Chapter Ninety-six

Chapter Ninety-six

Chapter 96

Lia’s POV

Pain woke me before dawn did.

It wasn’t sharp at first. It was deep, slow, curling through my lower belly like something stretching awake. I lay still, one hand pressed to my stomach, breath shallow as I listened to my own body. The keep was quiet, the world hushed in that fragile hour before morning claimed it.

Then it came again.

Stronger.

I gasped, fingers digging into the furs beneath me.

“No,” I whispered, though I already knew. My heart began to race, fear and awe tangling until I couldn’t tell them apart. “Not yet. Please… not yet.”

Another wave rolled through me, undeniable this time. My body answered it without asking permission, muscles tightening, heat blooming low and fierce.

I was human now.

No wolf to brace the pain. No heightened strength to endure it.

Just me.

I pushed myself upright, breath shaking, and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The room swayed. I waited for it to settle, one hand gripping the post, the other instinctively cradling my belly.

“I’m here,” I murmured to the life inside me. “I’ve got you.”

The door opened before I could take a step.

Edgar was already awake. He always was lately, sleep coming in fragments, if at all. His eyes snapped to me, sharp with concern that turned instantly to alarm when he saw my face.

“Lia,” he said, crossing the room in three long strides. “What is it?”

Another contraction stole my breath before I could answer. I bent forward with a cry, clutching his arm as pain tore through me, raw and merciless.

His face drained of color.

“It’s time,” I managed, panting. “I think—no, I know—it’s time.”

For a heartbeat, he just stared at me.

Then the Alpha moved.

He lifted me effortlessly, ignoring my startled protest, holding me as if I were something precious and breakable all at once.

“I’ve got you,” he said, voice rough but steady. “You’re not doing this alone.”

The world became motionless after that. Voices. Footsteps. The rush of air as doors opened and closed. I remember clinging to Edgar’s shirt, burying my face against his chest as pain after pain wracked my body, each one stronger than the last.

When they laid me down, the bed felt too large, too exposed. My hands shook. Sweat dampened my skin. I could feel everything, every stretch, every burn, and terror coiled tight in my chest.

“I can’t,” I whispered, panic breaking through. “Edgar, I can’t do this.”

He knelt beside the bed instantly, gripping my hand like an anchor.

“Yes, you can,” he said fiercely. “You’re stronger than you know.”

“I don’t have my wolf,” I cried. “I don’t have—”

“You have me.”

His words cut through the fear like a blade through fog.

I looked at him then, really looked. His face was pale, scars stark in the candlelight, eyes burning with a devotion so deep it stole my breath more than the pain ever could.

“You have always been enough,” he said quietly. “Wolf or not.”

Another contraction hit, ripping a scream from my throat before I could stop it. I clutched his hand, nails biting into his skin, and he didn’t flinch.

“Breathe with me,” he urged, forehead pressed to mine. “Look at me. Stay with me.”

I did.

I clung to his voice as the hours blurred together, time dissolving into pain and effort and sheer will. My body shook. My throat burned from crying out. More than once, I thought I would split apart, that something inside me would tear beyond repair.

But every time I faltered, Edgar was there.

Telling me when to breathe. When to push. When to rest.

Telling me I was doing well, even when I felt like I was failing.

At some point, exhaustion settled into my bones so deeply I thought I might slip away. My vision blurred. My limbs felt heavy and numb.

“I’m tired,” I whispered brokenly. “I don’t know how much longer I can—”

Edgar leaned closer, his voice trembling for the first time. “Then do it for me,” he said. “Do it for us. Please.”

Something fierce sparked inside my chest.

I nodded.

When the final pain came, it was unlike anything before it, searing, overwhelming, all-consuming. I screamed, body arching as I pushed with everything I had left, fear and hope crashing together inside me.

And then—

A sound.

Small. Sharp. Alive.

The world stopped.

For one suspended heartbeat, there was only silence as my mind struggled to catch up with what my body already knew.

Then the cry came again.

I sobbed.

“Oh,” I gasped, tears streaming freely now. “Oh—Edgar—”

He made a sound I had never heard from him before, half laugh, half broken breath, as he pressed his face into my hair.

“You did it,” he whispered. “Lia… you did it.”

They placed the baby against my chest, warm and impossibly real. Tiny fingers curled weakly, skin flushed and perfect. I stared down in awe, heart swelling until it felt like it might burst from my ribs.

“So small,” I breathed. “So beautiful.”

Edgar hovered, afraid to touch at first, as though this fragile miracle might vanish if he did. When I guided his hand, placing it gently over our child’s back, his breath hitched.

“My goddess,” he murmured. “That’s… that’s ours.”

I laughed weakly through tears. “Ours.”

He kissed my forehead, then my temple, then my lips, reverent and shaking.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For fighting. For staying. For giving me this.”

I looked at him, at the man who had bled and broken and still stood, and something deep and unshakable settled inside me.

“This is our beginning,” I said softly. “No matter what comes next.”

He nodded, eyes shining.

“I swear to you,” he said, voice thick with promise, “no harm will ever come to you or our child while I draw breath.”

I pulled our baby closer, exhaustion finally washing over me in gentle waves instead of pain. As dawn crept through the window, pale and golden, I closed my eyes with a smile.

For the first time in a long while, the future didn’t terrify me.

It waited.