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“That’s your baby.” She indicates the tiny blob of flickering light. “And that movement you’re seeing indicates where its heart will be. It’s already practicing being a heart.”
A tear rolls from my eye to splash on the paper exam table cover. “It’s real.”
“It is real,” Dr. Campbell confirms.
Nathan takes my hand and squeezes it.
I squeeze back.
“Let me get some measurements, then I’ll print you a photo,” she says, turning the screen away.
I look up at Nathan, and he gazes down at me with a tight, close-mouthed smile. His eyes shine with tears. He’s barely holding it together.
And I love him.
It hits me so hard, I almost can’t breathe. I definitely can’t keep looking at him. Panic crawls up in my chest. I’ve never been in love before. And now, I’m in love with someone who’s said, over and over again, that he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to love.
What should be one of the happiest moments of my life—at least, as far as I’ve heard—has suddenly changed for the morose.
I’m mated to a man who can’t love me. And I love him with my whole heart.
CHAPTER 68
Two days later, we have a secret meeting in the conference room at Aconitum Hall. Just Nathan, me, Hannah, and Ryan, and of course, Xiao, who stands by, guarding the door.
Hannah has us all set up, with a white board and different colored markers— “to stay organized!”—as well as notebooks, pens, highlighters, all types of stuff we don’t need.
“You just wanted to take a trip to the office supply store,” I accuse her.
“I can neither confirm nor deny,” she answers, contentedly stroking a pack of gel pens.
“While the abundance of stationary is impressive,” Nathan begins, “Let’s start with what we know so far.”
He turns to the white board and writes “wwksf” in the upper left corner.
All of us, even Xiao, make alarmed noises at the chaotic shape of the letters.
“How about someone with better handwriting?” Ryan suggests, tacking on a hasty, “no offense, Your Majesty.”
“He doesn’t get to take offense in here,” I remind Ryan. “Remember, this is informal.”
“Well, who has better handwriting?” Nathan demands, annoyed. He sits in the chair next to mine.
I just shrug. “Not me, that’s for sure.”
Hannah gets up, erases the nightmare scribbles, and sets about making three columns. She titles them, “werewolves,” “thralls,” and “unknown.”
“She was born for this,” I whisper to Nathan.
Beneath the “werewolves” column, she neatly prints, “Nathan and Bailey: Reproductive Spell.” Changing from her black marker to a red one, she makes a bullet point below it: “Bailey = Tyr” and “Nathan = Fenrir”
“We know enough about the spell that we understand the symbolism,” she says, moving to the next column. She notes there that thralls cast the spell on us. Then, under “unknown,” she writes “moonstone.”
“The thralls are behind the moonstone,” I correct her.
She caps her marker pointedly. “Do we have a definite answer that the thralls are behind it, or do we just assume they are?”
“They’re the only ones that use magic,” Nathan points out.
“Humans use magic, too,” Ryan reminds us. “That’s how you found out about the spell in the first place.”
“I’ve done some research on human-thrall relations,” Hannah says, opening a binder on the table.
She made a binder. This entire plot is going to be solved by Staples.
“It’s difficult to get information, but not impossible,” she goes on. “Humans aren’t discreet about anything when it comes to the internet. I found a few online forums for witches, wizards, those types. There’s an overwhelming sentiment against thralls. They view the thrall-werewolf symbiote as exploitative.”
“Wait… they’re talking about us on the internet?” I don’t like that at all. “People can see that.”
“The percentage of humans actually interested in what they consider supernatural is quite low,” Nathan says, unconcerned. “Anyone visiting these sites likely already believes in our existence or at least considers our existence probable. And anyone who stumbles across this material without looking for it will dismiss it as fantasy.”
That only makes me feel marginally better.
“How do they find our relationship to thralls exploitative?” Ryan asks. “They use our magical energy and in return, we grant them protection and stability.”
Hannah shakes her head. “They see it as exploitative of us.”
I laugh out loud. “Really? Because we live in mansions served by thralls. Our businesses employ thralls. If anyone is getting the short end of the stick—”
Xiao coughs quietly.
Oh, shit. We’ve been talking about her people while she’s in the room, like she’s not there.
“Xiao?” I ask, wincing at the question. “What do you think?”
I expect her to say that it’s not her place to weigh in, but instead, she says, “I don’t think werewolves truly understand the arrangement between yourselves and thralls.”
“Could you enlighten us?” Nathan suggests cautiously.
“It appears to me that werewolves believe you’re the ones with the upper hand in this. That you somehow control the thralls, and the thralls desperately need you. But you need us more than we need you.”
