Chapter 36

The canvas tent collapsed in on itself, a sigh of fabric and metal. The scent of pine needles and damp earth clung to my clothes as Jackson’s hand closed around mine, pulling me towards the shimmering emerald of the portal.

The familiar warmth of the pack house engulfed us, a stark contrast to the chill of the fading twilight. My legs felt leaden. Every muscle ached, a dull thrumming beneath the skin. The pack house was silent, save for the rhythmic tick-rock of a grandfather clock. Strong arms lifted me, the scent of wood smoke and Jackson’s skin—warm, familiar, grounding—filling my senses. He carried me, effortlessly, as if I weighed nothing.

The soft thud of his footsteps on the wooden floor echoed in the stillness. Our room, dimly lit by a single lamp, was a haven of soft fabrics and muted colors. The air held the subtle sweetness of lavender from the sachets tucked beneath my pillows. He set me down gently. The floorboards groaned beneath my weight, a protest against my exhaustion. My fingers fumbled with the buttons of my shirt, a desperate need for release. The rough fabric scraped against my skin. The bathroom tiles were cold beneath my bare feet, a shock that sent a shiver down my spine. The water, already running, hissed a soothing counterpoint to the racing of my heart. Steam filled the air, carrying the faint scent of rosemary and chamomile. As Jackson’s hand brushed against mine, a tremor ran through me. “Leave me be,” I mumbled, the words barely audible above the cascading water. His fingers tightened around my wrist. His gaze, intense and probing, held mine. “No.” He began to undress, his movements deliberate, a silent promise. I reached out, my fingers closing around his forearm. “Stay.” The word was a plea, desperate and raw. He didn’t hesitate. Clothes fell to the floor, a discarded burden. Then, strong arms lifted me again, his body warm and solid against mine as he slid us both into the fragrant, swirling water. The world narrowed to the warmth of his touch, the scent of his skin, the comforting rhythm of his breathing against my ear. It wasn’t just the exhaustion, the day’s events, or the baby. It was Jackson. It was always Jackson.

The steam hung heavy in the air, clinging to the slick tiles of the shower. Jackson’s hands, soapy and warm, moved over my skin, a slow, deliberate caress. His touch lingered, a feather-light graze that sent shivers down my spine. As he turned me, our bodies met, his arousal a palpable heat pressing against my back. Without a word, I captured his lips, a desperate, hungry kiss that tasted of mint and something else, something primal. The air thinned, my lungs burning for breath. I pulled back, our eyes locking. “Are you sure?” he breathed, his voice roughened by desire. Before the thought could fully form, I used his shoulders, my fingers digging into his damp skin for purchase, lifting myself until I perched on the edge of him. The plunge was sudden, a deep, satisfying invasion. A gasp, a moan – a sound ripped from me as fullness bloomed, a tightening knot low in my belly. Jackson’s fingers tangled in my hair, tugging gently as he kissed my neck, his lips branding a mark that sparked a wildfire through me. A shuddering wave crashed over me, a first release, sharp and exquisite. I moved, a relentless rhythm against him, savoring the friction, the heat. He found my nub, a delicate exploration that sent another moan spiraling from my lips – his name, a desperate whisper. My eyes rolled back as a second wave consumed me, a deeper, more consuming pleasure. His name, again, a guttural plea escaping my lips. “Keep saying it,” he growled, his own rhythm matching mine, intensifying the storm raging within me. A third climax ripped through me, a dizzying rush that left me gasping. My head thrown back, I moved faster, my body light, weightless, as he found his own release, a primal cry echoing in the confined space. The only sound, after, was the slow, rhythmic drip of water from the shower head, a counterpoint to the rapid beating of my heart.

Warmth bloomed on my skin as Jackson’s strong hands lifted me from the bathwater, the lingering scent of lavender clinging to the air. A thick, fluffy towel enveloped me, a comforting cocoon before he settled me onto the bed, the crisp cotton sheets cool against my damp skin. He returned, a faded blue shirt clutched in his hand, offering it with a gentle smile. I shook my head, the word “naked” a whisper against the quiet of the room, and burrowed deeper into the duvet, its plush softness a welcome embrace. A slow grin spread across Jackson’s face, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he crawled in beside me, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. His arm, warm and solid, encircled my waist, a thumb stroking my belly in slow, rhythmic circles. “I can’t wait to watch your belly grow with our pup,” he murmured, his breath ghosting across my neck before a kiss settled there, feather-light.

Sunlight streamed through the gap in the curtains the next morning, painting stripes across the rumpled sheets. Jackson was already awake, his gaze focused and intense. “The doctor’s appointment is at eleven,” he said, his voice low and steady, a contrast to the anxious energy that thrummed beneath the surface. “Only a month,” he continued, his fingers gently tracing the curve of my hip. “Probably won’t see much today, just confirmation, but…I worry about the stress from…everything.” I reached for his hand, the calluses on his palm a familiar comfort. “If it eases your mind, I’ll go. Maybe we’ll see a flicker of something, a tiny heartbeat…” A hopeful tremor in my voice mirrored the fragile hope blooming in my chest.

The air in Katelynn’s kitchen hung thick with the scent of cinnamon and impending chaos. Baby shower decorations – pastel blues and yellows – spilled from overflowing boxes. I plunged in, wrestling with streamers, my hands a blur against the vibrant paper. “Okay, Beth, these go here,”

I barked, already sorting through a mountain of tiny socks. I leaned close to Katelynn, whispering urgently, “It’s Aliza’s baby shower tomorrow, remember? And… about *this*…” I gestured vaguely towards my own stomach, a secret thrumming beneath my ribs. “Don’t breathe a word.” Katelynn’s eyes, sharp as tacks, met mine.

“Jackson,” she sighed, her voice low, “you know you can’t hide anything from me.” I just nodded, the weight of the unspoken hanging between us. “Eleven o’clock,” I murmured, “the appointment. We announce after the shower. We can’t steal Aliza and Danny’s thunder.”

The clock ticked, each second a hammer blow against the silence. Eleven o’clock arrived, punctuated by Jackson’s solid hand on my shoulder. His worried gaze mirrored my own apprehension. The sterile scent of the clinic fought with the lingering sweetness of cinnamon from the earlier chaos.

The doctor’s words sliced through the antiseptic air: “Congratulations. You’re pregnant.” A warm wave of relief washed over me, quickly followed by the cold reality of the sonogram screen. Tiny shapes, pulsing with life, swam into focus. “Werewolf pregnancies,” she explained, her voice a calm counterpoint to the frantic beating of my heart, “are only six months.

The pups… they grow fast, especially an alpha’s.” The image of Aliza’s swollen belly flashed in my mind – six months wasn’t much time left.

Overwhelmed with emotion, I sobbed uncontrollably as we departed the hospital, clutching the vial of prescribed vitamins and the precious photographs of our newborns. Jackson’s comforting embrace, his gentle, circular rubs against my back, offered a small solace against the tidal wave of postpartum hormones that threatened to engulf me. The emotional intensity of this experience was utterly profound and deeply unsettling.