Chapter 13
Elliot
The table tennis ball whizzed past me, bouncing off the wall behind me and rolling to a stop near my feet. I bent down to pick it up, using the moment to compose myself and push away the rising panic threatening to consume me. I forced a smile onto my face as I turned around, tossing the ball back into play.
Damon smacked it effortlessly, sending it flying across the net towards me. I lunged forward, swatting it back with slightly less grace than usual. Our game continued, each shot executed with practiced ease, our laughter filling the air as we played.
But beneath the surface, my mind raced, my stomach churning with anxiety. Something was seriously wrong—and it wasn't just my terrible hand-eye coordination. No, it was something else, something I didn't even want to think about.
I hadn't bled since we started sleeping together. Sure, I had always been irregular, but days months without even a hint of my period? That was unheard of. Even scarier, I had taken every precaution possible to prevent pregnancy. Damon and I had both gotten tested; we used condoms religiously; hell, I was even on birth control pills.
Except for that one time, our first time…
But I didn't want to remember that, so how was it possible that I still felt queasy, my chest tender, and inexplicable fatigue dragging at my limbs?
The only explanation was too terrifying to consider—that somehow, despite all our efforts, I was carrying Damon's child.
My heart pounded wildly in my chest as I tried to focus on the game, on the sensation of the racket hitting the ball, on the sound of Damon's deep, rumbling laugh. Anything to distract from the whirlwind of fear and denial spiraling through me. But it wasn't working.
"Hey, you okay over there?" Damon called out, concern etching lines around his eyes as he paused mid-swing. "You look a little pale."
Shit. Had I been that obvious? Probably, I immediately thought.
"Oh, yeah, I'm fine!" I chirped, forcing another bright smile. "Just a bit tired, I guess."
His expression softened, and he walked around the table, pulling me into a tight hug. "Why didn't you say something earlier?" He chided softly, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "We don't have to keep playing if you're not feeling well."
I melted into his embrace, drawing strength from his warmth and solid presence. If only he knew the real reason behind my sudden pallor…
He was always so worried about me. His love for me was genuine.
"No, no, I'm fine, really," I insisted, pulling back slightly. "Let's finish the game. I need the distraction."
He studied me for a moment longer before nodding reluctantly. "Alright, but if you start to feel worse, we're packing it in, understood?"
"Yes, alpha," I teased, trying to lighten the mood. "Now come on, let's see if you can beat me fair and square—or cheat your way to victory like usual."
The tension in his shoulders eased, and he grinned, playfully smacking my ass as he returned to his side of the table. "Well, well, well. Someone's finally learning to give as good as he gets."
Our rally resumed, but my thoughts remained elsewhere, consumed by the daunting prospect of potentially being with child. How would Damon react when he found out? Would he resent me for trapping him with an unwanted baby? Or would he accept it with open arms, eager to bring another child into the fold? Or was it his plan all along?
As much as I hated to admit it, the idea of carrying Damon's child filled me with a strange sense of pride and possessiveness. It felt primal, almost savage, to imagine growing round with his seed inside me. But along with those heady emotions came a wave of fear—fear of the unknown, fear of losing what precious little independence I had managed to carve out for myself within this world of alphas and omegas.
What if I couldn't handle fatherhood? What if I was terrible at it? What if I put the baby in danger?
And then there were the practical concerns—the logistics of raising a child in a house full of naked men, the potential consequences of bringing a new life into a world as dangerous and unpredictable as the one we inhabited…
However, part of me was sure that if I were really pregnant, Damon would make sure that my living conditions were better. So maybe there wasn't so much to worry about.
No matter which direction my thoughts took, they inevitably circled back to the same question: Was I truly ready to become a parent?
I knew I needed to confront my fears head-on, to address them with Damon instead of bottling them up inside. But how could I possibly voice these doubts and worries aloud without sounding petty or insecure?
With a heavy sigh, I hit the ball a little harder than intended, sending it careening wildly towards Damon. He reacted swiftly, his reflexes catching it mere inches from the ground. He looked up at me, surprise etched into his features.
"What's going on in that pretty little head of yours, Elliot?" He asked, concern lacing his words once more. "You've gone quiet again, and your shots are getting sloppy."
"I… uh…" I stammered, scrambling for an excuse. "I guess I've just got a lot on my mind, you know? All this pack stuff, figuring out where I fit in…"
It was a flimsy lie, but hopefully, it would be enough to satisfy him—for now.
Damon set down his racket, walking slowly towards me until he stood close enough for our bodies to brush. His hand cupped my cheek, tilting my chin up so that our gazes met.
"You listen here," he said firmly, yet gently. "There is nothing more important to any of us than making sure you feel welcome, safe, and happy. You don't have to figure anything out alone—not while I'm here. Not while any of us are here."
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, threatened to spill over. Damn him and his way with words. He was so good at it.
"Thank you," I whispered, leaning into his touch. "That means a lot."
He smiled warmly, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. "Good. Now, why don't we take a break from this game and go find some snacks? Maybe some food will help chase away whatever demons are haunting you today."
And maybe he was right, but part of me thought that it wasn't going to make a difference.
Damon led me by the hand through the sprawling manor, our footsteps echoing off the polished marble floors. We passed through grand hallways adorned with intricate tapestries and massive oil paintings, each step taking us further away from the tension that hung heavy in the air during our aborted table tennis match.
We entered the expansive kitchen, a space that seemed entirely too large for its purpose. The stainless-steel appliances gleamed under the soft lighting, and the counters were spotless, save for a small island in the center. Damon guided me towards it, pulling out a stool for me before disappearing behind the counter. He was always so thoughtful.
"This might not seem like much," he called out, rummaging through cabinets and drawers, "but I promise you, it'll hit the spot."
Moments later, he emerged with a cutting board, a knife, and several ingredients laid out neatly beside them. He began to chop and slice with practiced ease, the rhythmic sound of metal against wood oddly soothing. As he worked, he hummed softly, a tune I didn't recognize but found comforting nonetheless.
My racing thoughts disappeared, replaced by all the good moments already spent with him.
The aroma of fresh fruit soon filled the air, accompanied by the sweet scent of honey and the earthy richness of nuts. When Damon finally turned around, he held aloft a platter piled high with delicate slices of apple, pear, and orange, drizzled generously with local honey and sprinkled with toasted almonds.
"A fruit salad?" I asked, surprised. "For me?"
Damon placed the platter in front of me, along with a fork and a napkin. "Not just any fruit salad," he corrected, pouring two glasses of chilled sparkling water. "Your favorite fruit salad."
I blinked, taken aback. How did he even remember that?
But then, I realized that there was nothing actually surprising about that. I was the most important person to him.
"When we first started spending time together, after…" He paused, clearing his throat slightly. "After you became mine, I paid attention. I noticed things—like how you'd always pick the fruit salads when given a choice between dessert options. And whenever we had them at home, you'd eat every last bite, no matter how full you were."
A warmth spread through me, starting at my chest and radiating outward. It hadn't occurred to me that he'd been paying such close attention to my habits—let alone remembering them weeks later.
"But why go through all this trouble now?" I asked, genuinely curious. "What changed?"
Damon leaned against the counter across from me, crossing his arms as he studied me intently. "Because I can see that something's bothering you, Elliot. Something big. And I want to understand what it is so I can help."
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, suddenly self-conscious under his scrutiny. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the conversation I knew was inevitable.
"There's… there's something I need to tell you," I admitted reluctantly, pushing the untouched fruit salad aside. "But I don't know if you're going to like it."
Damon raised an eyebrow, remaining silent and still. He waited patiently for me to continue, giving me the space to gather my thoughts.
"I've missed my period," I blurted out, unable to keep the worry from creeping into my voice. "And I know we took precautions, but I can't shake this feeling—I think I might be pregnant."
The room fell silent for a long moment, the only sound the distant ticking of a clock somewhere down the hallway. Damon's expression remained neutral, unreadable, giving nothing away.
"And you haven't told me this sooner because…?" He prompted gently, his tone measured despite the storm of emotions I could sense brewing beneath the surface.
I sighed, running a hand through my disheveled curls. "Because I was scared. Scared of your reaction, scared of what this meant for both of us, scared of everything changing." I looked up at him, searching his gaze for any hint of anger or resentment. "And part of me wondered if maybe I was being paranoid—that maybe it was just stress or hormones or something else. But then again, another part of me felt certain that this was real, that there was a life growing inside me."
Damon pushed off from the counter, rounding the island to stand directly in front of me. His hands cupped my cheeks, tilting my head back so that our eyes met. In his depths, I saw a swirling mix of possessiveness, pride, and a fierce determination that made my heart pound wildly in my chest.
"You are carrying my child," he declared, his voice resonating with primal satisfaction. "Our bond has grown stronger than ever, and our connection has created new life."
He pressed a passionate kiss to my lips, branding me with his claim as surely as if he had marked me physically. When he pulled back, his eyes shone with possessiveness, and a broad smile stretched across his face.
"I am proud beyond words," he whispered, resting his forehead against mine. "Proud to call you my omega, my partner, and soon-to-be father of my child."
My heart swelled with love and relief, my fears melting away under the heat of his adoration. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him tightly as I allowed myself to truly believe in this new reality—the reality where I wasn't just Elliot Hayes anymore; I was also the omega who carried Damon Vexley's child.
Damon's strong arms enveloped me, pulling me closer until our bodies were flush against one another. His hardness pressed against me, and I could feel the hunger rising within him once more—as raw and powerful as the day we first came together.
"You are mine," he growled, nipping at my earlobe. "Every inch of you belongs to me now—and especially this beautiful body that grows ripe with my seed."
His hands roamed over my curves, worshipping each dip and swell as if they were sacred artifacts. A low moan escaped my lips as desire coursed through me, setting me ablaze with need.
"Damon," I gasped, grinding against him shamelessly. "Please…"