Page 38 of Pregnant, Rejected and Exiled By the Lycan King (Forbidden Alpha Kings #45)

“I’ve had good motivation.” His hand moved toward my belly, then stopped, hovering uncertainly. “May I?”

The request surprised me. The Lycan King asking permission to touch what he’d already claimed.

I nodded slowly, watching his face transform as his palm settled gently over the slight swell.

The pups seemed to sense their father’s presence, fluttering against his touch in a way that made his eyes widen with wonder.

“Active today,” he murmured, voice filled with awe.

“Always active after breakfast.” I found myself sharing without meaning to. “I think the sugar wakes them up.”

“Them?” His head snapped up, eyes searching mine.

“Figure of speech,” I said quickly, not ready to reveal that particular secret. “The healer says the baby is developing well.”

He accepted the deflection, returning his attention to the gentle movements beneath his palm. “I want to be here for all of it. Every appointment, every milestone. If... if you’ll let me.”

The vulnerability in his request, the way this powerful man was essentially asking permission to be part of his child’s life, created cracks in defenses I desperately needed to maintain.

It would be so easy to forgive, to forget, to pretend the past months hadn’t happened.

But forgiveness wasn’t mine alone to give.

My parents still suffered in the outbacks because of his judgment.

The pack still believed I was a murderer because he’d needed someone to blame.

“We’ll see,” I managed, the most I could offer.

He nodded, accepting the non-answer with grace that surprised me. His hand remained on my belly a moment longer, thumb stroking gently as if memorizing the feeling. When he finally pulled away, the loss of contact felt unexpectedly acute.

“I brought more reading materials,” he said, gesturing to a stack of books I hadn’t noticed. “About omega pregnancy, nutrition, exercise. I thought maybe we could go through them together. When you feel up to it.”

The idea of Damon Kildare, wanting to read pregnancy books with me was so absurd I almost laughed. But the earnest hope in his expression stopped me. This was his way of trying, of attempting to bridge the chasm his actions had created. It wasn’t enough, might never be enough, but it was something.

“Maybe later,” I conceded. “I tire easily these days.”

“Of course. Rest is important. I’ll leave these here for whenever you’re ready.”

He began gathering the breakfast dishes, movements careful and domestic in a way that still seemed surreal. The Lycan King clearing plates like a common servant, all because he was trying to show care he’d denied for months. The contradiction of it made my head spin.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked at the door, arms full of china and leftovers.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Always,” he said seriously. “You always have a choice with me now. I’m trying to learn that lesson.”

The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving me alone with my swirling thoughts and a stack of pregnancy books that represented hope I wasn’t ready to embrace.

But as I reached for the top volume, curiosity winning over caution, I wondered if maybe, just maybe, people could change after all.

By the time Damon returned, it was already afternoon. Since I had already had my lunch, this time there was no pretense of food or research materials. He stood in the doorway hesitantly, an expression I’d never seen on his face before, uncertainty mixed with determination.

“Your feet,” he said without preamble. “I noticed you rubbing them at dinner last night. The books say swelling is common, especially in the afternoons.”

I looked down at my ankles, indeed puffy above the slippers I’d forced on that morning. The ache had become so constant I’d stopped noticing it, just another discomfort in a sea of changes my body was experiencing.

“I’m fine,” I said automatically, the response ingrained from months of having only myself to rely on.

“You don’t have to be fine.” He moved into the room, carrying a basin I hadn’t noticed. Steam rose from the water, and I caught the scent of lavender and something medicinal. “You don’t have to endure discomfort just because you can.”

“Since when do you care about my comfort? You do realize I am still locked inside this room, right?” The words came out sharper than intended, but he didn’t flinch.

“Since I realized how much discomfort I’ve caused.” He set the basin down near the couch, then surprised me by dropping to his knees beside it. “Will you let me try to ease this small bit? We can revisit your release later.”

The sight of him on his knees, preparing to wash my feet like a servant, sent conflicting emotions through me. Part of me wanted to refuse, to maintain the anger that kept me safe from hoping. But my feet truly did ache, and the steam rising from the water looked so inviting.

“This is ridiculous,” I muttered, but I moved to the couch anyway.

“Probably,” he agreed, helping me settle against the cushions. “But the book said warm water with Epsom salts helps with swelling. And the lavender is supposed to be calming.”

He lifted my feet gently, one at a time, removing the slippers with care.

His hands were warm as they guided my feet into the water, and I couldn’t suppress a small sigh of relief at the temperature.

It was perfect, hot enough to soothe without burning, the salts immediately working to ease the persistent ache.

“Too hot?” he asked, watching my face intently.

“No, it’s... it’s good.”

He nodded, then began massaging my feet while they soaked.

His touch was clinical at first, clearly following some guide he’d memorized.

But as I unconsciously relaxed, his movements became more confident.

His thumbs worked into my arches with just enough pressure, fingers kneading the swollen tissue gently but effectively.

“The books say pregnancy changes the body’s center of gravity,” he said, focusing on his task. “Puts extra strain on feet and ankles. I should have noticed sooner.”

“You had other concerns,” I found myself saying, then wondered why I was offering him excuses.

“No concern is more important than your well-being. Yours and the pup’s.” His hands continued their careful work, and I noticed calluses I didn’t remember from our brief time together. “I’ve been implementing changes in the pack. Things your father advocated for years ago.”

“What kind of changes?” I asked, curiosity overcoming caution.

“Protection laws for pregnant omegas. Mandatory leave policies. Healthcare reforms that ensure no omega goes without proper medical care during pregnancy or birth.” He switched to my other foot, maintaining the same careful attention.

“I was reading through old council notes and found dozens of proposals from your father. Good ones. Ones that would have helped so many if I hadn’t been too proud to see their value. ”

“The council approved them?”

“This morning. Unanimous vote once I made my position clear.” A wry smile crossed his face. “Turns out they’re much more amenable to omega rights when their Lycan King insists on it.”

“The one my father proposed three years ago?” I couldn’t hide my surprise. That particular act had been his passion project, shot down repeatedly by conservative council members.

“Yes. I was a fool to dismiss it then.” His hands stilled for a moment, regret clouding his features. “I dismissed so many things that didn’t directly affect me. I see now how willfully blind I was.”

“What changed your mind?”

“You changed everything. Made me see what I refused to look at.” His hands resumed their gentle work, but his voice carried the weight of hard-won realization. “Every reform I’m implementing is something that would have protected you. Would have prevented... so much pain.”

The foot massage had become something more than physical relief. It was a metaphor playing out in real time, the mighty alpha serving, the wronged omega slowly accepting care. Both of us were navigating this strange new dynamic where old rules no longer applied.

“The council must be thrilled,” I said dryly, imagining Hampton and Yates’ faces at these progressive reforms.

“The council serves at my pleasure,” Damon replied with a hint of his old authority. “Those who can’t accept the new direction are welcome to retire. Several already have.”

“You’re reshaping the entire power structure for...” I trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

“For our pup. For you. For every omega who deserves better than what we’ve given them.” He lifted my feet from the water, patting them dry with a towel so soft it must have been specially selected. “And selfishly, because I need to build a world where you might someday forgive me.”

The honesty of that admission took my breath away. He wasn’t pretending altruism or claiming some grand awakening. He was acknowledging the personal motivation behind these sweeping changes – a desperate attempt to earn forgiveness he knew he didn’t deserve.

“Forgiveness isn’t that simple,” I said quietly.

“I know. But I have to try. Every day, in every way I can think of, I have to try.” He slipped my feet back into the slippers, then surprised me again by not immediately rising from his knees. “I know I have no right to ask, but... will you tell me about your time away? About how you survived?”

The question opened wounds I’d tried to keep closed.

But sitting here, feet soothed by his care, surrounded by evidence of his attempts to change, I found words spilling out.

I told him about the roach-infested motel that first week.

About finding work with Wayne, who asked no questions and paid in cash.

About learning to stretch dollars and swallow pride.

About nights spent calculating whether I could afford both food and prenatal vitamins.

He listened without interrupting, his face cycling through expressions of rage, guilt, and something that might have been admiration. When I described the rogue wolves’ attack, his hands clenched into fists, claws threatening to emerge.

“They’re still out there,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “Still hunting.”

“They’re not important anymore,” I said, surprised to realize I meant it. “I survived. That’s what matters.”

“You survived because you’re stronger than any of us realized.

Stronger than I ever gave you credit for.

” He finally rose from his knees, but only to sit beside me on the couch, maintaining careful distance.

“I spent months thinking I was dying without you. But you... you built a life from nothing. Protected our pup alone. You’re extraordinary, Rhea. ”

The praise felt uncomfortable after months of being nobody. But underneath the discomfort was a warmth that threatened the cold anger I needed to maintain.

“I did what I had to do,” I deflected.

“No. You did more than that. You thrived where others would have broken. You found people to care for you when I failed to. You protected our child when I didn’t even know they existed.” His voice roughened with emotion. “I’m humbled by your strength. And ashamed it was necessary.”

A knock at the door interrupted whatever response I might have made. Carlton appeared in the doorway, his expression grave in a way that immediately set off alarm bells. He carried a thick folder that seemed to weigh more than paper should.

“Damon,” he said, his tone urgent and careful. “You need to see this about Prince Laziel’s death.”