Page 21 of Mating Mia (The Alphas’ Perfect Prey #2)

twelve

. . .

Mia

“ T he path’s almost completely grown over,” Finn calls from a few yards ahead, his lean form pushing aside a tangle of brambles. “Looks like it’s been abandoned for years.”

Jace appears at my other side, his hair catching the dappled sunlight that filters through the canopy above. “You okay there, babe? We can take a break if you need one.”

“I’m fine,” I say, even though my back has been aching dully for the past hour. Nothing unusual for nine months pregnant, I tell myself—just the usual discomfort of carrying around a bowling ball in my abdomen.

Kane’s eyes narrow as he studies my face. “You look flushed.”

“It’s warm out here,” I counter, forcing a smile. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m hauling around an extra thirty pounds.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he drops it, his attention caught by Finn’s low whistle from up ahead.

“Found something,” Finn calls, crouching down beside a massive oak tree whose roots create a natural barrier across what used to be the path.

We pick our way toward him, Kane practically lifting me over the largest roots. My belly tightens suddenly, a band of pressure squeezing across my lower abdomen.

I freeze, waiting for it to pass, keeping my expression neutral even as alarm bells ring in my head. That wasn't a Braxton Hicks contraction.

That was the real thing.

Not now, I silently plead with my body. Not when we’re so close.

The pressure eases, and I continue forward, pretending nothing happened. When we reach Finn, he’s holding something small and metal in his palm.

“What is it?” I ask, momentarily distracted from my body’s warning signals.

“A pin, I think,” Finn says, turning it over carefully. “Or what’s left of one.”

The object is faded and dirt-encrusted. It’s about the size of a half-dollar, rounded on one side, with what looks like the remnants of a pin on the back. As Finn wipes away some of the dirt, I can make out the faint outline of a cartoon character—a wolf wearing a hat.

I reach for the pin with trembling fingers. It’s such a small thing, but it feels monumental in my palm—a tangible link to the night I entered this world. My throat tightens as I trace the faded outline of the wolf with my thumb.

Another contraction grips me, stronger this time, and I have to bite my lip to keep from gasping. I shift my weight, hoping the movement masks my discomfort.

It passes after about thirty seconds, leaving me slightly out of breath.

“Ah, interesting,” Kane says, moving a few feet away and kneeling. “There’s more.”

He’s pointing to what looks like scraps of fabric caught in the brambles. Finn reaches carefully through the thorns and extracts a small piece of pink cloth, frayed and discolored from years of exposure to the elements.

“Oh wow,” he observes, holding the two items side by side.

“It’s a trail,” I whisper excitedly, almost forgetting about the contractions. “She left a trail.”

It seems impossible—cloth surviving rain, wind, and animal scavengers for over twenty years. But these brambles are thick, protected by a canopy of trees. And maybe there were more pieces over the years that washed away, leaving just these few fragments to guide us.

“There’s more,” Jace points, already moving deeper into the woods.

Sure enough, about thirty feet further, another scrap of pink fabric flutters from a thorn bush, this one larger than the first. It appears to have been torn from a sleeve or collar—the edge has a neat hem that couldn’t have occurred naturally.

“She was leaving breadcrumbs,” Kane says, wonder coloring his deep voice. “Marking her path in case she needed to come back. Or maybe for you to find, Mia.”

The possibility that my mother planned for this moment—that she hoped someday I might follow her trail sends a rush of emotion through me so powerful I have to blink back tears.

My moment of sentiment is cut short by another contraction, this one sharp enough that I can’t fully disguise my reaction. I grip Kane’s arm tightly, trying to pass it off as excitement rather than pain.

“We should keep going,” I say quickly as the contraction eases. “Follow the trail while we can still see it.”

The alphas exchange glances, and for a horrible moment, I think they’re going to insist we turn back. But then Finn nods, apparently interpreting my urgency as eagerness rather than fear that we’ll run out of time.

We continue deeper into the forest, following the sporadic trail of pink scraps.

The path grows steeper, the forest floor giving way to rockier terrain as we begin to climb.

Each step becomes more challenging for me, my balance thrown off by my enormous belly, my body betraying me with contractions that are coming faster now—every fifteen minutes by my estimate.

I keep walking, one hand always on my belly, silently pleading with my baby to wait just a little longer, just until we find her. Just until I know.

The sound reaches us before we see it—a distant roaring that gradually grows louder as we climb. Water. A lot of it, moving fast.

“There must be a river up ahead,” Jace says, pushing his sweat-dampened hair back from his forehead.

The terrain becomes even more treacherous, the path narrowing as it hugs the side of what’s becoming a cliff face.

Kane moves in front of me, his large body between me and the drop-off, while Jace stays close behind. Finn leads the way, his keen eyes searching for the next piece of cloth.

“There,” he points to a scrap caught on a jutting rock at least ten feet above our heads. “She climbed up.”

I look at the near-vertical face dubiously. Even if I weren’t nine months pregnant, that would be a challenging climb.

“I’ll go,” Finn says, already testing hand and footholds in the rock face.

I’m sweating profusely as I climb onto Kane’s back for the climb. My scent is getting stronger from my panic of giving birth, but I plan to rush to the hospital next door if it gets worse.

“Whoa, a waterfall,” exclaims Jace, and I look up during a brief respite from my pain to see the roaring waterfall so beautiful and majestic before us.

The roaring grows louder, and suddenly the trees thin out, revealing a waterfall, at least fifty feet high, cascading down the rock face into a crystal-clear pool below.

It’s breathtaking—sunlight catches the spray, creating rainbows in the mist. The pool below is ringed with smooth stones, the water so clear I can see the bottom despite its depth. If I weren’t currently in active labor, I’d be tempted to strip down and dive in.

I slip down Kane’s back and onto my feet.

Another contraction hits me, stronger than any before. I grab onto a small tree growing from the cliff side, knuckles white as the pain radiates through my pelvis and back.

I can’t help the small whimper that escapes me.

“Mia?” Kane turns to me sharply, his eyes immediately zeroing in on my hunched posture. “Are you okay?”

“Nothing,” I gasp as the contraction peaks. “Just...tired.”

Kane’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “Are you in labor?”

Before I can answer, I feel a warm gush between my legs, soaking through my maternity pants and dripping onto the forest floor.

My water breaking right in front of him, and my face reddens.

“Shit,” I whisper, looking down at the growing puddle beneath me.

Kane follows my gaze, his face draining of color.

“Your water broke,” he says, his voice unnaturally calm, but I know that he’s panicking inside. “How long have you been having contractions?”

There’s no point lying now.

“A couple of hours,” I admit. “But first babies take forever to come. We have plenty of time to get back to the hospital. It’s only a few miles.”

A string of curses flies from Kane’s mouth, loud enough that Finn pauses in his climbing to look down at us.

“What’s going on?” he calls.

“Mia’s in labor,” Kane shouts back, his voice edged with barely contained panic. “Her water just broke.”

“Oh my god,” exclaims Jace.

“We need to get her back to the car,” he says immediately as he backs down the cliff face in seconds, moving with inhuman speed and grace.

“No!” I protest, another contraction already building. That can’t be right. The contractions shouldn’t be this close together yet. “We’re so close. I can feel it. Please, just a little further.”

Suddenly, I’m hit by a contraction so intense it brings me to my knees. I cry out, unable to hide the pain any longer, my hands clutching at my belly as my body bears down with unstoppable force.

“Mia!” Kane is beside me instantly, his strong arms supporting me as I sink to the muddy ground.

“The baby’s coming,” I gasp between pants. “Now. Right now.”

“We should never have done this,” Jace says, panic clear in his voice. “Kane was right.”

Another contraction tears through me, and I scream, my fingers digging into Kane’s arm hard enough to leave marks. When it passes, I’m panting, sweat pouring down my face despite the cool mist from the waterfall.

“Well, it’s too late now,” I say through gritted teeth. I misjudged this, and I wish I hadn’t pushed myself.

The alphas are all talking at once, their voices rising in panic.

“We should never have come out here. It’s my fucking fault,” says Kane, visibly upset.

“Maybe we should carry her back to the car,” says Jace.

“It’ll take longer for that,” says Finn, calculating distances and times, his expression growing more grim with each conclusion.

I scream as another contraction builds.

They fall silent, staring at me with identical expressions of shock. It’s Finn who recovers first, dropping to his knees beside me.

“Let’s get her pants off," he says with calm urgency. “I need to see how far along she is.”

Kane and Jace help me lie back on the damp ground, propping me up against a smooth boulder. They work together to remove my soaked pants and underwear, exposing me to the cool forest air. The contrast of heat and cold sends shivers through my body.

Finn positions himself between my legs, his expression shifting from worried to alarmed as he investigates.

“I can see the head,” he announces. “He’s crowning.”

“Already?” I gasp, shock momentarily overriding the pain. “That’s not possible. First babies don't come this fast.”

“Not all births are the same,” growls Kane as he kneels beside me, also checking.

“On the next contraction, you need to push,” says Finn, and I nod, bracing myself as I feel the pressure building again. The waterfall’s spray cools my overheated skin, the roar of falling water matching the rush of blood in my ears.

Despite the pain, despite the panic, there’s something almost magical about this moment—giving birth in this hidden paradise, just as my mother once gave birth by the side of a road, both of us bringing new life into the world in the wild.

The contraction peaks, and I push with all my might, squeezing Kane’s hand. He doesn’t flinch, just murmurs encouragement against my sweat-soaked hair.

“You’re doing great, little omega,” Kane encourages. “Giving birth to my first child.”

“I’ll run back and get the baby clothes in the car,” says Jace, suddenly rushing off.

As the contraction eases, I collapse back against the rock, gasping for breath. Through the mist of the waterfall, a movement catches my eye—a figure approaching, emerging from behind the cascading water like a spirit materializing from another world.

At first, I think my pain-addled mind is playing tricks on me.

But as the figure draws closer, I can see it’s a woman. She’s wearing black skin-tight pants and a tank top, her body lithe and athletic despite what I estimate to be her mid-forties. Her long brown hair is pulled into a high bun, with loose strands framing a face that stops my heart mid-beat.

Her face. My face. The same high cheekbones, the same full lips, the same slightly upturned nose. And her eyes—hazel with flecks of gold, identical to the ones I see in the mirror every day.

Another contraction slams into me before I can process what I'm seeing, and I scream, the sound echoing off the rock walls surrounding us.

The woman rushes forward, dropping to her knees beside Finn.

“She needs help,” she says, her voice low and melodic. “I can assist—I’ve been in this exact situation before.”

My alphas bristle at the stranger’s approach, their protective instincts flaring. Kane growls, a rumbling sound deep in his chest.

“It’s her,” I whisper, and Kane immediately calms down.

The woman kneels beside me, her eyes meeting mine with an intensity that steals what little breath I have left. She places a cool hand on my forehead, brushing away sweat-soaked strands of hair.

“Breathe through the pain,” she instructs, demonstrating a pattern of short, quick breaths followed by a long exhale. “Like this. Don't fight the contraction, ride it.”

I try to follow her example, but another wave of pain crashes over me, and I scream instead as the pressure increases like fire below.

“Push now,” Finn directs from between my legs. “The head is almost out.”

I bear down with all my strength, feeling an impossible stretching, burning sensation as my son’s head emerges into the world.

“Doing amazing,” encourages Kane.

“One more big push,” Finn says, his hands steady as they support the baby’s head. “Shoulders are the hardest part; then it gets easier.”

The woman takes my hand, her grip surprisingly strong.

“You can do this,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re stronger than you know.”

I gather my remaining strength and push with everything I have, a primal scream tearing from my throat as my son’s shoulders rotate and slip free. There’s a sudden release of pressure, accompanied by a slippery sensation of emptiness.

“There he is!” shouts Kane in wonder.

There’s an ominous silence for thirty seconds, and then suddenly the sound of a newborn crying brings me to tears.

“A perfectly healthy boy,” Finn announces as I’m panting and shocked at how fast this happened.

I smile at the baby’s little face, screwed up in outrage at the indignity of birth, his tiny fists flailing against my skin. I wrap my arms around him instinctively, cradling him against my bare chest, feeling his warmth seep into me.

“My baby,” I whisper, tears streaming down my face. “Welcome to the pack, little one.”

“He’s beautiful,” Kane murmurs, eyes tearing up as he touches our baby’s head with trembling fingers. “Perfect. Just like his mother.”

The woman is still kneeling beside me, her eyes fixed on the baby with an expression of such longing it makes my chest ache. As if sensing my attention, she begins to stand, clearly preparing to leave.

"Wait," I call, reaching out to grasp her wrist. My heart pounds against my ribs, my mouth suddenly dry. It’s now or never. “Listen, this might sound crazy, but I think you’re my mom. Sarah, isn’t it?”

She freezes, her eyes widening as they meet mine.