My fingers tighten around the phone 120

Aria’s POV
I attempted to return the doctor’s warm smile, but my lips barely curled upward in what probably looked more like a
grimace than genuine friendliness. My stomach twisted into knots that had nothing to do with morning sickness as I sat
perched on the edge of the examination table, the paper cover crackling loudly beneath my thighs with every nervous
fidget.
“I was wondering if you received my previous medical records,” I ventured, plucking at the thin paper gown that barely
covered my knees. My fingers couldn’t seem to stay still, pinching and smoothing the flimsy material over and over.
The doctor nodded, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she flipped through my file. “Absolutely. I’ve gone through
everything quite thoroughly. Your case is… remarkable, to say the least.”
“Remarkable?” I repeated, a chill running down my spine despite the warmth of the room. In my experience, being
medically “remarkable” usually meant being poked and prodded like a science experiment. “That doesn’t sound
reassuring.”
She must have caught my expression because she quickly softened her tone. “I meant it in the best possible way,” she
clarified, leaning forward slightly. “Your physiology presents a fascinating contradiction. Despite the severed connection
with your wolf, your pregnancy is following traditional werewolf patterns. It’s extremely uncommon to see this.”
My hand drifted protectively over my abdomen, pressing lightly against the still-flat surface. “And that’s… concerning?” I
asked, trying to keep my voice steady even as anxiety crawled up my throat.
“Not at all,” she assured me, wheeling her stool closer with a push of her feet. “It’s actually quite encouraging. I’ve
dedicated my career to cross-species pregnancies and their unique challenges. Surviving the loss of your wolf alone is
virtually unheard of—carrying children afterward even more so.”
Her eyes lit up as she launched into a detailed explanation of her background, describing cases of mixed-heritage
pregnancies she’d overseen and why mine stood out from the thousands she’d treated.
“I appreciate your expertise,” I interrupted, shifting uncomfortably as the paper beneath me rustled loudly, “but
technically this isn’t a cross-species situation. The father is a full werewolf with his wolf intact.”
She tipped her head slightly, conceding the point. “You’re absolutely right from a genetic standpoint. However,
physiologically, you occupy a unique middle ground.” Her pen tapped thoughtfully against her clipboard. “Your body
retains many werewolf characteristics, but without the heightened healing and enhanced strength most females rely on
during pregnancy.” She reached out, patting my knee with maternal reassurance. “But don’t worry—you couldn’t be in
better hands.”
The doctor flipped to another page in my file, her brow furrowing slightly. “These notes about your first pregnancy are
particularly interesting—episodes of syncope, hyperemesis gravidarum, ultrasound interference, accelerated fetal
development.” She glanced up, catching my confused expression. “Fainting spells, severe morning sickness, machines
malfunctioning, and faster-than-normal growth.”
I blinked, memories flooding back of those terrifying early months with Lucas. “Hold on,” I said, my heartbeat picking up
pace. “When I was pregnant with my son, the doctors assured me everything was perfectly normal.”
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Her smile turned sympathetic. “I suspect they either wanted to spare you unnecessary worry or simply lacked the
expertise to recognize the signs.” She set down her clipboard, looking me directly in the eyes.
The weight of her words pressed down on me, and suddenly I felt impossibly small sitting there in that flimsy paper gown
with my bare feet dangling above the floor. A lump formed in my throat that I couldn’t swallow past.
“I’m terrified,” I whispered, the admission barely audible even in the quiet examination room. My fingers twisted together
in my lap. “I don’t have any idea what’s coming this time.”
Something in her expression softened as she reached out, covering my cold hands with her warm one. “That’s a
completely natural response. Pregnancy is always a journey into the unknown, even more so in your unique situation.”
She hesitated before adding, “Will the baby’s father be attending appointments with you?”
My gaze dropped to the tiled floor, studying the speckled pattern as if it held answers. “I haven’t exactly… told him yet,” I
admitted, heat rising to my cheeks.
To her credit, she didn’t press for details. Instead, she simply made a few additional notes before walking me through
prescriptions for anti-nausea medication, prenatal vitamins, and iron supplements. Given my high-risk status, she wanted
to see me every two weeks rather than the standard monthly appointments.
When it was time for the transvaginal ultrasound, I lay back on the table and fixed my eyes on a water stain on the
ceiling, steeling myself for whatever might appear on the screen. The gel was unexpectedly cold, drawing a sharp intake
of breath as the doctor positioned the wand.
“Based on measurements and development, you’re right around ten weeks pregnant,” she confirmed, studying the
monitor intently. I did a quick mental calculation—the timing aligned perfectly with that night with Ethan at the hospital,
that heated, desperate encounter that had left us both breathless and clinging to each other.
The doctor adjusted something on the machine, and suddenly the room filled with a rapid whooshing sound—like
galloping horses or distant drums. I recognized it immediately as a heartbeat, but something caught my attention: a
strange, overlapping rhythm that seemed to echo just after each beat.
I opened my mouth to ask about the unusual pattern, but before I could form the question, the doctor smiled with the
satisfied expression of someone confirming a suspicion.
“Excellent—the first baby shows a strong, healthy heartbeat. Now let’s take a look at the second one.”
My entire world froze in that instant—thoughts, breath, heartbeat—everything suspended in a single moment of
absolute shock. The examination room seemed to lurch beneath me, walls tilting at impossible angles as the floor
threatened to drop away completely.
“I—I’m sorry,” I finally managed, my voice coming out as barely more than a strangled whisper. My fingers clutched the
edge of the table so tightly my knuckles turned white. “What did you say just now?”