Chapter 142 Hundred and forty two

Chapter 142 Hundred and forty two
Rowan's POV

Two months into the pregnancy, I woke in the dead of night to a sharp, burning pain beneath my skin, sudden enough that a cry tore from my throat before I'd even fully understood what was happening.

"Rowan!" Julian was upright instantly, and I curled onto my side, one hand pressed hard against my stomach.

"Something's wrong," I gasped. "It feels like—like something's burning, just beneath the surface."

Marcus was already lighting the lamp, alarm evident on his face as he crossed to my other side. "Where exactly?"

"Everywhere," I managed, another sharp breath escaping as the pain intensified. "It feels like the night before my first shift. But smaller. Contained, somehow, like it doesn't have anywhere to go."

Understanding hit Julian visibly. "The child."

"Get the healer," Marcus said, already moving toward the door.

She arrived within minutes, expression carefully composed despite the hour, and conducted a swift examination while I gripped Julian's hand tightly enough to bruise.

"It's exactly what I warned you about," she said finally, some of the urgency easing from her posture. "Early shifting instinct, responding to something. Have you experienced any strong emotion today? Fear, particularly?"

I considered the question through gritted teeth. "I had a nightmare, before waking. About the ritual site. About Lyssa."

"That would explain it," she said. "The child's power appears deeply attuned to your emotional state, exactly as the old records suggested might occur. Fear or distress seems to trigger an involuntary response."

"Is the child in danger," Julian asked, unable to keep the fear from his voice.

"Not from this specifically," she said, though caution remained in her tone. "But repeated episodes like this could prove taxing, both physically and otherwise. I'd recommend actively managing stress and fear as much as possible throughout the remainder of the pregnancy."

"That's easier said than accomplished," Marcus muttered.

The pain gradually eased as she worked, murmuring instructions about calming herbs and careful breathing, and by the time the worst had passed, I lay exhausted but stable between them, color slowly returning to my face.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, once she'd departed. "I didn't mean to frighten either of you."

"Don't apologize," Julian said firmly, brushing damp hair back from my forehead. "This isn't something you can control."

"It felt like something was trying to claw its way free," I admitted, tears gathering in my exhausted eyes. "I keep thinking about what that means, long term. If a simple nightmare can trigger this, what happens as the pregnancy progresses?"

"We'll manage it," Marcus said, though I could hear the same underlying worry churning in his own voice. "Aldren's already researching everything he can find. We'll figure out how to minimize triggers, keep you as calm and stable as possible."

"I don't want to spend the next seven months walking on eggshells, terrified of my own emotions," I said, frustration bleeding into my exhausted voice.

"Then we find better solutions than avoidance," Julian said. "Proper techniques. Maybe something Maria could help develop, drawing on the same control training that's helped you manage your own power."

"That's a good idea," Marcus said. "If the child's responding to your emotional state, perhaps the same calming, controlled breathing that helped you manage the twin bond might help settle whatever's happening now."

I considered this, some of the tension easing from my shoulders. "I'd like to try that. Anything's better than simply bracing for the next episode."

We spent the following days consulting extensively with Maria and Aldren both, developing a careful routine of controlled breathing, meditation adapted from my own power training, and gentle physical activity meant to help manage stress before it built toward crisis.

"The key," Maria explained during one of the early sessions, "is catching the emotional spike before it fully takes hold. The same principle as controlling your shift, just applied preventatively rather than reactively."

"That makes sense," I said, though frustration remained. "I just wish I could simply will away nightmares about everything we've survived."

"You can't erase the memories," Maria said gently. "But you can learn to process the fear differently, so it doesn't build toward crisis quite as easily."

Over the following weeks, I applied myself to the exercises with fierce determination, and slowly, the frequency of painful episodes began decreasing, though they never fully disappeared.

One particularly difficult evening, I found myself in the nursery we'd begun preparing, sitting quietly amid half-finished decorations, tears streaming silently down my face when Julian found me.

"Rowan?" He approached carefully, unsure what had triggered the moment.

"I keep thinking about my own childhood," I said, not looking up. "About how little genuine love I actually received, growing up. I'm terrified I don't actually know how to properly love a child, despite everything I keep telling myself and everyone else."

He settled beside me, pulling me gently against his side. "You've shown more genuine love than most people manage in a lifetime, Rowan. To Elowen, despite everything. To this pack, despite constant crisis. To Marcus and me, despite every reason you might have had to guard yourself against vulnerability."

"That feels different than loving a child properly," I said, my voice small.

"I don't think it is," he said softly. "I think love is love, Rowan. You already have exactly what this child will need."

I was quiet for a long moment, absorbing this. "I felt the pain start building, just now. Before you found me. I managed to breathe through it, actually stop it before it fully took hold."

Pride bloomed warm on his face. "That's wonderful, Rowan. Truly."

"It's small progress," I said, though a genuine, exhausted smile broke through my tears. "But it's progress."

Marcus found us a few minutes later, joining our quiet embrace without hesitation.

"Everything alright," he asked.

"Getting better," I said softly. "Slowly."

"That's all we can ask for," Marcus said, pressing a soft kiss to my temple. "Slow, steady progress, together."

We spent the remainder of the evening in the nursery, discussing preparations, small decisions about color and furniture that felt, despite everything, genuinely joyful amid the difficulty.

"I want to ask Elowen to help decorate properly," I said eventually, some lightness returning. "She has good taste, and I think she'd genuinely enjoy being included."

"She'd love that," Julian said, certain of it completely.

As the evening wound down and we finally made our way toward bed, I found myself reflecting on how thoroughly this pregnancy kept teaching me the same lesson, over and over — that facing fear directly, rather than around it, was its own kind of strength.

"I love you," I said softly, once we'd settled into bed. "Thank you both, for staying so steady through all of this uncertainty."

"Always," Julian promised, and I let myself relax fully against him, sleep finally claiming me as the day's tension eased into peaceful rest.