Page 15

My stomach roils as the bile rises in my throat, and I barely make it to the bowl before I dry heave. I didn’t expect the nausea to kick in so fast, though I’m not sure what I expected at all, given that I’ve never been pregnant before.

The smell of breakfast being cooked down the hall filters through, but the thought of food turns my stomach even more, and all I can do is try to breathe through the waves of discomfort.

The room spins as I lean against the bathroom counter, my knuckles white against the cold surface as I wash my mouth out and clean my face.

I hear Tristen approaching through the haze, his footsteps soft on the hardwood floor.

He slides an arm around my waist and leads me toward the couch in the living room.

He grabs a damp cloth from a basket near the fireplace and gently wipes my forehead and cheeks, coolness soothing my flushed skin.

"Drink this," he says, pressing a cup of water into my hands.

I gratefully gulp down the cool liquid, sitting up straighter in relief when it doesn't come straight back up again. "Thanks." My voice is hoarse, but at least it doesn't sound like death anymore.

"You need to eat something," he insists, his worry etched deep in his brows.

"You haven't eaten since yesterday." His fingers brush through his dark hair in frustration as he looks at me, like, really looks at me, for the first time this morning, his eyes filled with concern. I must really look in a complete state.

"I'll try," I manage, knowing it is important even though my stomach still churns at the thought. But as he turns and heads back to the kitchen, I can already feel the nausea starting to creep back in again.

He must sense it, because he returns quickly with a simple plate of toast, setting it on the coffee table in front of me with another glass of water. “Let’s just start with something simple, okay? " he says as I eye up the food cautiously.

The smell makes my eyes water, but I force myself to take a bite of the toast. It's still warm, and the butter melts against my tongue. Tristen watches me carefully as I pick at the food, his expression unreadable.

"Are you okay?" I ask between mouthfuls, shifting uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

He doesn't answer right away; he just nods slowly and sits down next to me on the couch, our shoulders almost touching.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, probably both just as lost in our thoughts as we try to process our situation.

Finally, Tristen breaks the silence. "Why do you think they targeted you?" he asks, leveling his gaze on me.

I flinch at the question, not sure if I'm even ready to face that truth yet. But he deserves an answer.

"I don't know," I admit softly, looking down at my hands, still clutching some of the toast. "Maybe because of me being part of the coven…maybe because I’m the luna. Maybe they thought I was valuable somehow."

He thinks for a moment and then shakes his head. “There’s more to it than that,” he sighs, clearly frustrated. “I’ve asked around. They were specifically targeting you, just like at Samuel’s village. You must know something about why?”

My eyes snap to his, and my heart sinks. “I’m not keeping anything from you, Tristen. I don’t know why,” I say quietly. Does he think I’m constantly keeping secrets or telling him lies?

He seems to realize what he’s said and groans, “No, no,” he says, “I didn’t mean you were. I’m just trying to figure this out. I need to know to keep you safe—to keep you both safe.”

Us both safe. I look up and nod, meeting his gaze as we both stare at each other for a moment. We’ve barely had time to process the news about the pregnancy or what it means for us. And I never got to ask Marian anything about it.

“I, uh, I should talk to Marian,” I say. “About the baby. I don’t even know what to expect.”

Tristen nods thoughtfully, “That’s not a bad idea. I have to go out to the coven house with Ryan and the others and check the temporary defenses, but I can meet you at the hall later. We can talk to Marian together?”

I nod, swallowing the last of my toast. “Sure,” I say, surprised to hear him even offer to talk to Marian willingly.

We may have shared a bed last night; our need to be together was undeniable.

But we haven’t talked about the future or what this baby will mean for us.

I know he regrets our argument, and in the face of what happened yesterday, I don’t even have it in me to rehash it right now.

Just as I think he’s about to say more, there’s a knock at the door, and I notice Ryan and a couple of the other betas waiting outside.

Tristen looks torn for a moment, as though he doesn’t really want to go, and for the first time, I notice how weary he looks.

Ava has mentioned the toll that Malik’s attacks and the overall responsibilities for his pack are taking on Callum.

I’ve never really considered how Tristen is handling any of this. He always seems so self-assured.

“Do you want a ride to the hall?” he asks as we both look down at my crumpled and stained clothes from this morning’s sickness.

I chuckle, “No, thank you. I definitely need to change first.” I look up and realize he’s still looking uncertain. “I’ll be fine. I’m safe here.”

“Mmm,” he says quietly, “I wish that felt more true.”

I nod, biting my lip and knowing exactly what he means. Nowhere really feels safe anymore, does it?

I stand when he does, giving Ryan a small wave through the glass door.

He flashes me a wide-open, disarming smile; his enthusiasm and laid-back nature never fail to surprise me when I consider how hard he’s had to fight too recently, and how he’s defended me not once, but twice.

Tristen turns to say something to me, but the words seem to die in his throat as he shifts awkwardly before kissing me on the cheek and walking away.

I don’t miss the ribbing he gets from Ryan for the slight display of public affection he just gave me, and it makes me smile even though I have absolutely no idea what it means.

I quickly change into a comfortable pair of leggings, a long-sleeved top, and some boots before grabbing my bag and heading out the front door.

The air is cool and crisp as I make my way down the tree-lined road toward the town square, my mind already racing with everything that needs to be done today.

The local bakery is just ahead; it's usually enticing, warm, and sweet, and the smell wafts onto the street as I push the door open. However, today it almost turns my stomach, but I’m determined to pick up some food for the coven before going to the hall.

"Morning, Luna," the girl behind the counter greets me softly before her face drops with concern at my apparent sickness. "You okay?"

I force a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just feeling under the weather." It's not entirely a lie.

The girl smiles and takes my order quickly.

Glancing around, I notice how quiet it is; the usually bustling town square is unusually somber.

The girl hands me one of the bags and notices me looking around.

"It feels weird, doesn’t it? " she says, almost in a whisper. “I don’t think folk know what to do anymore; it’s like we might be attacked any second. ”

I nod grimly. “Tristen has it under control, and I know that the coven is working on new defenses right now,” I reassure her. “What’s your name?”

The girl’s face lights up. “Charlotte, Luna,” she smiles.

I chuckle. “Please, call me Emily.”

Charlotte nods. “I feel so sad for the coven. That old house is beautiful. I hope it can be repaired,” she says, and her words really touch me. So often, it feels as though the shifters and witches will never get along. “I’ve put in a few extra buns for them.”

I thank her, and when I try to pay, she waves the money away, telling me the sugar rush from the sweet buns will help them work even quicker on the new defenses.

Laughing, I thank her and leave feeling lighter than I did.

The conversation with Charlotte also temporarily distracted me from my sickness, which was nice, but it returns in full force by the time I reach the hall.

Samantha sees me coming and immediately rushes forward, “Are you okay, Emily?” she says, taking the bags from me despite the bandages covering one side of her head where she was hit by the rogue.

I try to brush her off, but she insists. “I’m fine, honestly.”

Samantha stares at me for a moment, considering something before cracking into a mischievous grin. “Oh, I see.” She giggles. “I recognize this particular green hue. Is there anything you want to tell me?”

I roll my eyes and decide I can’t get anything past my coven. I’m actually surprised the healer hasn’t already blabbed to everyone. Witches are not known for their discretion. “Okay, fine, I’m not sick , it’s morning sickness, I guess.”

Samantha claps her hands together and pulls me in for a rare hug; I find myself almost sinking in before she continues, “At least with Tristen’s genes carrying magic, too, there’s a chance this baby may bring a gift back to your line. How fortunate,” she cackles.

The thing is, I know she doesn’t even mean to upset me.

Samantha probably cares about me more than most in the coven, but magic will always come first. Everyone thinks shifters are the worst for prioritizing strength over almost anything else, but witches are just as bad when it comes to magic.

I smile as she continues to gush about the baby and push down my familiar feelings of inadequacy as some of my other sisters gather around, handing out the sweet buns and echoing the same sentiments about my pregnancy.

The relief in the room is palpable, and my child may signal a return to the magic I have failed to deliver.