Good.
One competent male in the room besides me.
I called the private medical line Artem kept on retainer.
The doctor answered immediately. “Doctor Jacobson speaking.”
“Gregor here. I have an active labor. Waters broken. Birth may be imminent. I need guidance now.”
“How far apart are the contractions?”
Maeve grabbed my forearm hard enough to leave marks and made a sound that went through me like a blade.
I looked at the clock. “Too close. Minutes. It happened so fast.”
“And why are you acting as a doula?”
Maeve groaned in the background.
“Put me on speaker,” Dr. Jacobson said. “Wash your hands and then listen carefully.”
I put the phone down, stripped off my jacket, rolled my sleeves, washed my hands as I took one measured breath.
That helped my hands to stop shaking by less than a millimeter.
“Gregor,” Maeve panted, clutching at her stomach. “I can’t do this.”
“You can.”
“No, I absolutely cannot. I’d like to cancel.”
“Denied.”
Her eyes snapped to mine in furious disbelief. “Did you just deny my labor?”
“Yes.”
For one second she looked like she might laugh. Then the next contraction hit and that possibility vanished.
I dropped to my knees beside the sofa.
This was my job now. Not because Artem told me to stay. Because she was pack. Our omega.
Because she was ours and terrified.
“Look at me,” I said.
Her eyes found mine at once. Bright with tears. Wild with pain.
“I’m here,” I told her. “You’re safe. Do you hear me?”
She nodded once, ragged and desperate.
“They left,” she choked out.
“Maeve. They’ll come back.”
“What if they die and don’t meet Mac?”
