Page 186 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

The offer hung in the air. Noah studied him for a long moment, then gave a single nod.

The meeting ended on surprisingly civil terms. As we stood to leave, Noah’s gaze lingered on me.

“Congratulations,” he said. “On the pregnancy.”

I blinked. “What are you talking about?”

Noah looked genuinely confused. “I can smell it on you. It’s strong.”

The world tilted.

I froze. Jackson went completely still beside me, his hand tightening on my back. Through the bond I felt a rush of shock, then something deeper and warmer, almost disbelieving.

“You didn’t know?” Noah asked, glancing between us.

Jackson turned to me slowly. He leaned in, breathing me in, and stiffened. When his eyes met mine again, they were wide and stunned.

“I knew something had been off for weeks,” he said, voice rough. “It kept sitting at the back of my mind. But every time I had a second to think about it, another pack problem came up.”

I stood there, dazed, one hand unconsciously drifting toward my stomach.

A baby.

Noah cleared his throat, suddenly awkward. “I’ll give you two a minute.”

He rose and slipped out of the office, closing the door softly behind him.

Jackson pulled me into his arms, forehead resting against mine. The bond between us flared bright and overwhelming, flooding with everything neither of us had words for yet.

Maybe not having a plan wasn't the worst thing after all.

Epilogue

Jackson POV. 6 months later

Harper was on the couch when I came in from the kitchen, one arm draped over the heavy swell of her belly, the other tucked under her cheek. Her eyes stayed closed. One of my shirts stretched tight across her, the fabric worn soft from how often she stole it. I pulled a blanket over her legs and stood there a moment, just watching the slow rise and fall of her breathing.

Some days it still felt impossible that only six months had passed since we found out. She’d already been carrying our daughter for months by then without either of us realizing. Other days it felt like we had lived an entirely different lifetime since that afternoon in the office.

I turned toward the far wall. The shelf held our quiet history in a line of small things. Harper called it clutter when she was in one of her moods, but she never moved any of it. I stepped closer.

A framed photo of Janet and Brian outside their house. A smooth river stone she’d pocketed on a hike because the veins in it reminded her of claw marks. My faded blue race ribbon. A tiny knitted wolf Janet had shoved at us with a warning that she’d be a grandmother whether we liked it or not.

My eyes landed on the big ball of blue yarn, frayed and tooth-marked.

I picked it up, rolling the rough wool between my fingers. A low chuckle slipped out before I could stop it.

I’d bought the damn thing trying to bribe her cat into liking me. Same week I enrolled in her Behavioral Analysis lectures just to sit beside her. I’d walked in late on purpose and dropped into the seat next to hers while she glanced over once, eyes flat, sizing me up like I was another problem to solve. She thought it was coincidence. It wasn’t.

My wolf had known the second she walked into that cafeteria. He locked onto her across the crowded room like a scent I’d been chasing my whole life. The man took longer. It took a full week of watching her drift through campus, detached and walled off and untouchable, before I finally admitted what she was.

A soft sound pulled me back. I set the yarn down.

Harper shifted, brow creasing as the baby kicked hard enough to move the blanket. I crossed the room and sank onto the couch beside her, careful not to wake her. My palm settled over the tight curve of her stomach. Warm. Alive. Another push rolled under my hand, then another, like the kid already knew who I was. Harper leaned into the touch without waking, the way she always did. The mating bracelet caught the last of the light. The tracker inside still worked. I hadn’t taken it out. She hadn’t asked me to. My thumb traced slow circles until her breathing smoothed again.

A few weeks ago, she had asked me to come with her to the cemetery. It was the first time she’d brought anyone.

We drove out at dawn, the late summer air still thick and warm even that early. Halfway there, she asked me to pull over. She disappeared into the tall grass for a minute, then came back with a handful of wildflowers she’d gathered herself.