Page 323 of The Omega Exchange: Omnibus

“Shit, I’ve never heard an omega growl louder than an alpha,” Carver whispers. Looking at Mel, he says, “You’re beautiful, sweetheart. So damn pretty and kind of scary, but I still love you.”

“Get up here,” Nik grumbles. “You can switch places with me.”

“But is that normal?” Carver asks, glancing between us.

“Where the hell do you think the baby comes out?” I ask, shaking my head. “I’m sorry you’re stuck with him for life—” I groan, clutching at my stomach. I’m surprised the smack came from my omega.

“Don’t even joke right now,” Melody hisses. “Ohmigod, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you.” She looks at Miller and bursts into tears. “I hit him.”

“It’s okay, it really didn’t hurt... that bad,” I assure her, leaning over to kiss her forehead.

Dr. Jamison picks that very moment to finally make his entrance. He glances at Mel already in the stirrups and does adouble take. “Okay, things are really moving. Let’s see what’s going on.” He heads over to wash his hands.

“Just a reminder,” the nurse says, glancing between us. “Growling and snarling is fine to a point, we’re used to it. But if you get physically aggressive, you will be removed.”

We all mumble some form of agreement.

“Another one is coming,” I warn because for whatever reason, I seem to pick up the feeling first.

I suck in a sharp breath, leaning over the head of the table by Mel’s head. This one is worse than any of the rest.

“Jesus Christ, woman,” Carver groans. “Remember that you like what I can do with my hands. Sweetheart, you’re about to break my fingers.”

“It hurts,” Mel whimpers.

“You’re doing great,” Miller says. That asshole barely seems to notice the contractions.

“Okay,” Dr. Jamison says, wheeling his chair over. The nurses start prepping a table and bring it over too. “Let’s see if we can get your daughter in your arms.”

“Okay,” Mel sobs. God, it’s hard seeing her so beat. She’s had a night and morning of hell that’s for sure. I run my hand over the top of her head and give her all the comfort and reassurance that I can.

The next thirty or forty minutes are a lot of grunting and misery. Mel is physically wiped out.

“Come on, Mel,” Dr. Jamison says. “On this next one, she’s coming out.”

“I can’t,” Mel says, her head rolling around. “I don’t have any energy left.”

“You’d be surprised,” the nurse says. “It seems to be a superpower of moms. Finding strength when you swear there’s none left. One more good push and you can hold your daughter.”

It’s pure agony for all of us when the next contraction rips through Mel’s system. I swear that fucking epidural wore off somewhere along the way.

“Push, push, push,” Dr. Jamison chants. “Keep going, you’re doing great.”

Mel groans. She hasn’t really screamed or yelled. It feels like she’s kept most of it internal.

I’m breathing through the pain with Mel when the tiny wail breaks my focus.

“You have a daughter,” the nurse says.

“Would one of you like to cut the cord?” the doctor asks.

“You should do it,” Carver says to Miller. The big guy is red faced and looking a little like he might keel over.

It’s a quick process as he handles the cord and they bring the baby up to be placed on Melody’s chest.

“You did it,” I whisper.

Melody is still frozen, staring at the baby. She really needs a name. She’s got medium blondish-brown hair and there’s a lot of it. She’s still kind of gooey and her skin is bright pink.