Page 132 of Knot Their Soldier: Part Three

I don't like that our Pack isn't talking much about the big issue.

The one that actually scares the daylights outta me.

The others are doing that thing where they shove thoughts about it into boxes and sit on the lid.

Me?

I’m thinking about her being pregnant. Constantly. Like a sick little hobby.

I keep sniffing for signs even though I know it’s too early, and Everlyn would call me an idiot if she caught me trying to scent a fetus. I still do it 'cause I reckon I'd know if something so fundamental changed with my Omega. I know her scent better than anything, better than even the feel of my combat knife in my hand.

I take in her scent every time she shifts her jacket, exhales, or turns her head. I watch the way she holds her shoulders, the set of her spine, the way her steps land. I’m looking for nausea, fatigue, a fraction of hesitation where she's usually fine.

I don’t find anything, but that doesn’t stop me from looking.

Halley glances back at me, and her mouth twitches at the corners, threatening a smile. "You’re doing it again."

"Doing what?" I ask because denial is fun, and it keeps her attention on me.

Her eyes flick to my nose. "Sniffing me like a lunatic."

"First of all, you like that I'm a lunatic." I lean closer as we walk, lowering my voice because there is always someone listening, and I like when we get to have private moments, just the two of us. "Second of all, if you’re incubating a tiny future soldier, I’d like to know before it makes you start eating my snacks at two in the morning."

Halley snorts, which is a wonderful sound, and I file the memory away like contraband. It's mine. I earned it, and I get to keep it.

"And what," she says, "would you do with that information if you confirmed I was pregnant, Blaise?"

Ah. An interesting mistake. She thinks she's talking to Blaise.

She's not.

It's Blaze who has been in the driver's seat for four days.

With the whole Pack in a collective state of shock and denial, it's been my duty to keep a sharp edge. They're all busy thinking about politics and war strategy and support, so someone had to stay a soldier.

My primary role is to guard and protect Halley. It's not exactly hard, it's my default mode to want to follow her everywhere, and now I've got the perfect excuse. She can't even complain when I follow her into the bathroom 'cause I'm just doing my job really, really well.

And I guess, if our Omega is harboring a cluster of cells in her womb, then it's my job to protect it too, because it's part of her.

I'll guard them until my last breath. Kill anything that even thinks about touching them.

I would also panic, probably, because I would be a terrible father, and I’m not even insulted by that. It’s a fact. I’m good at murdering in creative ways and loving Halley with the obsessive intensity of a thousand suns. Nowhere inside me is there a nurturing section that wishes to impart wisdom on the next generation.

Don't become a child assassin. That's it. That's all my wisdom. Maybe to keep a sharp knife on you at all times, but that's just common sense.

"We'd share a secret and secrets are always fun," I tell her instead with a bright, beaming smile.

Halley doesn't need me to explain to her that I'm not father material. I told her about my sperm donor and what a sack of shit he was. I don't exactly have a great role model for paternal responsibility, nor have I led a life a child could be proud of.

"I can't stop thinking about what might happen if it's positive," she breathes, looking up at me and then straight ahead again. Her eyes are shining with unshed tears.

Oh fuck. Omega tears.

Red alert. Red alert.

I'd rather get stabbed in the gut than have Halley cry on my watch.

Blaze takes a step back and lets Blaise's softer approach handle the live grenade that is our mate.