Page 26 of Feral, Part Two (Wolfscorge #2)
Slate
I feel almost displaced, sitting here at the kitchen table while the others move around me with a purpose I can't share. Not being able to see Preston, to check on him, to offer comfort during what should be one of the most important moments of our lives together is eating at me.
The fox in me is restless, pacing beneath my skin with the need to be close to my Omega.
Every instinct I have is screaming that I should be in that den, helping with the babies, providing support and protection.
Instead, I'm relegated to the kitchen because being in that room could endanger the lives I’m carrying as well as my mates.
An hour after we left the room, Malik decided to focus on food, needing a distraction from not being able to hold the pups. I can tell he's worried, constantly glancing toward the hallway that leads to Preston's den. But it's not just concern for Preston that's making my skin feel too tight.
I can already feel what seems like the start of my own contractions.
They're subtle at first, just a tightening low in my belly that could be explained away as stress or anxiety. But there's a rhythm to them, a building intensity that tells me I don’t have much time. Before I came here, I didn’t even fucking know I was pregnant and now it’s been just over two weeks that I’m here and already ready?
I can’t do this.
I look down at my belly, running my hands over the taut skin.
The babies inside me shift and flutter, responding to the tension in my body with movements that feel more urgent than usual.
I redressed in something more comfortable after my mates fucked me into unconsciousness, but it’s suddenly feeling like too much. Fuck, I’m not ready.
Pushing away from the table, I grunt with the strength it takes to stand up.
My body feels heavy and awkward, like I'm carrying twice the weight I was yesterday. Which, according to Nathan’s explanation, is probably true.
The movement sends another wave of tightening through my abdomen, stronger this time.
"Going to find a den?" Malik asks, looking up from the stove where he's stirring something that smells like cheese. If I weren’t so uncomfortable right now, I might have asked for some.
"No, I'm just going to sleep," I lie, not wanting to admit that my body might be preparing for something I'm not ready to face alone. Kael will find me like he always does and he promised he’d be there.
I start waddling toward the back door, Nathan and Kael’s voices spilling out into the hall. Nathan catches me just as I pull open the glass. "Have the contractions started?"
"No, I'm just tired and I would like to go to sleep," I say, probably too quickly to be convincing.
The truth is, I'm embarrassed. Embarrassed that my body is responding to Preston's labor, that I can't control the timing any better than he could. Embarrassed that I'm about to go through this without him, without the support system I thought I'd have.
I rush toward my little sanctuary, past the horridly patched-up hole in our fence, each step requiring more concentration than it should. The familiar space welcomes me, the den I built in the corner feeling like the only place that truly belongs to me.
I start fluffing up my blankets and pillows, arranging them in the configuration that feels most secure.
The physical activity helps distract me from the growing discomfort in my belly and gives my hands something to do while my mind races.
That's when I notice a different scent entering my space and twist around to find Kael standing at the entrance.
"Come to check on me and make sure I'm not having my babies? They're not coming yet." The words come out more defensive than I intended, but I can't help the edge of bitterness that creeps in.
"No, I'm coming to check on you because I understand your need to be with Preston and not being able to," Kael says quietly. "I can't even hold my own children until Preston shifts back, and we're not sure when that will be."
I hadn't considered that Kael might be feeling displaced, too, that Preston's feral protectiveness is affecting more than just my access to him. Relaxing a little, I feel his anxiety through the bond that matches mine.
"Thanks," I mutter, not sure what else to say.
Kael steps closer, his presence filling the space without crowding me. "You've got a phone in here. If you need anything, you can call."
"You're not going to hover?" I ask, surprised by his restraint. My instincts are screaming at me to protect myself, to build a better den and keep everyone else out. Some minuscule, animalistic part of me longs for the Alpha who put these babies in my belly, while rationally, I just want Kael to stay. But his presence is making me itch and I’m afraid that the moment I shift, I’ll lash out at the hand that feeds me.
"Even if I wanted to, I won't. Not unless you ask."
My face twists up at that, a mixture of gratitude and frustration warring in my chest. Part of me wants him to stay, to refuse to leave me alone during this vulnerable time. But another part appreciates that he's giving me the choice, that he's not making assumptions about what I need.
"But I do want to clear something up," Kael continues, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "It's not because your pups won't be mine. They will be treated the same way we treat Preston's children. You are ours, Slate. That's not going to change. Know that you have four people in your corner."
Kael said that before, when I was trying to get to Preston.
He wanted me to see his babies, but the primal part of him wouldn’t let me get closer.
He apologized, both of us needing each other and not being able to share the same space.
Fuck biology. However, hearing Kael say it again—say that my babies are just as much his as Preston’s are means more than he’ll know.
I throw him a small smile, the best I can manage when my emotions are running so high and my body is preparing for birth. “What if I can’t…”
Kael moves just close enough to press a kiss to my forehead, silencing my words. “You forget I can feel you, Slate. We all can. When it’s time, I’ll be able to feel you and then I’ll be right at your side, okay?”
I just nod, watching him leave and close the door behind him. For sure, I thought he might change his mind and drag me back into the house, but over the past week, he’s been very adamant about showing me that I have autonomy.
That I am my own person and I have my own choices.
That I am a member of this pack and this afternoon reaffirmed that.
***
I wake up drenched in sweat, my body feeling wrong in ways I can't immediately process. The shift into fox form happened while I was unconscious, leaving me disoriented and struggling to understand why everything feels so different.
My white fur is matted against my body, soaked through with perspiration. Every breath feels labored, like I'm breathing through water instead of air; the familiar scents of the pool house completely absent.
Delirious, I struggle to get to my feet as I try to orient myself. That's when the reality hits me—I'm not in the pool house. I'm not even close to the pool house.
Brush surrounds me in ways that speak of deep wilderness rather than the carefully maintained grounds of Wolfscorge.
Branches scrape against my fur as I try to move, their rough bark catching and pulling at my coat.
The scents here are all wrong—pine and earth and wild animals, but nothing that carries even a trace of my pack.
A sharp pain tears through my abdomen, a whine escaping my throat before I can suppress it.
The sound is high and desperate, carrying a note of panic that I've never heard from myself before.
These aren't the gentle contractions I felt earlier. These are the real thing and they’re impossible to ignore.
I have to find a place to give birth, terror flooding my chest as I realize I have absolutely no idea where I am. The landscape around me is completely foreign, nothing like the familiar corners and hidden spaces of the compound where I've spent the last few weeks learning to feel secure.
Freaking out, I start moving in what I hope is the right direction, but every path looks the same in the dim light filtering through the canopy of branches and leaves above. My nose works frantically, sniffing for anything that feels familiar.
But there's nothing. Just the overwhelming scents of wilderness and my own fear-sweat and the growing intensity of labor that's progressing whether I'm ready or not.
A chill runs down my spine as a sharp pain runs through me, my body unable to regulate temperature properly as it focuses all its energy on the task of bringing new life into the world.
Clammy and confused, I stumble through more underbrush that seems designed to catch and hold me, every step requiring enormous effort.
The last thing I remember was curling up in my carefully constructed den in the pool house, surrounded by the familiar scents of safety and pack. Did I sleepwalk? Is this some kind of feral instinct I didn't know I possessed, driving me to seek out a more "natural" birthing environment?
The questions spiral through my mind as I continue searching for shelter, but thinking requires energy I don't have to spare. Another contraction hits, stronger than the last, and I have to stop moving entirely as my body contracts around the lives trying to make their way into the world.
When it passes, I'm left panting and shaking, the reality of my situation becoming impossible to deny.
I push forward with desperate determination, my fox senses straining for any sign of safety or shelter.
I spot a small ledge jutting out from a rocky outcropping, barely enough space for my fox body to fit underneath, but it offers some protection from the elements and potential threats.
I curl up under the ledge, my body automatically arranging itself in the position that feels most natural for giving birth. The stone above me provides psychological comfort even if it can't offer much physical protection. At least here, nothing can approach from above.
Another contraction hits, and this time I can't hold back the whine of pain and fear that tears from my throat.
Whining, I start murmuring for help in whatever voice I can manage in this form. The sounds are barely coherent, more instinct than language, but they carry all my desperation and fear and love for the Alpha who’s told me he’s mine.