Chapter 36 #2
“No.” Lorenzo’s voice cuts through the chaos. He’s still kneeling beside me, his eyes locked on mine. “She can’t make it in time. The baby’s coming now.”
“How do you know?” Alaric asks, his voice tight.
“I’ve been training for this,” Lorenzo says simply. “For months. Reading every book, watching every video, and talking to Helena twice a week. I can deliver this baby if it comes to that.”
I stare at him through my tears.
“It’s too early,” I whisper. “He’s too small.”
Lorenzo brushes a damp curl from my forehead, his touch gentle. “You’re going to have a baby right now. I need you to stay calm and breathe.”
Another contraction hits, and I cry out, my back arching. This one is different. It’s stronger, with an overwhelming pressure that makes me want to push.
“I need to push,” I gasp when I can speak again. “Something’s happening.”
“The power’s out,” Marcus says, reappearing in the kitchen doorway. “The generator’s damaged—a palm tree came down on it. What the hell is happening?!”
“She’s having the baby right now,” says Alaric, crouched next to me on the kitchen floor.
“We need to move her,” Lorenzo says, already on his feet. “Her nesting room. It’s on an interior wall, no windows. Safest place in the storm.”
Before I can protest, Marcus is lifting me into his arms, cradling me against his chest like I weigh nothing. My massive belly rests between us, our baby kicking hard.
He carries me down the hall to the nesting room.
He lays me gently on the cushion, then steps back as Rex appears with an armful of flashlights. He positions them around the room, creating pools of harsh white light that push back the shadows.
“How far apart are the contractions now?” Rex asks, his usual joking demeanor gone, replaced by a focused intensity I’ve rarely seen.
“Three minutes,” Lorenzo replies, already kneeling beside me, his hands moving to the waistband of my leggings. “I need to check how far along she is.”
Lorenzo pushes my leggings down my hips, then off completely.
Another contraction hits, and I scream, the sound torn from my throat.
“She’s in transition,” Lorenzo says, his voice calm despite the fear I can see in his eyes. “The baby’s coming.”
Ryker is on the phone again, calling Helena. He puts her on speaker, setting the phone on a pillow near my head.
“Contractions three minutes apart, maybe less,” he reports over the phone, face white.
“The baby’s coming now,” Lorenzo says, his voice firm.
Helena’s voice comes through the speaker, surprisingly calm. “First, check how dilated she is. Gently.”
Lorenzo’s fingers are warm as they press inside me, his touch careful. “I can feel the head,” he says, his eyes widening. “She’s fully dilated. The baby’s crowning.”
“Anya,” Helena says, her voice clear despite the static. “You need to push with the next contraction. Lorenzo, support the perineum with a warm cloth to prevent tearing. When you see the head, check if the cord is around the neck.”
The next contraction hits with the force of a freight train.
I bear down, screaming as the pressure builds to an unbearable level.
Ryker is at my head, his hand gripping mine so tightly I can feel his pulse racing.
Alaric is on my other side, his forehead pressed to my temple, whispering “You’re so strong, baby.
You can do this…” over and over into my hair.
Rex is at my feet, his hand white-knuckled around my ankle, bracing my leg. Marcus is behind Lorenzo, holding a flashlight steady so he can see.
“Push,” Lorenzo urges, his voice steady. “Harder, Anya. You’re doing great.”
The pressure hurts so fucking bad. There’s a burning, tearing sensation as the baby’s head stretches me open. I push with everything I have, my entire body focused on this single, impossible task.
“I see the head,” Lorenzo says, his voice rising with excitement. “No cord. Keep pushing, Anya. The head’s almost out.”
Another contraction hits before the first has fully faded. I push again, screaming as the baby’s head emerges into Lorenzo’s waiting hands.
“The head’s out,” he says, his voice trembling slightly. “One more push for the shoulders.”
I push, my vision graying at the edges from the effort. There’s a sudden rush and a release of pressure.
“The baby’s out,” Lorenzo says, his voice breaking. “I’ve got him. He’s…”
He stops. The room goes silent. Even the storm seems to pause, the wind dropping for a single, terrible moment.
“Why isn’t he crying?” says Alaric in alarm.
“He’s not breathing,” Lorenzo says, his voice barely audible. “He’s blue.”
Helena’s voice comes through the phone, sharp with urgency. “Clear the airway. Tilt the head back, just a little. Give him two small breaths, mouth and nose.”
I watch, frozen in horror, as Lorenzo follows her instructions, his movements careful despite the obvious terror in his eyes.
He clears the baby’s mouth with his finger, tilts the tiny head back, and leans down to place his mouth over the baby’s nose and mouth.
He breathes two small puffs then pulls back, rubbing the baby’s back with gentle fingers.
Nothing happens. The baby lies limp in Lorenzo’s hands, blue and still.
Tears roll down my face. I can’t speak. Can’t move.
“Do it again,” Helena says. “Harder this time.”
Lorenzo breathes again, two stronger puffs, then rubs the baby’s back more firmly. For one terrible moment, nothing happens.
The baby coughs. Once, twice. And then he cries…a thin, reedy wail that’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard in my life.
The whole room breaks at once. Ryker kisses my hair, his massive shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
Marcus drops the flashlight, the beam skittering across the ceiling.
Rex laughs through tears, his green eyes bright with emotion.
Alaric just holds me and shakes, his bond pulsing with love and relief so intense it’s almost painful.
Lorenzo places the baby on my chest, his hands trembling. “We have a son,” he says quietly, his voice raw. “A perfect, beautiful son.”
I sob, cradling the tiny, warm body against my skin. He’s so small with a shock of dark hair and perfect little features. His cries have already quieted to small, hiccupping sounds as he nestles against me, instinctively seeking comfort.
Then I feel the warmth of a sudden rush of liquid between my legs. I shift, trying to see what’s happening, and feel a wave of dizziness wash over me.
“Something’s happening,” I say, scared.
“Is Anya okay?” says my mother’s voice while I’m in a haze of trying to stay awake.
My mom appeared in the doorway, soaking from the rain and breathless. Her face changes, fear flashing across her features.
Lorenzo looks down, his face paling. “She’s bleeding a lot.”
There’s a moment of silence, then Helena’s voice, sharp with urgency.
“She’s hemorrhaging. Elevate her legs. Apply direct pressure to the source.
Find the pressure points on her abdomen—two inches below her navel, and another two inches to each side.
An alpha can use the bond to help slow the bleeding. ”
Everything starts to feel far away. The voices around me fade, replaced by a rushing sound in my ears. I’m so tired, suddenly. So very, very tired.
“I’m tired,” I whisper to Ryker, my eyes already closing. “Just for a minute...”
“Absolutely not,” he snarls, his voice breaking, tapping my face as he holds the baby. “You have a baby to meet. You do not get to leave me. Do you hear me, Anya? You do not get to leave me.”
His face blurs above me, tears streaming down his cheeks. The sight of it is shocking enough to cut through the fog creeping over my mind.
Marcus is pressing on my abdomen exactly where Helena directed, his face set in lines of fierce determination.
Alaric is at my side, his hand on my chest, pouring bond-warmth into me—a technique I’ve only heard about, never experienced.
It’s like liquid sunlight spreading through my veins, warm and golden and impossibly strong.
I can actually feel some of the pain leaving my body, flowing into his through the bond connecting us.
Ryker keeps the baby on my chest, though I can barely feel him now. “The baby’s presence will help,” he explains. “It triggers the right hormones.”
The bleeding slows. It takes maybe three minutes, though it feels like three hours, as each of my alphas works to keep me conscious and alive.
I stay awake through sheer force of will, watching their faces as they move around me.
Lorenzo is at my head, his hand gripping mine, Alaric pouring warmth into me through the bond, Marcus applying pressure to my abdomen, and Ryker holding our son against my chest. Rex is on the phone, frantically looking for a helicopter to take me to the hospital.
And slowly, painfully, the bleeding stops.
“She’s stable,” Lorenzo says, his voice shaking with relief. “The bleeding’s slowing.”
“She needs rest,” Helena says through the phone. “And she needs to be at a hospital the moment the storm clears. She’s lost a lot of blood.”
The storm rages for another six hours. My mother makes tea on the gas stove in the kitchen, the only working appliance in the house.
Marcus hasn’t let go of my hand, his massive palm warm around my smaller one.
Lorenzo is sitting against the wall, our tiny son cradled against his bare chest, skin to skin, because the baby is still small and needs warmth, and I need rest.
Rex is quietly watching and observing me for any sudden changes. And Alaric is curled against my back, monitoring me through the bond every second, ready to pour more of that impossible warmth into me if I start to fade again.
Sometime in the middle of the night, the wind starts to die down. Ryker steps out onto the porch, returning with the first good news we’ve had in hours.
“The worst is over,” he says, his voice rough with exhaustion. “I can see stars between the clouds.”
The helicopter arrives at dawn, its rotors cutting through the morning silence.
I’m carried out of the mansion on a stretcher, our son nestled on my chest. My five alphas surround me, Marcus and Rex carrying the stretcher, Ryker and Alaric walking alongside, Lorenzo just behind with an armful of blankets and supplies.
The sun is rising over the wreckage of Wolf Isle, painting the devastation in shades of gold and pink.
Palm trees are down everywhere, their massive trunks sprawled across the lawn.
Debris litters the beach—pieces of dock, fishing boats, even part of a roof.
The mansion itself is damaged but standing, windows broken, shutters torn away, but the structure intact.
I look up at Ryker, exhausted, hollow-eyed, but alive as they load me into the helicopter.
“He needs a name,” I say, my voice barely audible over the rotors.
“Kael,” Ryker says softly. “It means storm-born warrior.”
I close my eyes as the helicopter lifts off, the ground falling away beneath us.
The sky is streaked with pink and gold, the storm finally over.
I think about my first time in a helicopter, the girl who arrived on this island terrified and alone, with nothing but a ratty backpack. That girl is gone, replaced by someone whose heart is full of love, life, and family now.
I have everything.
I drift into exhausted sleep against Ryker’s chest as the helicopter flies through the dawn sky, my son’s tiny hand wrapped around my finger, my pack surrounding me on all sides.