thought crystallizes in my mind:

I don’t need Tristen to love this baby—I have enough love all by myself.

I say goodbye to Ava, feeling lighter than before I called, despite the impending fallout from Callum confronting his brother.

Ava pointed out that men, especially shifters, don’t talk enough.

The brothers are no different. Apparently, it took Callum a long time to forgive himself for his actions with Ava.

So I guess he has something he needs to say to Tristen on the subject—I don’t think anything will change Tristen’s opinion, but if it helps him to be a father to our child one day, then I’m not going to stop Callum from trying.

Ava mentioned that Callum was concerned that Malik had singled me out during the attack at Samuel’s village, and she was pretty pissed that I hadn’t mentioned it myself.

I already know there’s nothing special about my lack of magic, and my limited research hasn’t provided any clues, but it has got me thinking about what a half-witch-half-shifter baby would be like.

And I suppose part of me wonders if my powers may skip a generation.

After all, my mother was one of the most powerful witches on the island, and surely, all that generational power didn’t just evaporate with me.

By the time I’m dressed, the sun is up, and I don’t think Tristen will be back anytime soon.

I grab my bag and walk out of the house to where Ryan is still sitting in his truck across the road.

I notice him sit up a little straighter as I approach, and I can’t help but smile as a guilty look flashes across his features.

I can’t believe he honestly didn’t think I’d notice his less-than-subtle presence.

If he’s going to stalk me, he might as well give me a lift.

The coven might know something about hybrid babies or at least point me in the right direction.

“Fancy just driving me where I’m going rather than trailing after me?” I ask as he puts the window down.

I see him weigh up his options for a moment before he smirks, “Sure thing, where are we heading? Nowhere that’s going to get me in trouble, I hope?”

“The coven,” I reply. “I need to speak to Marian.”

Ryan nods, and I walk around the truck to climb into the passenger side.

As I shut the door, I notice he’s firing off a text—updating Tristen, no doubt.

I wonder how much Ryan knows about what’s going on, but as we drive, he chats about anything and everything, and it’s clear he has absolutely no idea that I’m pregnant or why he’s been tasked with stalking me.

“Do you know where Tristen is today?” I ask, feigning innocence.

Ryan eyes me cautiously for a moment, almost as if he’s debating what to tell me. “Last I heard, he was heading out to the training camp to check on the youngest recruits, but then Callum called, so I’m not sure. Why?”

“No reason,” I lie, keeping my eyes on the road ahead so I don’t have to look at Ryan, worried my eyes will give me away.

The road to the coven takes us to the edge of the territory, and they’ve laid additional runes along the road.

There is also a final checkpoint at the entrance to the road leading out to the coven house itself.

We pull up to the small hut, and one of the older witches, Samantha, sticks her head out.

She immediately brightens upon seeing Ryan, flashing him a smile that knocks years off her with the help of a glimmer spell.

I roll my eyes as Ryan laps up the attention.

“Well, hello, Sam,” he greets her smoothly, “I can’t believe they put you out here today.”

“I know, I know,” Samantha tuts, exaggerating each word and looking into the cabin, spotting me. “We must all do our bit, apparently. How are you, Emily, dear? I don’t suppose you want to take over here?”

Samantha was one of the women who helped raise me, and although she was quite a tough nut, she’s probably my favorite. Rather than seeing me as a nuisance for having no magic, she just felt sorry for me, which stung a little more at times, but at least she was kind about it.

I still shake my head, though, intent on finding Marian before I lose my nerve to confide in anyone else about my baby. “Sorry, I’ve got to see—”

I’m interrupted by some shouting behind us on the trail, and Samantha immediately turns to peer around the truck. Ryan opens the door and steps out.

“Stay here,” he tells me, suddenly much more serious. I can’t help but think back to the last time we were in a truck together and the devastation at Samuel’s village. Suddenly, this trip to the coven doesn’t feel like such a good idea.

“Elenor? Is that you?” Samantha calls out to the figure of a woman in the distance who seems to be struggling to walk. Before she can answer, three large men appear from the tree line.

“Call for backup, Sam. Now,” Ryan growls, and she runs back into the small cabin. Ryan turns around to face me. “Take the truck, get to the coven house, and ensure everyone is ready for an attack.”

I nod, climbing over to the driver’s side, but then I look up and see more rogues on the road in front. “Ryan,” I try to shout, but it comes out more like a whisper. “What do we do?”

Samantha leaves the cabin looking grim. “Marian is on her way; it’s going to be fine,” she says, looking directly at me and then back up the trail to where the men have grabbed the woman.

“It’s definitely Elenor. She went out earlier, but I don’t know how they’ve got her.

She must have opened one of the rune barriers. ”

We both look toward the poor witch struggling in the rogue's grasp; now they’ve moved closer, and I see she’s covered in blood.

She tries to shout something, but the shifter simply snaps her neck, and she falls to the ground.

I gasp, tears springing to my eyes. Samantha’s expression immediately hardens, though; she grabs my hand and gives me a large baton.

“This is infused with elemental magic,” she explains. “Hit them with it, and it will burn.”

I nod and stare at the simple baton, grateful for a weapon but knowing that, ultimately, it will be useless if I have to face shifters one-on-one.

I offer Samantha a reassuring nod and try to look more confident than I feel.

More growls emanate from the tree line, signaling that there is an unknown number of rogues waiting to attack.

They must have decided to try and take out the witches and, therefore, the pack defenses.

I hear Marian before I see her; the coven has wasted no time in mobilizing a defense, and it’s one anyone would think twice about going up against. The wind whips up around the approaching witches, carrying them above the ground in a group of mini tornadoes that rattle the surrounding forest and send debris flying in their wake.

The shifters on the road in front pause and look uncertainly at each other as Marian comes into focus, her eyes black and her long white hair flying around her as she screams an echo of her rage rattling around the forest.

A roar from behind almost drowns my fellow witches out as I turn to see Tristen’s familiar black truck speeding toward us.

The rogues on the trail with Elenor’s body don’t even have time to react as he plows into them, sending them crashing into the trees.

He screeches to a stop, leaping from his truck, his eyes wild as he approaches.

I want to ask what he’s doing here. Was he following us? But now isn’t the time for questions or dealing with our problems. A battle cry sounds from the rogues hidden in the trees, and I know now is a time just to survive.