I clutched my chest and shook my head, and somewhere between the panic and the confusion and the hormone-fueled disaster running through my bloodstream, I felt something warm. Something scary. Something… real.
Because as terrifying as it all is?
As absolutely chaotic and not-ready-for-this as I feel?
The idea of Damon holding a baby—our baby—with one hand wrapped protectively around its tiny little body while growling at anyone who looked at it wrong?
Kind of made my heart flutter.
And also my p***y clench.
“Okay,” I said to myself again, firmer now. “You can do this. You’re going to tell him. You’re going to march your maybe-pregnant ass right out of this bathroom and face the Alpha who ruined you, and you’re not going to cry. Or faint. Or throw up. Probably.”
I grabbed my phone. S
