Chapter 231: The Big Day

Chapter 231: The Big Day
The night was peaceful over Sacred Moon. A soft breeze rustled the leaves around the manor, and the pack slept in a serene slumber. Everything seemed calm... except in the royal couple’s bedroom.

Lying on her side, Lya was trying to steady her breathing. Her belly tightened at regular intervals, each contraction stronger than the last. She kept her eyes closed, hoping her mate would stay asleep.

But Caleb wasn’t like other wolves.

His breathing changed almost instantly—more focused, more grounded. His gaze opened in the shadows, glowing faintly in the moonlight filtering through the curtains.

He murmured without moving:

"You think I don’t notice? Your fingers are gripping the sheet like you’re trying to rip it apart."

Lya exhaled slowly, teeth clenched, before muttering:

"It’s nothing. It’ll pass."

Caleb gently rolled onto his side to face her, sliding a warm hand over her taut belly.

"That... or our son."

She shot him a half-amused, half-exasperated look.

"Now’s really not the time for your all-knowing Alpha act," she murmured, eyes half-closed.

"I’m not all-knowing," he replied, propping himself up. "I’m married to a stubborn dragoness who thinks she can hide a storm under a blanket."

Another contraction made Lya shiver—stronger this time. She inhaled deeply through her nose, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Caleb rested his forehead against hers.

"Want me to get Bastien?"

"Not yet," she whispered. "We still have some time… I can feel it."

"Good. Then I’m staying right here. And I’ll count every breath with you."

Hand in hand, forehead to forehead, they stayed like that, united in the night’s silence, as somewhere in Sacred Moon’s shadows, destiny began to stir.

Lya’s breathing had calmed a little. Her hand remained in Caleb’s—warm, strong, but clammy. He didn’t take his eyes off her, even when she closed hers, fighting against a pain she refused to name.

"You know...," she murmured, breaking the silence, "if you keep staring at me like that, I’m going to start thinking I’ve got a dragon painted on my forehead."

Caleb gave her a faint smile—one of those he reserved only for her.

"Not a dragon. A warrior. My queen. The one who endures contractions in silence just to avoid alarming the pack. A... questionable strategy."

"I was hoping to at least let you get a few more hours of sleep," she sighed. "Failed that, didn’t I?"

He leaned down and kissed her forehead, then her temple, then her cheek.

"You could be triggering the apocalypse and I wouldn’t sleep. My world is about to be born."

Lya chuckled softly, but another contraction froze her, longer, more focused. Caleb instinctively placed his hand on her belly, as if he could soothe their son through sheer touch.

"Do you think he’ll be as stubborn as you?" Lya asked between breaths.

"Worse. He’ll have your fire and my hard-headedness. The Elders better brace themselves."

She laughed again, despite herself, then winced and snuggled closer to him after the wave passed.

"Caleb…"

"Yeah?"

"I’m ready. Not calm. Not relaxed. But ready."

He wrapped his arms around her—strong, solid, and so tender that tears welled up in her eyes without warning.

"You’re not alone, Lya. You never were. And you never will be."

One heartbeat. Two.

Then a deep, slightly amused voice echoed in their minds.

“And what about me? Am I just chopped liver now?!”

It was Handres.

“I’ve been ready since the first breath. He’s ours. And I swear… he’s gonna shake the worlds.”

Lya closed her eyes, an emotional smile curving her lips.

"Even the wolf doesn’t doubt..."

"And you?"

She squeezed his hand.

"Never."

They stayed like that for a few more moments, wrapped in each other’s arms. The world was still silent… but not for long.

The room was bathed in a peaceful dusk. Caleb, curled around Lya like a living wall, slowly opened one eye. She was sleeping. Or trying to. Her breath was shorter, her brows furrowed, but she said nothing.

Don’t panic. Don’t make a sound. Don’t wake the dragoness who suffers in silence.

He slowly eased his arm out from under her. First step: success.

Then he tried to slip out of bed with feline grace.

But Caleb was no feline.

He placed one foot on the floor. The floorboard creaked.

He froze. Waited. Nothing.

Second foot. He stretched with exaggerated slowness, arms raised, head lowered…

And that’s when Lya shot upright, her eyes wide from a brutal contraction, hands gripping the sheets with the force of a storm brewing in her womb.

"HHHHAAAAAAAH!!!"

The scream echoed through the entire room. And through the entire manor.

Caleb, startled by both the cry and the blast of instinctive magic Lya released at the same time, staggered back… tripped on the rug… slipped… and crashed to the floor in a loud, undignified heap.

"By the Moon’s damn fangs!" he cursed, totally dazed.

The door slammed open to reveal Drake, half-dressed, holding a baseball bat in one hand and a sock in the other.

"Are we under attack?! Who’s giving birth?! WHO’S DYING?!"

"Me!" Lya hissed through gritted teeth, as another wave of pain made her tremble.

Caleb sat up with difficulty, hand to his ribs.

"False alarm… I mean… real alarm… but not an attack."

"It’s time?!" Drake stammered, pale as a sheet.

"You think I’m screaming for pleasure?!"

"Well, that is possible," Caleb muttered.

A tiny flame flickered above Lya’s palm.

"…But not now, of course. Not now," he added quickly.

Another door creaked open. Loric, tousled and holding Bouboule, stared at the scene with wide eyes.

"Why is Dad on the floor? Why is Mom making fire? Why does Uncle Drake only have one sock?"

No one answered.

Handres, in Caleb’s mind, rumbled:

“It’s happening. Go get Bastien. And maybe... a helmet.”

"Bastien, BASTIEN!" Caleb roared through the mental link, half-standing, half in the land of the living.

At the same time, Drake, barely recovering after locking eyes with Lya’s flaming gaze, raised his hands dramatically.

"Right. Operation Hurricane is a go!"

And without waiting, he blasted a mental message so loud half the pack jolted in their sleep.

"MAAAALIIIIICK! IT’S HAPPENING! LYA’S IN LABOR! SHE’S GONNA BLOW ME UP! WAKE UP, BY YOUR GRANDMOTHER’S FANGS!"

…

Silence.

Then, in a peaceful room farther away...

Malick bolted upright in bed, eyes bloodshot, fangs half-out, ready to kill an invisible intruder.

"Who... who the hell is yelling in my skull at this hour?!" he growled, voice rough.

"IT’S ME! DRAKE! SHE’S IN LABOR! SHE SCREAMED LIKE A DRAGON IN A TRAP! AND CALEB’S ON THE FLOOR!"

A slow, deep sigh echoed through the minds of everyone still linked to the mental pack bond.

"Drake, if you survive this night, I’m going to strangle you. Slowly."

But he got up. Because he was Malick. Stoic or not, the pack came before sleep—even if it was led by a dragoness ready to torch anyone breathing within ten meters of her mate.

Meanwhile, at the pack hospital, Bastien leapt out of bed at Caleb’s mental call.

"Bloody... How many weeks has it been?! Soraya! Prep Room Two! Myrria, we need you in three minutes flat! Initiate Royal Hybrid Dragon protocol!"

Silence. Then a jaded voice in the hallway:

"You mean the protocol we’ve never used because it doesn’t actually exist?"

"Then improvise!" Bastien yelled. "She’s gonna incinerate us if we take too long!"

Back in the room, Caleb was trying to remain calm. Not easy, especially when Lya grabbed the collar of his shirt, yanked him toward her, and stared straight into his soul.

"You put me in this state. You’re staying right here. And you’re going to suffer with me."

Caleb swallowed. Slowly.

"Of course, my love. I’m… thrilled to share this moment."

Drake, peeking through the door, whispered:

"I’m here too, you know."

A guttural growl resonated.

"…And I’m gone!" he added, backing away very carefully.