Page 26 of The Alpha’s Sin (Forbidden Omegaverse #7)

LOGAN

G od, I hate seeing her like this.

Poppy’s cheeks are still blotchy from crying, and even though she’s trying to be brave, I can feel how tense she is beside me in the truck.

She looks down at her lap, her little hands twisting together, clearly ashamed.

And I don’t understand why—there’s nothing shameful about what’s happening to her.

Her breasts are fuller now, heavy and lush, and to me she looks like some kind of fertility goddess.

Gorgeous . Perfect . Everything about her is beautiful, even the milk.

Maybe especially the milk. She’s carrying life inside her—her body is preparing to nourish it.

The thought makes my chest ache with a strange kind of reverence.

I just wish she could see herself the way I see her—so fucking beautiful I can’t stop looking at her.

Instead, she’s upset—embarrassed—and I can’t seem to convince her not to be ashamed.

The worst part is, I don’t know how much comfort I can really offer.

What if Doctor Elizabeth says she needs to be knotted?

How can I help her then? I can’t explain that I’m her brother-in-law now that I’ve been pretending to be her husband all this time.

And what kind of man doesn’t want to make love to his wife?

That’s how the world sees us—as husband and wife.

But the truth is, I can’t be a real husband to her.

Not without breaking the Unbreakable Laws .

It just about kills me every time I have to remind Poppy of those Laws .

When I have to deny her what she needs. How could I tell her that I want her so badly I ache with it every night we sleep side by side?

That I can’t stop thinking about knotting her, breeding her—making her mine forever?

My Wolf growls about it constantly. Claim her.

Make her ours. Breed her. Knot her. Over and over until the words are a drumbeat in my skull.

But I can’t.

So instead, I drive. One hand on the wheel, the other resting lightly on her thigh, just to let her know I’m here, that she’s not alone.

She doesn’t flinch from my touch—if anything, she leans into it—and the tiny gesture makes my chest tighten even more.

God , I just want to be able to help her!

To take away her pain and anxiety and make her feel safe and loved and protected.

The ride to the doctor’s office feels both too long and too short. Before I know it, the glowing green cross of the Were Clinic sign comes into view. I turn into the lot, gravel crunching under my tires, and park the truck.

I glance over at Poppy . She’s nibbling her lower lip, looking small and uncertain.

“Come on, kitten,” I murmur, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “ Let’s get some answers.”

I just pray Doctor Elizabeth can tell us what’s happening to her—and what we can do about it. Because if her only solution is breeding and knotting Poppy , I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do.