Page 19

The pack meeting room spins lazily around me as Thomas drones on about border security.

The Trial of Unity is soon, coming fast, but I can’t seem to focus for the past few days, no matter how hard I try.

The ancient wooden walls seem to pulse with each wave of nausea, their carved pack symbols blurring before my eyes.

The massive oak table stretches endlessly, every grain in its polished surface suddenly fascinating as I try to focus on anything except my churning stomach.

The air feels too thick, too close, laden with a thousand scents that assault my newly sensitive nose.

Every wolf's natural musk hits differently now—James's forest-and-rain scent, Thomas's leather-and-parchment smell, the lingering traces of everyone's breakfast choices.

But worst of all is Nic's scent, pine and leather and pure male, which used to make my magic sing but now triggers a fresh surge of queasiness I barely contain. My power roils under my skin, feeling somehow different than it has my entire life, though I can’t describe how or why.

"The northern perimeter requires additional patrols," Thomas's voice fades in and out as another wave hits. "Given the recent incursions, we need to consider—Luna? Are you alright?"

I force myself to focus, though the room won't stop its lazy spin. The entire Council stares at me from around the table, faces blurring except for Nic's. His concerned frown makes my magic spark fitfully, reaching for him even as my stomach rebels.

"I'm fine," I manage. "Please continue with the briefing."

But the coffee someone brought in smells like a personal attack, its rich aroma suddenly offensive in ways that make no sense.

Even the morning sunlight streaming through leaded glass windows feels wrong, too bright, too revealing.

My magic coils tighter, wrapped around my midsection like it's guarding a secret I'm not ready to face.

Oh gods.

No.

"Excuse me," I choke out, bolting for the door.

Chairs scrape behind me, voices call my name—Nic's deepest of all, making my magic surge—but I'm already running.

Down the hallway where portraits of past Alphas watch my flight with judging eyes, around the corner where pack members leap out of my way, barely making it to the nearest bathroom before emptying my stomach violently.

Cool hands pull my hair back just in time. Ruby's familiar tea-and-books scent surrounds me as she rubs gentle circles on my back, one of the few smells that don't make me want to be sick again. "Easy there, I've got you. Let it all out."

When the heaving finally stops, I slump against the cool tile wall. The bathroom's fluorescent lights feel harsh after the meeting room's natural illumination, making everything feel stark, clinical, and much too real.

"What's wrong with me? My magic's been acting strange for days, getting stronger but different, more protective, and now this..."

Ruby hands me a damp cloth that smells faintly of lavender. Bless her for remembering my preferred scent. Her expression is carefully neutral in a way that sets off warning bells. "Luna... when was your last cycle?"

"What? I don't..." The words die as I count backward, each day bringing fresh realization. No. It can't be. Not now. Not when everything is so precarious. "That's not possible. It's only been three weeks since..."

Since Nic pressed me against that tree by Shadow Creek, his body hard and demanding against mine. Since his wolf howled in tandem with mine as we came together in a explosion of magic and need. Since power crackled around us like lightning, wild and uncontrolled and perfect…

And I was supposed to get my period last week. It never came. In all the stress, I didn’t even notice.

"Oh, Luna," Ruby says softly, my name tender on her lips. "I’m so sorry—”

"Don't. I can’t—” My magic surges, making the bathroom fixtures rattle ominously. It feels protective, possessive. My voice breaks. "I can't be. The trial is tomorrow. I can't do this now. I can't..."

Ruby pulls a small bottle from the leather strap at her hips, where she keeps dozens of potions—this one a deep blue glass etched with symbols I recognize from hours spent watching my mother work.

Protection runes, truth-seeking sigils, the marks of old magic that knows the secrets of life itself.

"Here. Clarity potion. Mom's old recipe. You just need to..."

"Spit in it. I know." My hands shake as I take the bottle, remembering all the times I watched my mother make these for pack females.

One drop of saliva, and it turns pink for pregnancy, stays blue for not.

Such a simple thing to change a life forever.

"Mom used to make these for everyone. Said they were more reliable than modern tests for shifter blood. "

I've never used one myself. Never thought I'd need to. But my mother's voice echoes in memory, clear as if she stood beside me: "Hybrid pregnancies progress differently, Luna. Faster. The mixed magic accelerates everything. Your body will change quickly, adapting to create something entirely new."

The potion feels warm against my palm, responding to my magic in ways that make my heart race.

Ruby squeezes my shoulder once, her touch grounding me in reality. "I'll be right outside. Whatever happens, we'll figure it out together."

She slips out, leaving me alone with this tiny bottle that could change everything. One drop. That's all it would take to confirm what my body already seems to know. What my magic has been trying to tell me for days.

"Okay," I whisper to my stomach, the stomach I spent years hating that now seems so very different, one hand pressed against it. "Let's find out what you are. If you are."

My hands tremble so badly I nearly drop the bottle as I unstop it. The liquid inside shimmers with old magic—the kind my mother specialized in, the kind that knows truth from lies, life from emptiness. The kind that can't be fooled or bargained with.

One drop of saliva. I spit.

The change happens instantly, like watching a sunrise in seconds. Blue shifts to brilliant pink, swirling like aurora borealis in the tiny bottle. I slump back, head spinning, lightheaded and, nauseous, and feverishly terrified all at once.

Pregnant. With Nic's child.

"Oh gods." The bottle slips from my numb fingers. Ruby must have come back at some point, because she catches it before it can shatter, her reflexes as quick as ever.

"Luna?" Her voice seems to come from very far away. "Breathe, honey. You need to breathe. Focus on my voice."

But I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't process the reality of new life growing inside me—life created from the very combination of magic and wolf blood that Silvercreek has always feared. A child that will be even more hybrid than I am.

My magic coils tighter, and suddenly, I understand its recent strangeness. The way it's been reaching for Nic, the protective surges, the increased power—it's not just my magic anymore. This child, barely more than a possibility, already has magic of its own. I can feel it twining with mine.

"What am I going to do?" The words come out more sob than speech, echoing off bathroom tiles. "The trial is tomorrow. I have to forge alliances with pack members who already hate me. Who think hybrids shouldn't exist. And now I'm carrying..." My voice breaks, and I can’t go on.

Ruby grabs my shoulders, forcing me to meet her eyes. "No one has to know yet, Luna. Not until you’re ready. Not until you feel like it’s the right time. Not even Nic. It’s all in your hands, alright?”

My hand comes to rest on my stomach again, feeling the tiny spark of magic there.

Three weeks. Only three weeks, but the longer I’m forced to stay here—forever, if the elders and Nic have their way—the tighter the net closes around me.

How long before I start showing? Before Nic's wolf recognizes the change in my scent?

For the latter, it could be weeks. Even days, if I keep getting sicker.

I can’t keep the question in. "How long can I hide this?"

The memory of Nic hits anew—his hands reverent on my skin, his eyes glowing as he claimed me against that tree.

He never mentioned protection. Neither did I.

We were too lost in each other, in desires we’d—or, at least, I’d— hidden and squashed down for years, in the feeling of rightness that came with finally giving in.

"Luna." Ruby's voice breaks through my spiral, gentle but firm. "Whatever you decide to do, I'm here. But you need to pull yourself together. The Council will be looking for you. And you know Nic won’t ignore your absence for long."

Right. The Council. The trial. All my careful plans for proving myself worthy of pack acceptance, thrown into chaos by one pink swirl in a potion bottle.

I splash water on my face, trying to compose myself.

But when I meet my eyes in the mirror, I see everything I'm trying to hide—fear, uncertainty, and underneath it all, a fierce protectiveness I've never felt before. My reflection shows someone changed, someone carrying a secret bigger than herself. A responsibility I never imagined, never asked for, never wanted—but it’s here now.

The thought brings fresh tears, but I force them back. I have a trial to prepare for. Alliances to forge. A place in this pack to fight for, not just for myself now, but for the new life I carry. The world won’t stop spinning just because mine has flipped upside down.

I'll protect you somehow, I promise silently, both hands pressed to my stomach. In my head, my voice sounds like my mother’s does in my memories of her.

Whatever comes next, whatever they think of us, I'll keep you safe.

You'll never feel unwanted or wrong or less-than.

You'll know you're exactly what you're meant to be.

And if I have to, I’ll get us out of here. Anything to keep you safe from this place.

My magic hums in response, and somewhere deep inside, I swear I feel an answering spark. It’s probably in my head. But I cling to it. I have nothing else to cling to.

Everything in this room feels unstable, off-angle, wrong.

Tomorrow, I'll face the Trial of Unity, trying to forge bonds with pack members who may never accept me.

But now I carry an even greater secret, an even more impossible truth: I'm carrying their Alpha's child.

And none of them can know. I refuse to allow them that power over me, the power to threaten this child, the child that hardly feels like mine yet but undeniably is.

"Ready?" Ruby asks softly from the doorway. Her voice snaps me from my hopeless reverie.

No. I'm not ready. Not for any of this. It feels like I’ll never be. But I straighten my spine anyway, letting my magic settle inside me, a lodestone, a weight to anchor me to the rationality that’s kept me alive through everything. "Yeah. Yeah, I’m ready.”

We slip out of the bathroom together, back toward the Council meeting I fled. Every step feels different now. I’m unsteady.

We can do this, I tell the tiny spark of life inside me.

It feels selfish, as if I’m not really speaking to them at all.

It’s true—I’m not. The words are only for myself.

The child still doesn't feel real, doesn't feel like much more than an idea. But something inside me is shifting, something tectonic. It’s becoming closer to ‘real’ with each passing moment.

The morning sun streams through pack house windows around me, dizzyingly bright, painting everything in shades of possibility.

Change comes whether we're ready or not.

All we can do is face it with whatever strength we possess.

I close my eyes, steel myself against the unforgiving world, and move forward.