Page 51 of Taken By The Wolves (Blackwood Forest #2)

Finn’s behind me, a strong and steady presence, hands pressed to my lower back in broad, comforting circles. He murmurs something low into my hair, something meant to soothe, but I can’t hear it over the rush of blood roaring in my ears.

Reed returns with towels and blankets, laying them out calmly under Goldie’s supervision. His face is pale but focused. He kneels beside me, brushing a damp wave from my forehead, his other hand bringing a cool cloth to my neck.

Goldie guides me to my knees, urging me to bend over the sofa for support. “This position will help with the pressure. Breathe, Scarlet, and try to relax. That’s all you have to do. Let your body do the rest.”

I close my eyes and lean forward, fists clenching into the cushions, hissing through clenched teeth. Relax? Is she high?

The next contraction comes sharp and fast, and I cry out, but Finn’s hands don’t leave my back. Reed murmurs soft encouragement from beside me.

“We’ve got you” Nixon says. “We’re here. All of us. You’re safe. “

I nod, a slight motion, as another wave of pain grips me and I moan through it, loud and primal and utterly unconcerned with anything but the need to push.

Goldie peels away my wet underwear, and I’m so grateful to have another woman who’s been through this to support me that it isn’t weird.

Time seems to blur the space between my birthing pains like I’m underwater as I pant and focus to regain my strength, then the tightening agony grips me so violently, I lose all connections to the world around me.

Goldie hands Finn something. “It’s a sex toy. Use it on Scarlet to improve her pain. I’m going to take Ahya outside and call Hunter.”

“Are you sure?” Finn says, his voice high with disbelief.

I pant like a crazy person, eyes fixed to a crumb on the sofa.

“I’m sure. Trust me. It’s all about happy, pain-relieving hormones.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t sound sure, studying the thing like an unexploded bomb that’s suddenly appeared in his palm.

Goldie closes the door behind her, and then Finn kisses my temple and whispers, “Goldie has recommended helping you to orgasm to help with pain relief. She’s given me one of her weird fruit-shaped toys.”

“Nothing’s going up there,” I gasp. “Somethings about to come out.”

“It’s for your clit,” he laughs.

“It’ll help,” Nixon says firmly. “The power of the female orgasm. It’s the goddess's gift to women.”

“Maybe she should have focused on painless childbirth instead,” I grumble. Then, as I’m almost flattened by another gripping wave of pain, I gasp, “Anything… just… oh fuck.”

Finn’s hands move between my legs. His finger searches out my clit, then he latches a clit sucker on and holds it to me.

It’s strange when the first flutters of pleasure rise from beneath so much pain, but as the contraction subsides, the pleasure overtakes its clutches and I moan, rocking into Finn’s hand.

“That’s it, Scarlet,” he says. “Let yourself feel good.”

I moan, low and deep, more like a cow than a woman, but the toy is clever, and it varies its sucking action, edging me closer.

Another contraction builds, but the pain is muted by pleasure.

Reed’s hand caresses my back in long, slow swoops, and I moan again, gripping the edge of the sofa cushions desperately.

“Let go,” Finn says, and I’m so close, I can taste the release on the back of my tongue. I clamp down, my pussy constricting in wave after wave of pleasure that swamp the next rising contraction, making it bearable.

“Was that good?” Nixon asks.

“So good,” I murmur.

“You want more?” Finn asks, easing it from between my legs.

“Maybe. Give me a few minutes. “

He chuckles, lowering the toy and placing it on the towel between my legs.

I hang my head, letting my hair pool around me, imagining my sons making their way into the world, trying to picture the boys and wolves they will be.

Will they be stoic and controlled like Nixon, funny and clever like Reed, or caring and insightful like Finn?

Will they have my creativity, or my desire for adventure?

Will they have my mom’s caution or my father’s fiery temperament?

Maybe they’ll be unique: dreamers, poets, pioneers.

Perhaps they’ll challenge the status quo like their sister.

As my belly contracts again, the movement and pressure between my legs intensifies. “Get Goldie,” I groan.

When she returns, Ahya is handed to Nixon, and she kneels behind me with her phone in hand. After two contractions, she declares, “The contractions are only a minute apart. She’s close and doing beautifully. “

“Where’s the damn midwife?” Nixon huffs.

“I’m here,” a breathless voice answers from the door.

Our wolf pack midwife, Annie, rushes in, her bag slung over one shoulder, followed by Caleb, who scoops Ahya into his arms. “I’ll take her for a while, until the babies are here.”

Nixon hands her over gratefully. It’s a whirlwind, and I’m at the center of the storm, keening lowly as the pressure crests into fire.

Annie’s instantly in motion, slipping beside Goldie, eyes sharp and sure as she glances over my trembling form. I’m so grateful Caleb chose her as his mate. It’s been such a blessing to have a friend take care of me throughout my pregnancy.

“You’re almost there,” she says. “Just a little more, Scarlet. You’re ready to push.”

I bear down with everything I have, breath held, body shuddering. Over and over, I work with the contractions, rocking with the pain as my wolves whisper words of encouragement and rub my back in circles that alleviate some of the pain.

Then the pressure breaks, replaced by a ripple of inferno, release, and the high, piercing cry of a newborn fills the air.

“One,” the midwife says with a soft smile. I look at the perfect baby resting between my legs. “A strong, healthy baby.”

But before I can fully register his presence, another contraction tightens in my core.

“The next one’s coming,” Goldie says gently. “One more, Scarlet.”

My head swims. I blink back tears, exhausted but incandescent. Reed strokes my arm. Finn kisses my shoulder. Nixon grips my hand, holding it to his chest like a lifeline.

I push again, shaking now, crying with effort, and after three more contractions, and the last of my strength sapped by pushing, a second cry joins the first.

“Two,” the midwife says, awe in her voice. “Smaller, but fierce.”

My legs are shaking as I stare at our sons. Their little faces are red and creased as they cry. Tears of happiness spill from my eyes in hot streaks.

Annie is gently wiping their faces and covering them with a blanket. I want to hold them so much but it’s more important to let them continue to benefit from their connection to the placenta. Only when it’s born and has stopped pulsing to deliver nutrients will its cords be cut.

“They’re so beautiful,” I gasp, stunned to realize that one has my red hair and the other the intense dark color of his fathers’. I thought they’d be identical, but I’m relieved to discover they’re not. I want them to forge a path of their own rather than live in each other’s shadows.

“I want to name him after my grandfather, Thoren,” I whisper, touching the face of my copper-haired son. “And this one… Fredrik after your father,” I say, looking at Nixon.

His eyes shine, no trace of his usual control left. “He would’ve been proud.”

It’s a peace offering and a promise, wrapped in the name of a man who stood beside us when the world threatened to split in two. I know what it means to Nixon to carry his father’s name into the next generation. He kisses my hand, his eyes lingering with warmth and wonder.

The next few minutes pass in a blur. Eventually, I’m helped to the sofa, covered with a blanket, and handed two slippery perfect babies to hold against my chest. They’re warm, soft and impossibly real. One of them lets out a tiny grunt. The other curls into my collarbone and immediately quiets.

They’re perfect.

Ahya is brought back in, toddling shyly into the room with Goldie and Caleb at her side. Her eyes go wide at the sight of me, then the babies. She tiptoes forward, cautious but curious, and then she nestles against my side, resting her head gently against my hip.

“You want to meet your brothers?” I whisper.

She nods and strokes their tiny fists with one finger, her expression soft and solemn in a way that's so much older than her years.

“I think you’re going to be the best big sister in the world.”

She doesn’t answer with words but with a smile that could melt even the coldest heart.

And like that, my heart splits wide open, overflowing.

Here I am. A mother with her children, her bonded mates surrounding her. My heart is full of wolves. My home is filled with the sounds of joy and life and new beginnings.

This… this is everything.

My mom always warned me about strangers. But if I never allowed three men to show me the path to my future, I’d still be trapped in the past.

This is the life I never knew I was allowed to dream of.

And it’s all mine.