TWENTY-TWO

For some reason, Ferra’s words were not registering properly in my head. I was aware of what she had said, but the disbelief clung to me like a parasite. My mind was rejecting it, begging for it to be untrue.

Ferra couldn’t be pregnant.

I felt a kick in my stomach, queasiness following. I felt sick. Was I heaving? I was heaving.

“Athena—”

“You’re pregnant?” I cut Conrad off, staring at Ferra. I knew she was not lying. She would not lie about something like that, right?

“Over six weeks gone,” she confirmed, never taking her eyes off Conrad as she said it as if daring him to say anything in his defence. “Since you know how fast werewolves give birth, you should know the heir to the pack is arriving soon. I advice you to return to wherever it was you came from.”

I dropped the brush in my hand, taking shaky breaths in and out as I looked out through the window at the scene whose beauty they had destroyed for me.

This was supposed to be a good thing. I was supposed to take this news