Page 13 of Rejected and Pregnant by the Alpha (Forbidden Alpha Kings #52)

Hannah

The soft, steady noise of machinery filters into my mind, pulling me from the black abyss of unconsciousness.

The scent of disinfectant and cold sterility overwhelms me, making me feel sick to my stomach.

Bolting upright, I turn to the side, trying not to throw up all over myself.

Thankfully, a woman dressed in scrubs is quick to grab a small trash can and place it in front of my face just as I hurl everything in my stomach into it.

“Hannah, thank the Goddess!” Dry-heaving, I hear the familiar voice of Mrs. Singh and watch as the elderly she-wolf rushes in with two bottles of ginger ale in her arms. The nurse hands me the trash can, telling me that the doctor will be in the room soon before leaving.

Mrs. Singh comes to my side, handing me one of the ginger ales with the lid removed, and I thank her, gulping down the cold drink and feeling my stomach settle.

“What… what happened?” I ask, running a hand through my hair and wincing slightly as I touch a bump on the side of my head.

“You fainted suddenly when we were getting into an elevator. I had to call nine-one-one to get you help. Thankfully, the ambulance came quickly, and we got lucky because the two paramedics were werewolves,” Mrs. Singh answers, taking a seat on one of the two chairs in the room.

I nod, wincing again from the pain radiating from the bump on my head, and frown.

I must have hit my head hard for the bump to still be there, even with my werewolf healing.

“Careful. You hit your head on the railing in the elevator before I could catch you. It should be gone by tomorrow morning, though,” Mrs. Singh says.

“Thank you. Really. I know you were going to go shopping today, yet you got stuck here with me,” I mutter, feeling tears well in my eyes.

No one has been as kind to me as Mrs. Singh has since my parents’ deaths.

There is genuine care from this ninety-year-old she-wolf toward me, and it just makes me want to cry.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Aileen said that we can shop another day since she knows how much you help me around my condo,” Mrs. Singh says, waving her hand dismissively.

My lips curl into a smile, and I decide not to push further. If she says it is alright that she canceled her plans for me, then I just have to accept that.

A knock on the door catches both of our attention, and a tall, lithe woman walks in.

Her curly red hair is pulled on top of her head in a high ponytail, and she holds a tablet in her hands.

She scans the room, her nostrils flaring for a moment before her deep brown, almost burgundy-red eyes zero in on me.

“Hannah Cross?” she asks, giving me a soft smile.

“Yes,” I answer, eyes wide. This woman is a vampire. A freaking vampire.

“Dr. Grace Vaughn,” she introduces herself, holding out her hand. I tentatively reach out for it, clasping her hand in mine as we shake.

“Glad to see you’re finally awake. You’ve been out for two hours, so I had no choice but to run every test we could do without moving your body,” she continues, taking a seat on the swivel stool and typing on the tablet.

“Are you okay with your friend staying in the room and listening to your results?” she asks, looking between Mrs. Singh and me for a moment.

“Yeah. I live alone, and Mrs. Singh lives across from me in the same condominium. I trust her,” I reply, sensing Mrs. Singh moving to stand beside me, placing her hand on my shoulder reassuringly.

“Great. I have to ask this for liability reasons,” the doctor says with a shrug before returning her sharp gaze to the tablet.

“I’m glad to say all of your labs came back clean. No disease, no illness. But there is one thing that I think caused your dizziness,” she continues, turning the tablet toward me and allowing me to read the information. There, in bold letters, is the word “pregnant.”

“I… I can’t be pregnant,” I stammer, eyes wide with shock.

“Well, you are. When was the last time you had intercourse?” Dr. Grace retorts in a soft, sympathetic voice as she looks at my bare neck.

“Two months ago.” My voice sounds devoid of emotion as I let this information sink in. Pregnant? Me, pregnant?

“Was this with a mate or a one-night stand?” Mrs. Singh takes my hand as my doctor asks this question.

I feel tears fall from my eyes as I take a moment to comprehend the question, my lips opening and closing as I struggle to respond.

“My mate.” I whimper, closing my eyes in resignation.

“He was in his rut, and all he did was follow my scent. He rejected me when he came to his senses because he believed the rumors that were spread about me for two years in the pack. He was blinded by his rage and did not recognize my scent as his mate.” The words feel like sandpaper as I explain my situation.

Mrs. Singh lets out a small gasp while Dr. Grace hums, the scent of anger filling the air. Is she angry on my behalf?

“Your mate is a moron.” My doctor scoffs, making me laugh.

“That he is,” I agree with a whimper, feeling grateful to have the support of someone I just met.

“Is his rejection the reason you are a rogue?” Mrs. Singh asks, and I nod, looking down at the trash can in my lap.

“Well, you are most likely two months pregnant. We can do an ultrasound now, or you can come back in two days to give you some time to think and accept this information,” Dr. Grace says, standing from her chair.

“Either way, you have a limited amount of time to decide what you want to do: keep the pup inside you, abort it, or adopt it out.”

I mull over her words, unsure of what I want to do right now.

“Can I come back in two days?” I ask, looking up to find Dr. Grace smiling down at me.

“Yes. I will have my nurse schedule an appointment for two days from now. For now, I recommend you rest and take things easy. Make sure to get enough nutritious meals in you over the next few days and just breathe. We can talk more at your appointment.” With that, Dr. Grace bids farewell before leaving my room, stating she has a few more patients to see today.

Five minutes later, her nurse comes into the room—the same one I had woken up to, who handed me the trash can.

She takes the trash can from me after asking if I need it before bringing out her own tablet and scheduling me for an ultrasound in two days.

With that settled, she discharges me, reminding me to rest over the next two days and to think about my options before Mrs. Singh and I leave the hospital.

“I can call us an Uber,” I suggest once Mrs. Singh and I are outside, the summer sun still shining overhead.

“No need. I got us a ride already,” she answers with a playful grin, leading me to a waiting area for cars.

We arrive in front of a Hyundai Elantra, the windows down and the sunroof fully open.

Music can be heard from inside, and the scent of rosemary and thyme fills my nose, along with the distinct smell of animal blood.

As if sensing our presence, the driver inside steps out, her straight blonde hair blowing in the breeze.

“Hannah, meet Aileen.”