Page 23 of His Unicorn Alpha (Shifters Sanctuary #3)

“ Y ou can’t live in the clinic, Bran.”

Despite hearing Day’s words, I did not look up from my seat in between two of our girls’ incubators. Instead, I kept my eyes glued to the barely noticeable rise and fall of our youngest’s chest. I was still aware of the silent conversation taking place between my mate and my young friend, though.

It had been three days since I’d given birth. Three agonizing days of not having free access to my children. Of having to watch machines and tubes support their growth, while I fought with the torture device better known as an electric breast pump.

I felt like a failure as a father.

Not only had I not been able to carry them long enough to be able to take them home with me, I was also unable to provide enough milk to properly nurture them. Eric, Tammy, and Casey (the other neonatal expert Eric had brought in from a local hospital), had all tried to reason with me, reminding me that most chestfeeding parents’ milk supply didn’t come in until at least day three, but I was determined to at least provide colostrum to my newborns in their first days.

It was a blow to my pride and my confidence when they suggested that, until my supply came in, we supplement with formula.

I knew it was a wise decision, and I had never bought into the formula vs breastmilk debate, but I had envisioned bonding with my babies through chestfeeding and having those dreams dashed hurt. A lot.

As did being unable to hold my girls at all.

To overcompensate, I had sat myself in the hospital-grade neonatal unit Eric had commissioned and built for the clinic, and I had insisted on keeping vigil over my children. I only left the room to use the bathroom, becoming increasingly upset every time I was confronted by the evidence of my postpartum bleeding. It was a reminder of everything I was going through, and I hated it.

“You can leave,” I told them both, still not taking my eyes off my baby. She needed a name. All three did. But I refused to name them until I could hold them. “But I am staying here.”

“Sugar,” Micah’s voice was tinged with sadness and an edge of frustration, “you need to rest and recover properly. You’ve barely eaten, barely stayed hydrated…Your dark circles have circles.”

“I will eat when—”

“No.” While he didn’t raise his voice, the hairs on the back of my neck tingled. I had never heard my alpha use his alpha power before, and it made my stomach turn to think he was using it on me. “You will take care of yourself.” When I tore my gaze from our daughter and looked at him —really, truly looked at him for the first time in days— I saw my own heartache radiating back at me. His expression softened and he crouched at my feet, squeezing my knee. “Baby, I know this sucks, but wasting away next to them isn’t going to help them. They need you to take care of yourself so, when it’s time to bring them home, you will be there for them one hundred percent.” He swallowed roughly. “I’ve been doing research, and I think…I think maybe some of the problems you’re having with the pump can be attributed to dehydration and not eating enough. How are you supposed to make food if your body doesn’t have the energy to keep itself going, you know? And the stress and pressure you’re putting on yourself…”

My eyes stung and I looked away, knowing that he was right. But as my gaze landed on our tiniest child, the urge to stay and protect them welled up inside me again.

“They’re safe here,” Day assured me from the doorway. I had forgotten that he was there at all, and I cringed internally at how disconnected from my surroundings I had become. “If Eric isn’t here keeping an eye on things, I am. Or Ollie is. Or, hell, even Beck. Not one member of our pack is going to leave the girls unattended with outsiders, no matter how nice they might seem.”

Considering Damon’s son had almost been kidnapped by our cult-like adversaries, I knew that his vehement protective instinct was coming from personal experience, not just our friendship or connection through the pack. Still, the thought of going home —to the place where our daughters had cribs and clothing waiting for them— and not bringing them with me was upsetting.

“Your babies are safe here,” Day repeated himself. “They’re thriving and getting stronger every day. But you’re not.”

“Come home with me, sugar,” Micah practically begged. “Come home, have a shower, eat something substantial…and then tomorrow morning I will bring you back here myself, okay? We can sit with our girls all day. We’ll do it every day until they come home. But you have to take care of yourself or let me take care of you, too. That’s non-negotiable.”

I wasn’t going to win this battle. Deep inside, I knew that if it had been any other omega in my place, I would have been insisting on the same things that my mate and friend were.

Sighing, I nodded. “Fine. But I will return as soon as the sun rises.”

Micah squeezed my knee again. “And I’ll be right here with you.”

Walking across the threshold of my home without my babies in my arms hurt. It felt wrong . My stretched, flabby abdomen was barren, and my nest was empty. Inside me, my omega whined — not a sound I would have associated with dragonkind, but he whined nonetheless.

I knew that there were parents who had lost children. I knew that there were parents of children with health issues so severe, they may never leave the hospital. In the grand scheme of things, I knew what I was experiencing did not compare to the pain other families had experienced and would continue to experience once this trying time in my life had passed. Nevertheless, knowing as much did not mean I could simply snap out of my sadness over my situation.

I wished that I could.

I had not expected to feel this way. Though my pregnancy had not been all rainbows and lollipops, I had generally been happy and excited. I had even known that there was every likelihood our triplets would require a lengthy hospital stay as most triplet births were quite premature. I had thought I had braced myself for it.

I had been wrong.

“Come on,” Micah took my hand and led me down the short hallway to our bedroom. The door across from our primary suite was closed, and I was thankful that my mate had had the foresight to ensure as much. I didn’t think my heart could handle the sight of the empty cribs and other untouched items. “Let’s get you showered properly, sugar.”

It was his polite way of saying I stank. I hadn’t washed since he had assisted me into Eric’s shower in the early hours of the morning, shortly after the girls had been taken away to the neonatal nursery room. I had been mostly numb at the time, trying to process the night’s events. He had carefully washed away the blood and other remnants from the birth, had dried me and manhandled me into the first pair of maternity underwear (a horror no living soul should have to experience), and then into soft pajamas which had seemingly materialized out of nowhere.

It was those same pajamas he peeled off my body in our ensuite bathroom, and I cringed away from them when I saw the spots where the maternity pads had not held up. Embarrassment squeezed my insides, and unpleasant heat infused my cheeks, even though my beautiful mate said nothing about the stains.

“Eric said showers are better than baths while you’re still healing up,” he explained softly as he ushered me in to the large shower cavity. “But as soon as you’re cleared for it, I’ll run you a relaxing bubble bath.”

Tears slid down my cheeks, poorly disguised by the warm water cascading over my tender body.

“I…” I paused to clear my throat, my voice sounding gravelly and strange from the days spent in mostly silence. “I am sorry, darling,” I finally choked out, hating how unhinged and out of control I felt. I was a man of science. I prided myself on being rational. However, at that moment, I felt far removed from rational thought or behavior. “I have been—”

“Stop,” he interrupted me, pulling me into his embrace and holding me as I battled the urge to break down entirely. “You have nothing to apologize for. You gave birth to three babies only a few days ago. Not only was that a hell of a thing to go through, you’ve got all sorts of hormones in your system, you’re exhausted, and you don’t even get to cuddle your babies or bring them home. You’re allowed to hate that. You’re allowed to grieve the experience you wish you’d had.”

It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep my emotions in check. “But I knew this would be the likely outcome...and all three of our daughters are all thriving with care. It is selfish of me when other people in similar circumstances have not been so lucky.”

I knew, logically, that my feelings for my situation did not invalidate anyone else’s, but my emotional state was deteriorating, and I felt as though I was spiraling.

“I think you know you’re not being selfish,” my mate murmured into my ear as the warm water continued to cascade over us. “And I think if anyone else said those words to you, you would tell them they’re allowed to be upset at the situation, wouldn’t you?”

I considered Day and Ollie and Lena, and I nodded, choking back a sob.

“Honey, just let it out,” Micah insisted. “Bottling it all up is going to make it worse. And,” he swallowed, and I felt his throat working as he did, seeing as I had my face buried in the crook of his neck, “I’m hurting, too, Bran. Don’t shut me out. Please.”

The softly spoken admission and plaintive request were my undoing. I clutched at him as the gut-wrenching sobs broke free and I allowed myself to howl out the pain I was feeling. I had no idea how long we stood there under the shower’s spray, while I cried in a way I could never recall doing before.

Micah held me through it, but as I slowly began to calm, I realized that he was crying, too. Guilt threatened to overwhelm me, but he squeezed me tightly, denying the feelings I had to assume had transferred through our bond.

“You have nothing to feel guilty for,” he rasped out and nuzzled the top of my head with his cheek. “This is hard for both of us, and the bond is making the feelings more intense…but I appreciate it, because we’re going through it together, you know? And we are. In this together, I mean. I’m not going anywhere, Brandt. You’re not alone in this. I love you, and I love our girls.”

A rush of conflicting emotions washed over me. I was still upset that my children were not yet able to come home with me, but I was also flooded with warmth and love for my mate. His support and the reminder that I was not alone in this experience were bracing.

“I love you, too,” I said, realizing that I had not said those words since our daughters were born. “I am sorry that I—”

“Nuh-uh,” he interrupted my apology again, “nothing to be sorry for, sugar.” He gently pushed me back and cast his gaze over my face. I assumed I looked like a wreck, but he smiled softly and asked, “How are you feeling now?”

I had to admit that my emotional release had been cathartic. “Better,” I admitted. “Still sad, but…better.”

“Let’s get washed up and go snuggle on the couch, then. I’ll call in a favor with Beck and see if he can swing by the diner and grab us some burgers and fries. I think we could both do with something a bit greasy and carb-y.”

My stomach growled and, for the first time in days, I acknowledged that I felt hungry. “That sounds wonderful, darling.”

And, as we settled in on the couch a handful of minutes later, with the television playing a documentary about sea life, I finally felt myself beginning to relax. The sadness was still there, but it did not feel quite as unbearable with my alpha’s arms around me. I knew that I would still have my ups and downs, but for the first time in days, I began to believe that everything would be okay.

The day the girls were declared stable enough to be held was easily the best day of my life. They still had various wires and tubes connected to their tiny, wriggly bodies, but their lungs were strong enough for them to breathe on their own, and their vitals were good.

Micah and I both cried as we cradled them in our arms, each of us agreeing that we felt far too large and clunky for their fragile little frames.

“They’re like dolls,” he whispered, staring down at our middle child with love hearts in his eyes. Those same eyes rose to meet mine, shining with emotion and more tears. “We need to name them, sugar.”

I nodded and looked down at my firstborn and youngest, one carefully supported in the crook of each of my arms.

Gazing at my firstborn, the daughter who looked more and more like Micah as her wrinkled skin smoothed out and she slowly plumped up, I said, “Lucia.” Licking my lips, I added, “It means light.”

“Perfect,” he agreed. “And this little lady?”

I smiled as he carefully lifted our second daughter for emphasis. “You should have the honor.”

Micah grinned. “Belle,” his answer came quickly and definitively. “Because she’s beautiful.”

“They are all beautiful,” I rebuked gently, but I nodded anyway. “Belle it is.” My lips quirked. “You are going to purchase all the Disney themed toys and clothing, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “And I’ll do their hair up in all the princess styles, too.”

I sent affection and amusement his way as I sighed and answered, “Of course you will.” Then I looked back down at our third daughter, still so much smaller than her sisters. “What do you think of Rita? From memory, it can mean pearl or brave…” I trailed off, not feeling the need to explain why I thought those fitting meanings.

Still holding Belle —and it was such a surreal feeling to suddenly have names for our daughters— Micah crouched carefully at my side and peered down at our tiniest of tiny ones.

“Hi, Rita,” he whispered, making a hushed ‘aww’ sound as she cracked open a dark blue eye. “Yeah,” his voice was thick with emotion, “that’s the one.”

It felt too easy. I knew we had discussed names on and off for weeks, but to just decide like that, without argument or debate, felt…strange. Then again, we were a bonded pair; it made some sense that we would be compatible on even this.

“If all goes well, they should be able to go home with you in a few more weeks,” Casey’s voice cut into my musings. I turned my head to find him leaning against the doorframe, wearing his powder blue nursing scrubs.

He was also human, but, like Tammy, did not seem at all fazed to be surrounded by shifters and talk of magic and dragons and unicorns. If anything, he seemed excited by it, his dark brown eyes lighting up any time the topics were mentioned within his earshot. Also like Tammy, he was extremely proficient in his work, and he truly seemed to love working with the babies as much as she did. I was thankful that Eric had managed to find two people who I felt I could trust with my children, not that I believed he had had much sway in the matter.

“I do hope so,” I said in response to Casey’s optimism.

He smiled and stepped further into the room. “Did you want to try chestfeeding today? Or were you going to switch to formula completely? Zero judgment,” he held his hands up in surrender, “fed is best as far as I’m concerned. And you’ve got three little mouths to feed, so I’d probably recommend supplementing with formula anyway, if only to give yourself a breather every now and then.”

We had already been supplementing my pumped milk with formula, and seeing my girls growing was enough to convince me that it had most certainly been the right choice for us. “I would like to try,” I answered, “however, I read that, being premature, they may struggle to latch.”

“They might,” he nodded. “But we can work on that if it happens to be the case. I’m not qualified as a lactation consultant, but I’ve worked with a few in my time.” He offered me a rueful smile.

Where Tammy was young, Casey was inching closer to what humans considered middle-aged. His brown hair had a few tiny glints of silver peeking out, and I saw similar hints of the grey on his stubbled jaw. Still, he wasn’t that much older than Micah, and I didn’t think he had any reason to worry about his age just yet.

“I would appreciate any advice you can give me,” I replied. “I will admit that in my many years practicing medicine, lactation support is not something I have studied.”

Casey shrugged. “Well, you never practiced in obstetrics or postnatal care, so it makes sense that it wasn’t on your radar.”

I appreciated his pragmatism and lack of judgement. Even Tammy had been surprised that, in hundreds of years, I had not taken the opportunity to branch out with my medical training. I supposed I was, at heart, a creature of habit.

Casey helped shift Rita from my arms to Micah’s, then, after I lifted one side of my shirt, guided me through the process of assisting Lucia to latch on for her first feeding. Through whatever shifter magic ran through my veins, my body had been changing during the pregnancy to prepare for this ability, changing the shape of my already somewhat soft pectorals, but also shedding —for lack of a better word— any chest hair around my nipples. The changes had been so gradual that I had almost forgotten what I had looked like prior to the pregnancy, but gazing down at my nursing newborn, I was suddenly struck by how surreal the situation was.

“Wow,” I murmured, the connection to my daughter soothing some of the lingering emotional pain of weeks spent unable to hold her or take her home. She brought up a tiny hand, as if kneading my pec, and it melted my heart.

“Looks like she knows what to do,” Casey grinned. “When she’s had her fill, we’ll switch her out with Belle and switch sides when we do.”

I nodded, transfixed by the rhythmic movement at my chest, the gentle pull as she nursed and the relief —both emotional and physical— of feeding her directly.

“Uh, sugar?” I looked up to find Micah biting his lip. He gestured with his chin towards my other side and… oh.

“Ah, your body has just gone into let down mode,” Casey didn’t seem at all fazed to see the wet patch forming on the other side of my shirt. “It’s perfectly normal. You can use nursing pads to prevent it from happening…but, uh, I’m not entirely sure how you’d wear them…maybe fixed on with some medical tape? Anyway,” he shrugged, “you might get to a point where you can feed two at once and it won’t be an issue.”

The thought was somewhat overwhelming, but I nodded. “We will make it work.”

I was just thrilled with the strides forward we had taken already. For the first time in weeks, I began to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Through the bond, I felt my mate’s love and affection, and I knew that he felt just as optimistic as I did.