Chapter 17 - Rachel
I hunched over the toilet at the store, heaving up the scant remains of my breakfast. Groaning, I straightened, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as my head spun.
I stared at myself in the mirror, frowning.
I didn’t look sick. I didn’t have chills or look as though I was about to have a fever. I never threw up. I had no idea—
Wait…
My stomach clenched again, though this time with unease and something akin to dread rather than nausea as I did some rapid calculations in my head. The results only made the knot in my stomach tighten.
Oh, God.
Hand trembling, I flushed, washed my hands and face in the sink, and walked back to the table where Liv was waiting, forcing my expression to remain neutral and not give away the fact that my mind was currently spiraling into a tailspin.
“Are you all right?” Liv asked, her features creased in concern.
“I’m okay,” I lied. “I think I just had a bit of food poisoning. Um, I think I’m probably going to go home.”
Liv frowned, tilting her head as she studied me. “Do you want me to walk you home?”
“No,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “I’ll be fine. Thanks, though.”
I grabbed my purse and gave her a brief, friendly wave, then walked out of the store as quickly as I could without drawing suspicion. The second the store was out of sight, I turned and all but ran.
I picked the convenience store with care.
It was the one furthest away from where I normally went, where I was likely to run into the fewest number of shifters I recognized.
Even still, I went through the self-checkout, so any nosy cashier wouldn’t raise their eyebrows as I scanned the rectangular box, paid, and rushed out as quickly as possible.
I wasn’t sure which part felt longer: the fifteen-minute car ride home or the three minutes that I had to wait by the bathroom sink, foot tapping as I stared at the tiny stick that would effectively decide how the next several years of my life played out.
My stomach twisted into a pretzel, growing tighter as the seconds ticked by and my eyes refused to move from the little indicator.
Slowly, a tiny pink plus appeared, confirming what I had known deep down since I had thrown up at lunch.
I was pregnant.
I bit my lip as I stared down at the pregnancy test, letting it sink in.
I was pregnant.
I stared down at my stomach, trying to process the information, imagining it swelling over the next few months.
I was pregnant, and Sam was the father.
Sam. Oh, God. How the hell was he going to react to this?
My entire body went rigid as the worst-case scenarios ran through my head.
It didn’t matter that he had been nicer to me and been going out of his way to protect me and make sure I felt comfortable.
Whenever I thought about him, I still thought of that first sickening rejection, the hollow way I had felt after he had told me it would never happen.
I remembered that sting, and it lodged in my brain, merging with the fact that I was now carrying his child.
How would I handle it if he rejected our child the way he had rejected me?
It didn’t matter that we’d had sex. It didn’t change the fact that we were in what was effectively a forced marriage.
None of this would have happened if the Oracle hadn’t pushed for it.
Sam wouldn’t have looked twice at me if it weren’t for that.
And now I was carrying his child. His vows to protect me and all his platitudes would mean nothing if he decided that he wanted nothing to do with our child.
And that didn’t even include the other external issues of having a baby.
There was also the sand wraith. I knew how many children had been forced to shift early, an instinctive response that happens to young shifters in times of danger.
I didn’t want to put my child through that pain.
Or maybe they would be like me: a reject, a witch, an outcast. That was nothing on the wraith itself, a creature that had brought nothing but misery to the pack for months.
Could I really bring a child into a world that had so much fear in it?
Even as all that panic wrapped around me, threatening to drown me, other kernels of hope and truth began to rise to the surface, puncturing that fear.
I had always wanted to be a mother. And even through all the anxiety, my first reaction when I saw the pregnancy test results hadn’t been fear or dread. It had been joy and excitement.
I took several deep breaths, allowing myself to feel the panic and the ecstasy at the same time, giving myself the chance to process the sudden curveball life had thrown my way.
By the time I opened my eyes again, I felt calmer, my mind already adjusting to the new reality.
I was going to have a baby. I was going to be a mother.
My hand went to my stomach, resting there, even though I knew I wouldn’t feel the child for at least a month.
I imagined them kicking, squirming around in my tummy for the next five months, the gestational time for shifters.
I wondered what they would be like. A boy?
A girl? Would they be able to shift? Or wield magic?
Or both? Would they be an outcast like their mother, or would they be a pack hero like their father?
I rubbed my stomach, wondering if the baby could feel it yet. Whoever they turned out to be, I already loved them. I wanted to meet them now, to hold them. Five months felt entirely too long.
As I stared down at my stomach, a calm certainty came over me.
I didn’t care what happened with Sam or if he rejected us.
I would much rather have him in my life and his child’s, but if he didn’t want this child, I wasn’t going to let that affect my decisions.
I would do whatever I could to take care of this baby and give it a loving, warm home.
Whether Sam was a part of that would have to be up to him.
I smiled, as if coming to that realization had brought about some needed clarity.
The panic surrounding me began to evaporate, lifting like a heavy fog.
I could just breathe and enjoy the fact that I was pregnant, that I was going to meet my boy or girl in a few months.
I had always wanted to be a mother. Even if it wasn’t exactly the way I had intended, I was getting just that.
As my body began to relax, something seemed to hum through my veins, something that had always been there but I had ignored or refused to acknowledge.
I could feel my magic in a way I never had before.
In the past, I had called it during intense emotions, in times of danger.
Now, I felt as though I could call it on a whim, like I had more control over it.
But it was more than that. I felt without questioning that I could control any fire, not just the one I managed to conjure.
Curious, I walked over to the stove and turned on the gas, waiting until the flames popped up, then turned it down to the lowest setting until they were little more than glowing blue embers. I stared at them, watching, trying to get a sense of them. After a moment, I held out my hand.
The flames grew, swelling, licking around the grate. I raised my hand, and they shot upward, but only as far as I wanted, not burning anything. When I lowered my hand, they diminished as well, settling as if they had never exploded upward in the first place.
I stared at my hands, for the first time truly sensing the power reverberating through them.
You could help fight the wraith. Sam’s words reverberated in my head, rotating and swimming there.
I thought about the way the wraith’s hand had turned to glass, the way sand would under extreme heat.
I knew that if Sam or Emma had darted out and tried to break it, his hand would have shattered into a million pieces.
Whether he could have reformed it, I couldn’t be certain.
Most likely, given enough time. What I did know was that the wraith had been scared. I had made the wraith frightened.
And if I had frightened it, that meant I could hurt it. I could do something about it.