Page 5 of His Unicorn Alpha (Shifters Sanctuary #3)

S hit. Shit. Shit shit shit.

I paced the length of the clinic’s waiting room and waited for my heart to calm itself. When Beckett had said he’d be picking up Ollie’s medication after running other errands, I hadn’t realized that those errands included collecting his friend from the airport.

But there he had been. Micah Hawthorne. While I had never met him, I had seen photos.

After his sperm had fertilized my ovum, I might have stalked him online somewhat, too.

What? I was curious. I wanted to get some idea of what my children might look like should they take after their beta (or was he actually an alpha?) father.

He was handsome. Young, but then everyone was young to me. He was tall and lean, with striking light brown eyes and long sandy-blonde hair that reminded me of Farrah Faucett’s style in the 1970s, wavy on the ends and styled to flick away from and frame his face.

Then there were his lips. His beautiful, pouty, perfectly kissable lips.

Gods above, I was in trouble.

It was all well and good when he was an abstract concept. A man who had left a specimen for our research and who had unknowingly left me the most precious, priceless gift in history. He was supposed to remain that way.

From everything Beckett and Sandy had said, Micah had zero interest in staying in the middle of nowhere. His work was dependent on being in a big city. He was a makeup artist. There wasn’t much call for such a thing in our pack.

And yet, here he was. Sitting in the passenger seat of Beck’s truck mere feet away from where I stood.

From where I carried his children.

Children he had not consented to creating.

I was torn between closing the space between us and thanking him effusively, and also bursting into tears and begging for his forgiveness.

Instead, I did neither. I rambled the reminder for Ollie to take the pills within the same hour window every morning, thrust the packet into Beck’s hands, then slammed the door and started to pace.

I was almost twelve weeks along. I was almost through the first trimester. Through what was largely considered the ‘danger zone’. But I was old, even for shifter standards, and I was carrying triplets. The entire pregnancy would be risky.

Already, I was beginning to develop a bump. It was disguised by my pre-existing belly, but I knew my body. I knew my shape. I knew it was changing.

Sooner than I would like, it would be unmistakable.

For almost three months, I had considered what I would tell people. How I would justify my (admittedly shitty) behavior to my brother and to our Pack Alpha. I hadn’t banked on having to face the man whose genetic material I had absconded with at the same time. I had really thought that I would have a little longer until then. In fact, I had hoped that Beck would inform him, given their friendship, and that Micah would opt to remain in New York and that I wouldn’t have to face him at all.

I was a terribly cowardly dragon. I blamed the hormones coursing through my body.

Sadly, I couldn’t blame them for the choices I had made to begin with.

Not that I ultimately regretted the decision itself.

I’d always wanted children of my own. Whether to save my species or not, I wanted babies. I wanted to watch them grow and learn and explore. I wanted to experience the wonder of seeing the world through new, pure perspectives. I wanted someone to love unconditionally and to be loved in return. I wanted purpose and happiness.

By breaking oaths and the trust of the people around me, I had hopefully secured those dreams for myself. I couldn’t possibly regret that.

But I could regret that it was going to hurt people.

There was a saying: you have to break a few eggs to make an omelet. That’s how this felt. I wasn’t sure I quite liked the metaphor, seeing as my eggs being whole and accounted for as they grew into healthy fetuses and then children was kind of the point, but it was the best analogy my scrambled mind could come up with.

No, that was not an intentional egg pun.

Gods, I was going mad.

The guilt was getting to me.

Think of the babies, I told myself firmly. Think of why you are doing this.

My hand drifted to my tiny bump. I couldn’t wait until I could feel them moving, until I could be reassured by their presence inside me.

They were the reason I had done what I did. No matter what happened, I needed to remember that.

The dreams started that night. They were vivid, but I couldn’t recall them when I woke. They left me achingly hard and dripping with slick — not a sensation I was used to anymore, despite being an omega.

On the third morning of it happening, I needed to sate the desire. I was desperate to be filled and fucked. In the stillness of the house I had purchased years earlier, though it was too large for just me alone, I closed my eyes and reached beneath the waistband of my pajama pants. I slept without underwear, preferring the extra breathing room, and as I bypassed my aching cock, I slid my fingers beyond my taint and to my wet hole.

I whined as I circled the rim, spreading my slick and teasing myself with the light touch. I imagined long, tanned fingers in place of my somewhat chunky pale ones. Then I pressed inside and caught his forbidden name before I could sigh it out loud in my relief.

It was wrong to think of him —I did not have the right, especially with the secret I was concealing— but I could not stop myself.

The position I held was awkward, my frame too bulky to properly pleasure myself, and I withdrew my fingers after only a couple of unsatisfying thrusts. In the pre-dawn darkness of my bedroom, I rifled through my nightstand for the toy which would hopefully dull the desperate need building inside me, grateful for its long, curved handle.

With my prize secured, I kicked my pajamas off beneath the thin blanket and then spread my legs like the wanton beast I was. Lying back, I notched the blunt head of the toy at my hole, not requiring any more lube than the slick I was leaking, and slid it inside me.

“ Fuck, ” I exhaled, relishing the sensation, imagining warm flesh instead of flesh-simulation silicon, “fuck yes, just like that.”

I did not want to acknowledge who I imagined I was speaking to, but it was more satisfying to imagine a long, lean body hovering over my bulk, lovingly rocking in and out of my slippery passage.

I readjusted the toy and nudged my prostate. Curved up against my belly, my cock dribbled precum while I felt myself release a rush of slick at the sudden burst of pleasure from the toy.

“M—” my breathing hitched and I bit down on my tongue, refusing to say his name, “ Mmmm .”

I writhed in my bed, fucking myself on the toy, imagining long, sand-toned hair brushing my skin as fantasy kisses were pressed to my lips, my cheeks, my jaw…

“Fuck,” I growled again as the fantasy cock pressed against my prostate, “there, darling. There .” It nudged the spot over and over again, and I grunted and growled with every sparking touch to that sensitive bundle of nerves. “Mi—” No. I couldn’t. This fantasy man couldn’t have a name. “M-my darling, fuck , yes, perfect…”

Imagining his hand in place of my own, I teased at my still-sensitive nipples and then down my furry chest and soft, growing belly. Then I grasped my own cock and—

“Oh, fuck , I’m coming!” I warned my imaginary lover, my back arching from the mattress as I coated my own hand and stomach with cum. As my hole spasmed around the toy inside me, copious amounts of slick spilled down my ass cheeks and onto the sheets beneath me.

I discarded the toy carelessly at me side, on the empty space where I wished my imaginary lover would collapse and join me in the gentle come down from our mutual orgasms. I was sticky, wet, and even though I was physically satisfied, my racing heart felt empty and sad.

I lamented that I had given in that time. The dreams were my punishment, after all.

I knew that Micah’s presence was to blame. Even though we hadn’t spoken, hadn’t even gotten close to each other, just locking gazes was enough to trigger… this. Whatever this was.

I had my suspicions, naturally. His sperm had fertilized my eggs in a petri dish. He was my fated —or at the very least compatible— mate.

My soul ached with the potential for so much more and the knowledge that, once he discovered what I had done, that was all it would ever be. Potential .

This… thing went on for days, turning into vivid daydreams as the yearning to leave the clinic and walk up to Beck and Ollie’s house, where Micah was staying, became an incessant itch beneath my skin.

It made me irritable and sad in equal measures.

Thank the gods my job was mostly solitary. It was easier to hide away in the lab, poking at test results dazedly, than to have to interact with people.

Especially when those people knew me too well.

“Alright,” Damon said, folding his arms and staring at me with arched eyebrows, “what gives?”

“What gives,” I drawled, “is that you burst into my lab and are now asking me frustrating questions when I should be working.”

He leaned against the bench running along the side wall, his lip quirking. “You’re being snippy, Bran. And you are never snippy. You might look like a big, scary dragon man, but you’re the teddiest bear of your siblings. So, I’ll ask again. What gives?”

“Teddiest bear?” I cocked my head. “Does that mean you think of Eric as a teddy bear also?”

“Eric’s a golden retriever,” he shrugged. “But you’re the one who is secretly softest and cuddliest, and not just on the outside.”

Though his descriptions left a lot to be desired, he wasn’t wrong.

I sighed. “It’s a work thing.” It was not a lie.

“I don’t buy it. Try again.”

Relaxing my shoulders, I tried a different tactic. “Day, I am fine. I am just tired and frustrated.”

A flash of memory struck me of when he had been six months pregnant and stressed over his alpha, Rex, reacting somewhat poorly to the news of his pregnancy. He had unleashed a tirade of all the things ailing him, from heartburn to hemorrhoids, and I had felt sympathy for him, but little empathy. I had wanted what he had and couldn’t understand why he was so resentful.

But now, I understood.

He had been scared. Scared and sad.

I hated to admit it, but I was beginning to feel the same way.

Omegas weren’t designed to go through pregnancy alone. After observing Ollie, Damon, and now Lena, Eric was theorizing that the presence of the alpha provided some kind of magical stabilizer to their omega’s physical and emotional health. While I wasn’t entirely convinced that it was magical, I did agree that having a supportive partner was beneficial for anyone while pregnant.

Now that I was experiencing it personally, some part of me selfishly wished I could share the experience with a partner myself.

But I had chosen to be alone from the outset. My alpha (beta?) hadn’t even been present for the conception. He wasn’t even remotely responsible for my choices or for the embryos his DNA had had part in creating. I had no right to desire his support.

Knowing as much didn’t prevent me from wishing for it, though.

Once again, I lamented the draw to him. I wished that we hadn’t locked gazes across the small parking lot. I wished that I hadn’t even opened the door that day.

“Earth to Brandt,” Damon waved his hand in front of my face. When I blinked and focused on him, he was frowning in concern. “I’m worried about you, Bran,” he said softly, his words matching the expression on his face. He tucked a stray lock of his long, dark hair behind his ear. “You’re tired. Frustrated. Zoning out. It’s not like you. And if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. We all know I’m not the world’s biggest sharer,” he chuckled with a modicum of self-deprecation, “but I think you need to at least take a break. You’ve worked nonstop in this lab for years now, right? When was the last time you took a vacation?”

“A…vacation?” The idea had never occurred to me. I enjoyed working with Eric. Even though most of our test results were disheartening and got us nowhere, I loved researching and hypothesizing. The lab was usually my happy place. My escape.

It was funny that the idea of leaving Shifters’ Sanctuary had never occurred to me.

I gave it a moment of consideration, but to hide away would only make things worse in the long run. I needed to come clean. To confess what I had done and to wear whatever consequences came my way.

I was just too cowardly to say anything.

After I completed my next ultrasound and confirmed that the pregnancy was still viable, I told myself that I would put an end to my anxiety. I would tell Eric and Beckett.

And Micah.

“…a beach?” Damon was saying, clearly still offering ideas for the vacation he had suggested. “Or what about a ski chalet somewhere? What kind of places do you find relaxing?”

“My lab,” I grumbled, and he snorted and pushed off the bench, shaking his head.

“Just think about it,” he told me as he walked out the door. “A break might do you some good.”

No , I thought to myself, absently running my hand over my tiny bump, facing the inevitable will.

I just needed to confirm that there was something worthy of confessing first.

“Hello, my beautiful babies,” I murmured to the monitor, amazed at how much my children had grown.

At just over twelve weeks gestation, they were no longer amorphous blobs, but proper human-shaped fetuses. They had defined fingers and toes, rounded heads and curved spines, and perfectly beating hearts. I could see them all flickering away, and a quick check had them averaging around one-hundred and fifty beats per minute, which was well within the expected range.

Swallowing, I flicked the switch on the ultrasound machine that would produce the sound, and I sat back on the bed to bring the wand to the first of my children. The rapid whoosh-whoosh-whoosh brought tears to my eyes.

Performing my own ultrasounds was an awkward affair, but I managed. I knew that the rounder I became, the more difficult doing so would be. But I would be telling Eric soon —once I worked out exactly how I was going to tell him— and I was certain that he would assist me, even if he was disappointed in my actions.

But, until I gathered the courage, I was going to enjoy my private joy on my own.

I moved the wand to the next baby, my eyesight blurring as more whooshing played over the speaker. I listened in rapture, losing myself in the steady, strong rhythm.

It was an addictive sound.

Finally, I shifted my hand, seeking out my third baby. But, at that moment, the exam room door swung open with Eric’s voice speaking mid-way through a sentence.

“…there soon, I just forgot to grab— what the fuck? ”

I whipped my head around to face him, watching as his phone slipped from his hand to the floor, and I winced as it clattered on impact.

He scooped it up, his blue eyes never leaving mine as he spoke into it. “Beck, change of plans. Something’s come up. No, no, it’s fine. I’m sure I’ll be there soon.” Then he terminated the call and stared at me with shock and hurt plain on his face. “Please tell me I’m hallucinating.”

I swallowed, and I didn’t very much feel like I was the eldest in that moment. I shook my head.

Eric stepped further into the room, shifting his gaze from mine to the monitor, then to my exposed belly —covered in gel and with the transducer wand held awkwardly to my skin— then back to my face. “You’re pregnant.”

It wasn’t a question. I nodded anyway.

He took another step forward, running his hand through his blonde curls in agitation. “What…how… Brandt. ” He looked at the screen, at the still images I had managed to capture for my records, and then frowned. “You’re at least twelve weeks.”

I nodded again, trying to find my voice. Almost five centuries old (I’d lost count of the specific years at that point) and I felt like a chastened toddler.

I deserve his ire , I reminded myself, though I was still trying to avoid it.

“Twelve weeks and three days,” I managed to croak. But it had only been ten weeks and three days since they had been implanted. It was frustrating that we were measuring omega pregnancies by human and beta female standards, but considering our young appeared to gestate at the same rate, it made sense to include the standard two weeks for ovulation.

Eric sat heavily on the rolling stool and took the wand from my hand, pushing me back to complete the check-up himself. He took measurements —likely more accurate than my own, seeing as he didn’t have to contort his body to do so— and studied my children’s organs and development with a practiced eye.

Once he was done, he set the wand aside, handed me a wad of paper towels to wipe myself off, and sat back, watching me in silence as I hurriedly slipped my shirt back on.

Eventually, he folded his arms and stared me down. “Start. Talking.”

So, with no other choice, I did.