Page 88

But I can do something different moving forward.

“Is she pregnant?” I ask the doctor, though I already know the answer to that.

The doctor nods, her face slightly pale as she watches me, clearly waiting for my reaction to that information. Glancing down at the papers in her hand, she says, “Only just. Maybe a week along. I’m going more based on scent than the actual markers here. Even in omegas, they don’t typically show up this early.”

Mylah is still in the bed. Her heart monitor beeps steadily. The doctor has assured me that all her other vitals are strong, and that once she eats something, she should feel better. We just have to wait for her to gain consciousness.

“Do everything you can for her,” I order, turning and sitting in the armchair beside the bed. “Thank you.”

The doctor lingers, clearing her throat, “There’s something else.”

I raise my head, tilt it at her, too exhausted to do anything else. While waiting for the blood test results, the doctor had insisted on patching up the scrape on my side, and now the medical tape pulls against my skin when I move.

Carefully, slowly, the doctor says, “Mylah is pregnant with twins.”

Of course she is. Maybe I should be upset, but a smile spreads over my face at the thought of it. Two little shifters in there, equal parts me and Mylah.

“I’m going to the lab to review more of the test results,” the doctor says, and when I glance back at her, there’s a smile on her face as well. “Please just let me know if you need anything from me.”

The doctor walks out of the room, and I think I might have a moment of peace. Then, of course, my three friends are flooding in, expectant looks on their faces.

“Is she okay?” Brack is the first to speak, his eyes darting to my mate for a second before returning to me.

I swallow. Nod. “Yes. She’s…pregnant.”

They all go very still.

“So, what are you going to do?” Denvil asks, voice uncharacteristically serious. The expression he wears is grim—in the Southern pack, the social construct is even more rigid. Unlike Zade, it probably hasn’t crossed Denvil’s mind that I could do something rash.

That I can make a decision about this thing. Do something other than locking Mylah up and keeping her as a captive. I know she would start to resent me.

She probably already resents me.

But I think the universe has shown me, at this point, that there’s no point in resisting this thing. It’s like Zade said—what’s the point in being alpha king if you can’t make these decisions about your own life? And what’s the point in fighting a fated pairing when the only reason it’s unacceptable is non-tangible pack dynamics?

Looking up at my friends, facing them, I say, “I am going to claim her.”

Even Zade looks stunned. Maybe after his pep talk, he still didn’t think that I was actually going to do it. It’s unprecedented and will be the first time in pack history that an alpha king marries someone from the outskirts.

An omega not from very fine breeding.

Mylah is poor and not even from one of the primary Kault packs.

But I am going to claim her.

“I’m going to marry her,” I add, because why not? Kellen is hell-bent on me marrying. Of course, he’s definitely going to have something to say about it being Mylah instead of Noemi, but he is just an adviser.

He is not the king.

And if my pack members have a problem with it—good. Maybe Mylah and I can be the start of some much-needed change around here. If we can stop sacrificing omegas to the moon goddesses, maybe we can recognize that our dated standards about society and relationships are also unhelpful.

“Well, congrats,” Zade says, clapping me on the shoulder.

“You’ll need to make arrangements right away.” Brack turns and heads out of the room, apparently thinking he’s going to help with those arrangements.

Denvil grins widely. “Good for you, Auggie.”

I stare up at my best friend, heart pounding, in disbelief that after all this time, them knowing about Mylah hasn’t changed anything at all.