Two weeks had passed since the ritual. Two weeks of peace, or as peaceful as life could be with a brooding Alpha King and two rapidly growing wolves inside me.
Wolf pregnancies were fast. Vance said they usually lasted five months, not nine.
Which meant that at barely two months, I looked like I was five months pregnant. My bump had popped overnight, round and hard as a rock. None of my clothes fit. I was currently wearing one of Killian's oversized shirts, waddling around the kitchen looking for pickles.
"Again?" Killian asked, leaning against the doorframe. He looked better. The shadows under his eyes had lightened, though the black mark on his chest was still visible under his white t-shirt.
"Don't judge me," I mumbled, unscrewing the jar. "Your sons are demanding sodium."
"Sons?" He raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on his lips. "You seem very sure."
"Call it a mother's intuition," I said, biting into a pickle. "Or the fact that they are currently using my bladder as a trampoline."
Killian walked over, his expression softening. He reached out to touch my stomach, but hesitated inches away.
He did this often now. He was afraid. Afraid that the darkness inside him—the rage he was siphoning from the twin—would somehow leak back into them if he got too close.
"Touch them," I commanded gently, taking his hand and pressing it against the tight curve of my belly. "They miss you."
His hand was warm and large, covering almost the entire bump.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
THUMP.
It wasn't a flutter. It wasn't a bubble. It was a solid, powerful kick that actually shook my belly.
Killian's eyes widened. He pulled his hand back as if burned.
"Did I hurt them?" he asked, panic flaring in his scent.
"No, you idiot," I laughed, wincing slightly as another kick landed near my ribs. "They are saying hello. Or challenging you to a fight."
THUMP. THUMP. SWISH.
Now both of them were awake. It felt like a wrestling match in there. One was high, near my ribs (the Light twin?), and the other was low, near my hip (the Dark twin?).
"This one," Killian whispered, placing his hand lower, right over the Dark twin. "He... he is strong."
The black sun mark on Killian's chest began to hum. A faint, black light pulsed from it.
Instead of recoiling, the baby inside seemed to gravitate toward it. I could feel the baby shifting, pressing its tiny body against the wall of my uterus, right against Killian's hand.
It wasn't attacking. It was snuggling.
Killian froze. He stared at his hand, mesmerizingly.
"He's not angry right now," Killian murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "He's... calm. He feels... safe."
"Because he knows you're carrying his pain," I whispered, running my fingers through Killian's hair. "He knows you are his Anchor. He loves you, Killian."
A tear—a single, rare tear—slid down the Alpha King's cheek.
He dropped to his knees in the middle of the kitchen, bringing his face level with my stomach.
"I got you, little wolf," he whispered to the unseen baby. "You can rest. Dad will take the anger. You just... you just grow."
Thump.
A tiny foot (or fist) pressed against his cheek through my skin and the thin fabric of his shirt. A high-five.
Killian closed his eyes and let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for weeks. The tension in his shoulders finally dissolved.
"They are definitely boys," he announced, standing up and wiping his face, his Alpha mask sliding back into place (though a bit crooked). "Only boys kick that hard."
"We'll see," I smirked. "Vance is coming tomorrow for the gender reveal scan."
"If they are girls," Killian said seriously, "I'm buying a shotgun. No boys are allowed near them until they are thirty."
I laughed, happy tears pricking my eyes.
The curse was still there. The danger was still real. But in this kitchen, with pickles and kicks, we were just a family.
And that was enough.