Chapter 36
Thirty-Six
ANYA
Five Months Later
Ishift my massive belly, trying to find a comfortable position on the living room couch.
At eight months pregnant, nothing feels comfortable anymore.
My back aches, my ankles are swollen, and this tiny human inside me thinks my ribs are his personal jungle gym.
Rex sprawls beside me, his hand resting protectively on the curve of my stomach, while Lorenzo flips through channels on the giant flat-screen.
“Wait, go back,” I say, waving a hand. “I want to see the weather.”
Lorenzo clicks back to the local news, where the weather forecaster is standing in front of a map showing a massive storm system churning offshore.
“There’s a significant change in the storm’s trajectory,” he’s saying, his pointer circling a patch of angry red.
“Tropical Storm Veronica, which we previously expected to pass north of Wolf Isle, has shifted course and is now projected to make landfall directly on the island within the next twelve hours.”
Lorenzo’s eyes are fixed on the screen, his jaw tight. “How fast is it moving?”
“Sixty miles an hour,” Rex reads from the scrolling update. “Sustained winds of eighty-five miles per hour.”
I press my palm against the side of my stomach where the baby is kicking harder than usual. “He’s been so active all morning. Like he’s trying to tell me something.”
Lorenzo’s eyes flick to mine sharply, but he says nothing. I watch his throat work as he swallows.
The sound of heavy footsteps in the hall makes us all turn. Ryker strides in, phone pressed to his ear, already barking orders.
“I don’t care what you have to do,” he’s saying, his voice low and dangerous. “Get those guests to the mainland on the last ferry. Yes, I’m aware of the forecast. Yes, I know it’s not ideal. Just do it.”
“Ryker looks stressed,” I whisper.
“He’s responsible for all the guests on the island,” says Rex, rubbing my back now.
Ryker turns to me, covering the receiver with his palm, his dark eyes finding mine immediately. “The helicopter’s on standby. If your labor starts during the storm, they’ll fly you to the mainland hospital.”
I roll my eyes, shifting again to ease the pressure on my spine. “I’m not due for another month. The baby’s fine. Stop worrying.”
Ryker just stares at me, his expression blank. He doesn’t say a word, but somehow I feel the weight of his concern pressing down on my shoulders.
“You’re our omega. I’ll always worry,” he says, leaning down to kiss me on the lips. I kiss him back and he’s back on the phone barking orders at his staff.
The front door bangs open, and Marcus appears, his arms loaded with enough supplies to outlast a really long winter. Carrying boxes of granola bars, packages of batteries, flashlights, and first aid kits— he’s been preparing for three days, ever since the first reports of the storm.
“Marcus,” I say, my eyebrows raised. “Is that... is that a hundred bottles of water?”
He drops his haul on the dining table with a grunt, then crosses to where I sit. His kiss lands on my forehead, gentle despite his size.
“I’d rather be ridiculous than unprepared,” he says, voice soft. His big hand rests briefly on the swell of our child. “How’s my little wolf today?”
“Kicking,” I reply, smiling despite my annoyance. “Trying to break my ribs, I think.”
The front door opens again, and Alaric steps in, shaking water from his dark blond hair. He stops the moment he sees me, those intense blue eyes narrowing in that focused stare like he’s reading my emotions.
“Are you feeling okay?” he asks quietly, still standing in the doorway.
“Yes,” I say, but my voice catches on the word. I press my palm against my stomach again, where a strange tightness has been building for the past hour.
Nothing painful, just... strange.
Alaric doesn’t press, but he doesn’t take his eyes off me either. Instead, he crosses to the window, pushing the curtain aside to peer out at the gathering darkness.
“It’s coming in fast,” he says. “Faster than they predicted.”
I don’t look up. My attention is focused on the slow, rhythmic tightening across my abdomen. I’ve had Braxton-Hicks contractions for weeks. They’re just practice contractions, Helena, our midwife, called them.
My body just preparing for the real thing. Nothing to worry about.
The first raindrops hit the windows with surprising force, a rapid tapping that quickly builds to a steady drumming. Outside, the palm trees sway, their fronds whipping in the gathering wind. The sky, which was blue just an hour ago, has darkened to a sickly green-gray.
“She’s going to hit us hard,” Lorenzo says, joining Alaric at the window. “Look at those clouds.”
The lights flicker once, then steady. Then flicker again, dimming for a long moment before brightening.
“I’ll get the candles,” Lorenzo says, already heading for the kitchen. All the staff in the mansion had gone home to their families for the day.
The rain is coming down in sheets now, so heavy I can’t see the ocean through the windows, just a wall of gray.
The wind has picked up, too, a low moan that rises steadily to a shriek as it tears around the corners of the mansion.
The entire structure groans, the beams protesting as the storm makes landfall four hours earlier than forecast.
The power flickers again, dimming to almost nothing before flaring back to life.
“Shit,” Rex mutters, already on his feet. “Where’s the flashlight?”
“Closet by the garage,” Marcus calls over his shoulder as he disappears down the hall, looking for plywood to board up the windows.
I push myself to my feet, wincing as my back protests. Making my way to the kitchen, I see Lorenzo lighting up a candle just as the power flickers one final time, then dies completely.
“Hey baby,” says Lorenzo.
Before I can say anything back, the kitchen plunges into darkness, broken only by the dim light filtering through the windows. I reach for a match to help him light up a second candle.
The first contraction suddenly seizes me.
A sharp, insistent tightening that starts at the base of my spine and wraps around my entire abdomen. It’s low and deep, like a fist closing around me from the inside, squeezing until I can’t breathe.
I drop the matchbox, my fingers suddenly nerveless.
“Anya?” Lorenzo’s voice sounds far away. “You okay?”
I force myself to nod, though he probably can’t see me in the darkness. “Fine,” I gasp when I can speak again. “Just... dropped something.”
It’s Braxton-Hicks, I tell myself firmly. Just my body practicing. It’ll pass.
Five minutes later, another one hits, harder this time. I’m standing at the counter, trying to light another candle, when the pain comes—so intense I have to grip the edge of the sink to stay upright.
A small sound escapes me, a whimper I can’t quite swallow.
Alaric is moving before the sound even leaves my lips, crossing the kitchen in three long strides. His hands cup my face, tilting it up so he can see my eyes in the dim candlelight.
“What just happened?” he asks, his voice tight.
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. “I think...” The words stick in my throat. “I think I might be in labor.”
The kitchen goes silent. Even the storm seems to pause for a moment, the wind holding its breath.
“You’re what?” Ryker’s voice is deadly calm.
“The baby’s coming,” I say, the words coming out steadier than I expected. “The baby’s coming right...”
Another contraction hits, cutting off my words.
This one is even stronger, a band of pain that wraps around my lower back and abdomen, squeezing until tears spring to my eyes. I double over, one hand braced against the counter.
“Oh fuck,” says Lorenzo, running around the island to get to me.
“Oh god,” I gasp. “I thought we had time!”
Ryker is on the phone in three seconds, his face a mask of controlled fury. “I don’t care if there’s a hurricane,” he snarls. “Get that helicopter in the air. Now.”
I can’t hear the response, but Ryker’s expression darkens further.
“Then find someone who can,” he hisses. “This is my wife. My baby. I will pay whatever it costs…” He stops, listening.
He hangs up without waiting for a response and immediately dials another number.
“Helena,” he says when she answers. “It’s Ryker Blackwood. Anya’s in labor.”
Another contraction hits before he can say more.
I slide down to the kitchen floor, my back against the cabinets, and cry out. Lorenzo drops to his knees beside me, his face calm despite the fear I can see lurking in his eyes.
“How far apart are they?” he asks, his voice steady.
“I don’t know for sure,” I gasp as the pain peaks, then begins to fade. “Five minutes. Maybe less.”
Ryker is still on the phone. “The roads are flooding? How bad?” He listens, his jaw tightening. “And you’re sure there’s no other way?” Another pause. “Yes. Yes, we understand. Just... please try.”
He hangs up and dials again immediately. “Amanda,” he says, his voice gentler now. “It’s Ryker. Anya’s in labor.”
Another contraction hits, stronger than the last. I scream, the sound tearing from my throat as the pain rolls through me. Lorenzo’s hands are on my shoulders, steadying me as I ride it out.
“Anya?” My mother’s voice comes faintly through the phone.
“She’s having a contraction,” Ryker says, his eyes never leaving my face. “They’re about four minutes apart now.”
“I’m coming,” my mother says, her voice firm despite the fear I can hear lurking beneath. “Tell her I’m coming.”
Ryker hangs up and drops to his knees beside me, taking my hand in his. His palm is damp with sweat, his pulse racing against my wrist.
The power is still out, the kitchen lit only by the few candles Lorenzo managed to light before the contractions started. Outside, the storm is raging, wind screaming around the corners of the mansion, rain hammering against the windows like it’s trying to break in.
“I’ll call the helicopter again,” Ryker says, already reaching for his phone. “Maybe if I threaten to fly it myself…”