Ella
It’s been three weeks since the ball, and though I can scarcely believe it, it seems like all the campaign drama passed with Solstice. There has been nothing but calm since the holidays, and I’m beyond thrilled that I’ve been able to relax a bit, even though part of me is waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under us.
I’ve spent my time pouring over baby books, making plans for our nursery, and brainstorming baby names – and the best past is that I’ve felt less nauseated and achy every day. In fact, yesterday marked the beginning of my second trimester – since shifter pregnancies are so short – and it seems impossible to think my baby will arrive in four short months. My stress has already eased knowing I’m leaving the most vulnerable phase of my pregnancy behind, and I don’t even mind that I’ve been seeing Sinclair less now that he’s gone back to a regular work schedule.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I miss him. I miss him much more than I should, but I’m also grateful for the space. It’s much easier to resist our attraction to each other when we’re not constantly together and taking part in intimate rituals and romantic outings.
I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn. The little voice in my head mutters. If you’re going to give in eventually, why not throw in the towel now and enjoy being together in the last months before the baby comes? You do realize that in another four months you’ll never be alone again.
I’m not having this argument again. I decide. We agreed it’s better for the baby if we can co-parent without our own relationship drama getting in the way.
You mean you decided and he went along with it because he doesn’t know it’s such a stupid reason. My conscience snipes.
It’s not stupid! I insist. I’m going to be a mother, I have to put my baby first – that’s what being a parent is all about.
You keep telling yourself that. The voice derides. We both know you’re just a big scaredy cat.
Oh put a sock in it! I exclaim, losing my patience. “Stupid conscience.” I mutter aloud, sorting through the clothing racks in my giant closet and trying to choose an outfit for our parenting class tonight. “Uppity, annoying, impossible…”
“Talking to yourself, trouble?” Sinclair’s deep voice breaks through my angry diatribe, and I jump about ten feet in the air.
Whirling around, I find him leaning in the closet doorway, watching me intently. “Dominic, you scared me half to death!”
The big wolf tsks, coming forward and pulling me into his arms, petting me gently. “I’m sorry.” He croons, kissing my hair.
“Sometimes I forget how weak your hearing is.”
“My hearing is fine!” I object, feeling irrationally angry all of a sudden. “It’s your ridiculous shifter stealth that’s the problem. It’s not right that anyone as big as you should be able to move around so quietly.”
“Alright.” He agrees, and I have a sneaking suspicion he’s smothering a smile. “It’s my fault, I’m a big hulking beast and I need to do a better job of stomping around.”
I pull away from him, narrowing my eyes. “Are you laughing at me?”
Now Sinclair does smile, “Is there any way I can answer that question that won’t annoy you?”
I huff, deciding not to dignify that question with an answer. I turn back to my closet, beginning to rifle through trouser options.
“Nothing fits anymore.” I complain, eliminating every pair of pants I come across. “I can’t button any of these!”
Sinclair’s palm rubs over the gentle curve of my belly. The changes are still very slight, but my clothing has gone from being a bit tight to entirely too small. My breasts might not be so tender anymore, but they spill out of all my bras, and my favorite fitted tops now stretch and strain to cover my growing tummy. “That’s a good thing, Ella.” Sinclair reminds me gently. “It means the baby is growing big and strong.”
“Oh enough of that!” I argue, not sure why I’m so determined to disagree with everything he says. “All that means is that your giant pup is coming closer to pushing my body past its limits. Normal women don’t show this much at this stage you know.” My throat is stinging with the threat of tears, even though I know I’m being unreasonable. I feel like I’m on a roller coaster, I can see exactly what’s happening, but I also can’t get off the ride.
Sinclair clucks sympathetically, “You’re having a rough day, aren’t you, sweetheart?” I can hear the guilt in his voice, and it makes me want to cry all the more. He’s been working from home a lot and I can tell he feels like he’s neglecting us, but there’s also nothing to be done. He bears so much responsibility, and it’s only going to get worse if he wins the crown. Suddenly I feel terrible for being so grumpy with him, when he’s already blaming himself despite doing everything he can to take care of me.
“I’m sorry.” I sniffle. “I shouldn’t be giving you a hard time.”
“You’re allowed.” He promises, pulling a wrap dress from the clothing rack. “Here, no buttons, no zippers. You don’t even have to wear a bra.”
“Thank you.” I murmur, sliding my arms around his middle and squeezing tightly. Sinclair purrs and snuggles me until I’ve had my fill, and half an hour later we’re back on the padded floors of our monthly birthing class, listening to the instructor explain precisely why I’m slowly losing my mind.
“Moms, you’ll be feeling physically better now that you’re out of the first trimester, but this is the time when your hormones really kick into high gear. You may already be experiencing some intense mood swings, as well as physical changes to things like hair growth or skin pigmentation.” She looks around at the couples spread out on the mats, and I see I’m not the only expectant mother looking sheepish or anxious.
“You’ll also experience heightened libidos – something I encourage you all to take advantage of, as you won’t have time for much fun after your pup arrives.”
Oh great. I think bitterly. As if it wasn’t already hard enough to resist Sinclair. I’d known this was part of pregnancy, but I also hadn’t understood how powerless I’d be to my hormones. I’d assumed it would be like PMS mood swings, not these constant extremes. The instructor is still speaking. “Bottom line, mates, it’s your job to keep Mom satisfied and relaxed during these next few months. She’s going to need you to be her rock while she weathers these stormy seas, so I encourage you not to go overboard coddling her – tempting as it may be. Her wolf needs to feel your strength now more than ever.”
Somehow I really don’t think they give the same advice in human birthing classes. I mutter to my conscience.
A warm chuckle rumbles against my back and Sinclair’s voice sounds in my mind. You should see the look on your face.
I look up at Sinclair, wondering how he was able to see my expression in the first place. He grins down at me, then steals a kiss from my pouting lips.
“You also need to create a birthing plan you’re both comfortable with.” The instructor carries on. “By show of hands, who here is considering a home birth rather than a hospital birth.”
I raise my hand hesitantly. I haven’t decided which option I feel most comfortable with yet, but I’m open to either and want to hear what she has to say. However, almost as soon as I put my hand up, a low growl sounds in my ear. “Put that lovely little hand down. You’re going to deliver in the hospital and that is not up for discussion.”
I turn to glare at him. I might not be decided yet, but I don’t appreciate him taking away my options. “You’re supposed to be keeping me relaxed and listening to my instincts.” I state fiercely, mimicking the instructor in a saccharine tone even though the whole class can probably hear us, “trusting my body’s wisdom.”
“Ella, you’re high risk.” Sinclair reminds me sternly, the rugged contours of his face set in a foreboding expression. “We need to be at the hospital in case the doctors need to make an emergency intervention.”
I know he’s thinking of my high blood pressure, not to mention the fact that I’m going to be the first human in recorded history to give birth to a shifter. I also know this makes sense, but his high handed manner is making me gnash my teeth in frustration, “It’s my body.”
His wolf flashes in his eyes, “You’re mine – and so is this baby. I’m not going to let you endanger him or yourself, Ella.”
Without thinking, I offer him a snarl – which on my lips sounds more like the grumble of an angry kitten, but I”m sure my intentions are clear.
Sinclair’s hands tighten around me. His power washes over me, and I wish I had a tail to tuck between my legs. “Did you just growl at me, little mate?”
Despite my trembling spine, I tilt my chin up defiantly. “Why not? You growl at me all the time.”
Before he can respond, the instructor laughs, breaking the tense silence in the rest of the room and reclaiming control over the class. “You see, this is the perfect example of why it’s important to talk about these things together early on. You might assume you’re on the same page but discover you have different ideas.”
It’s also an example of why naughty humans need just as firm a hand as she wolves. Sinclair intones, speaking through his bond with the baby. His mouth is at my throat, his lips grazing the spot where he’ll one day pretend to mark me. I feel a nip from his fangs, and my anger abruptly slips away. All of a sudden my entire body melts, and I realize that the instructor had been right – I do need to feel Sinclair’s strength right now. Then again, maybe this is more hormonal insanity, because why else am I now wishing he could mark me for real?
