Chapter 79 HIS STORMY EYES
Kael's POV
“I want to keep it,” Adam said softly. “I want to have your baby.”
The world stopped. Not a tilt, a full stop. I feel everything stopped, except for him.
My lungs, again, forgot what they were meant to do. My heart slammed once, hard enough that it hurt, and then everything inside me rushed at the same time— heat, relief, joy, fear, devotion— too much, too fast, crashing together until my thoughts tangled into something I couldn’t sort.
Words rose to my throat and died there.
I tried to speak but nothing came out.
I tried again, forcing my mouth to move, my tongue to shape something— anything— but all that escaped was air and a broken sound I didn’t recognize as my own.
I was losing my voice.
Not physically. I knew that. This was worse. This was my mind folding in on itself, overwhelmed, drowning in emotion I had no training for.
The last time this happened, I was a child.
I was small, shaking, standing in the training yard with blood on my lip because my instructor had struck me hard enough to knock me down. I’d frozen then too. Gone silent. Lost in my head because the pain and shame were too big to fit inside my body.
“An Alpha does not go quiet out of shame,” he’d barked. “You’re the heir set to lead this pack one day, you are not allowed to lose yourself. Speak. Get out of your head.”
I hadn’t been able to.
So he’d hit me again.
That memory flashed through me now, sharp and unwanted, and I felt the old instinct to force myself upright, to shove everything down and perform strength because that was what was expected of me.
But before I could even try, Adam’s hands were on my face. Warm, gentle, and devastatingly real.
He nodded once, steady and sure, like he was grounding both of us at the same time.
“I’m still scared,” he said. “I don’t know how or if I’ll get through being pregnant. But I want to try. For you. I trust you to always be here to make it easier.”
Trust.
That word shattered what little control I had left.
Something broke open in my chest and I made a rough, fractured sound… and then his lips were on mine, soft and sweet and completely unafraid of my silence.
When he pulled back, he hugged me.
Not careful or hesitant. He hugged me like I was something he wanted, not something he needed to manage.
I buried my face in his neck and held on like if I let go, I might float apart.
“Tha— thank you,” I managed, the words stumbling over each other, ugly and imperfect.
“I love you,” he said.
I squeezed him tighter.
He didn’t ask me to speak.
He didn’t wait for a response.
He just stayed.
My hands moved on their own, one sliding up his back, the other settling over his stomach. Flat now, but I can't wait for it to grow big.
There was life there.
My pup.
Our pup.
The realization hit me in waves instead of all at once this time. Softer. Warmer. I pressed my palm there, barely touching, like I was afraid I might startle something sacred.
I'm going to be a father.
I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. I wanted to kneel and thank the Moon and every spirit that had ever listened to me.
I wanted to give Adam the world.
My mind raced ahead, traitorous and tender. I thought of tiny fingers gripping mine. Of teaching a child how to paint, how to hold a brush, how to mix colors patiently instead of rushing. I thought of Adam watching me with that small smile he tried to hide when he thought he was being silly.
I thought of gifts.
Not jewels. Not land. None of that mattered.
What could I give someone who had just given me everything?
Adam pulled back slightly, studying my face with those storm-gray eyes that always felt like they could see straight through me.
And suddenly, I knew.
Words were still impossible. If I tried, they’d come out wrong, broken, and ugly. I didn’t want to ruin this moment with stammers and half-formed sounds.
So I stood abruptly, startling him just a little, and grabbed a piece of paper and charcoal from the desk.
I wrote slowly, carefully, making sure my hands didn’t shake too badly:
I want to paint your eyes.
I turned the paper toward him.
He read it, then chuckled softly and nodded. “Okay.”
The sound of his laughter loosened something in my chest.
I moved to the living area and gathered my paints, my brushes, and the board I used when I needed space inside my own head. I set it up at the foot of the bed, adjusting the angle until it felt right.
I gestured for Adam to sit.
He did, watching me with quiet curiosity.
I pointed gently. “Lo—ok at me,” I said, my voice still rough but usable.
He lifted his gaze.
And there they were.
His eyes.
They weren’t just gray. They were layers. Storm clouds and soft rain and the kind of sky that looks calm right before it breaks into something beautiful and violent. Light lived in them, even when he was afraid. Even when he was hurting.
I dipped my brush into the paint.
As I worked, my thoughts unraveled into something almost reverent.
I painted the way his eyes softened when he trusted me. The way they darkened when he was overwhelmed. The way they looked right now— open, unsure, brave, and very beautiful.
The rest of his face faded into smoke on the page, unfinished, because I didn’t want to trap him. I wanted the focus to be on the part of him that always pulled me back when I lost myself.
When I was done, I turned the board toward him.
He smiled.
It was slow. Genuine. The kind that made my chest ache.
“You’re so talented,” he said. “Make sure you teach our child how to paint.”
If I had wings, I would have flown.
I nodded, unable to stop smiling, and leaned in to kiss him, soft and lingering.
“I—” I started, then paused, steadied myself. “I love you.”
The words came out shaky.
But they came out.
And Adam smiled like he knew they were enough.