chapter 184
Tori's POV:
Something flashed across Lucas's face—too quick for me to catch in my weakened state.
But Tracy, my inner wolf, is smiling knowingly.
He's lying, she whispers.
I tried to push myself up on my elbows, wincing as pain shot through my abdomen.
"I want to see the baby," I whispered, my voice hoarse from disuse. "Please, Lucas."
Lucas hesitated, his silver eyes darkening. Then he nodded, gently placing his hand behind my back.
He carefully helped me sit up, his movements deliberately slow. "I'll carry you."
"I can walk," I protested weakly. But the protest was invalid.
He wrapped a thick blanket around my shoulders, tucking it securely around my legs before lifting me with careful precision.
I nestled against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart as he carried me down the hallway toward the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit.
The antiseptic smell of Moontouch Medical Center intensified as we approached the NICU. Lucas murmured something to a nurse, who nodded and held the door open for us.
My breath caught as we entered the room lined with incubators.
Lucas carried me toward one in the far corner, marked with the Grayson Pack insignia. As we drew closer, I could see the tiny form inside, connected to monitors and tubes that seemed impossibly large against such a small body.
"Our baby," I whispered, tears welling in my eyes.
Lucas gently set me in a chair beside the incubator, his hand never leaving my shoulder. Through the clear plastic, I could see our child—so impossibly small, with translucent skin and a dusting of hair.
"You were right," I said softly, glancing up at Lucas. "He does have my nose, doesn't he?"
Lucas coughed suddenly, his expression momentarily blank before he cleared his throat. "I, uh—yes. Definitely your nose."
I frowned, looking up at Lucas with questioning eyes. "Lucas... how much time have you actually spent here with the baby?"
He coughed again, more deliberately this time, and squeezed my shoulder.
"The important thing is that he's getting stronger every day. The doctors said the Alpha bloodline will make our little one stronger than an ordinary premature baby," Lucas explained, his voice low.
I placed my palm against the incubator, wishing I could touch the baby's skin, feel the heartbeat against my own. "Boy or girl?" I asked, suddenly realizing I didn't know.
"A boy," Lucas said, and this time his pride was unmistakable. "I was thinking we might name him Ryan... after your brother."
Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks.
The wound of losing my brother had never fully healed, but hearing Lucas suggest honoring him this way made something break and mend simultaneously in my heart.
"Ryan," I repeated, watching the gentle rise and fall of our son's chest. "Ryan Grayson. It's perfect."
We stayed there for several minutes, neither of us speaking.
I memorized every detail of our son's face, his tiny clenched fists, the slight twitch of his lips as he slept.
The maternal bond strengthened with every second. As I watched, our tiny son seemed to sense my presence, his small body shifting ever so slightly toward my direction through the incubator glass.
That subtle movement, that instinctive attempt to be closer to me, melted my heart completely.
Eventually, the nurse returned to inform us that I needed to rest. Lucas carefully lifted me again, and I reluctantly allowed him to carry me back toward my room.
As we rounded the corner into the hallway leading to my private suite, I noticed a solitary figure waiting outside my door.
Susan Shepherd sat alone in her wheelchair. Her silver-streaked hair was pulled back into a simple braid, and dark circles shadowed her eyes. Before her on a small table sat a ceramic pot with steam rising from it and a weathered wooden box inlaid with silver.
Lucas tensed immediately, his arms tightening around me protectively.
"It's okay," I whispered, though my own heart was racing.
Lucas had told me everything during the times I'd been lucid—how Hannah had switched us as babies, what happened after Susan had slapped me at the Luna ceremony, and how she'd later discovered the truth.
Susan's eyes met mine, and I saw them widen at the sight of me in Lucas's arms. Her hands trembled where they rested on the arms of her wheelchair.
"May I come in?" she asked, her voice barely audible.
Lucas looked down at me, waiting for my decision. I nodded slightly.
"Five minutes," he said curtly, moving past her to carry me into the room.
He laid me gently on the bed, tucking the blankets around me before stepping back, his body positioned between Susan and me.
Susan wheeled herself forward hesitantly, stopping a respectful distance from the bed. Up close, I could see the redness around her eyes, evidence of recent tears.
"I brought moon essence soup," she said, gesturing to the pot. "It's traditional in the Shepherd Pack for new mothers. It helps with healing."
I swallowed hard, the reality that Susan was my birth mother still feeling like a strange dream. A complex mixture of longing and apprehension washed over me.
Susan carefully helped me into a more comfortable position, her hands gentle and skilled as she arranged pillows behind my back.
Then she reached my hand, tears suddenly streaming down her face.
"I'm sorry I hit you," she sobbed, her shoulders shaking.
I sat frozen, unsure how to respond. Lucas had moved to the window but was watching intently, his body coiled with tension.
Susan wiped her tears with shaking hands and reached for the wooden box.
"This belonged to you," she said, opening it to reveal a delicate silver necklace with a crystal pendant and a contract.
Susan must have read something in my expression because she closed the box and set it aside. "I'm not asking for forgiveness," she whispered. "I just... I needed you to know that you were wanted, that you were loved. "
She rose slowly, wiped away her tears. "I should go. You need to rest."
As she turned her wheelchair toward the door, something shifted inside me—a recognition of the pain we both carried, the years stolen from us.
"Mom," I called softly, the word strange on my tongue. "Thank you for coming. Be careful on your way home."
Susan froze, then turned back, her face a portrait of disbelief. "What did you call me?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"Mom," I repeated, more firmly this time.
Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks as she nodded, unable to speak.