Chapter 17
Chapter seventeen
Luna
Istretch as I roll over. Sunlight filters through the curtains, casting my bedroom in a soft golden glow that belies the ferocity of last night. The sheets are tangled around my legs, and I can still feel the grip of his hands on my hips, my wrists, and my throat.
My wolf is gone, as always. I don’t remember his leaving. I think I might have passed out after that last orgasm. Stretching, I wince at the delicious soreness in my body. It’s the price I pay for our nights together, and one I’ll always accept.
Something feels different this morning, though. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, and as soon as I stand, a sharp cramp seizes my lower abdomen. My hands grip the edge of the nightstand, knuckles white, until the pain releases its hold.
The first step sends warmth trickling down my inner thigh. I freeze, one foot on the hardwood floor, the other still on the rug beside the bed.
“What the hell?” I drop my gaze to see a trail of dark blood on my pale skin.
The bathroom light is too bright as I examine myself and try to make sense of what my body is telling me.
The bleeding is vaginal, but my period isn’t due for another two weeks.
Last night replays in my mind. It was the same roughness we both crave, but nothing new, nothing violent enough to explain what I’m seeing.
I look at the clock, and it’s a little after 8 AM. Shit. What happened to my alarm? Did I forget to set it?
I grab my phone and dial my doctor’s office.
“Dr. Ritchie’s office, how can I help you?” The receptionist’s cheerful voice makes me cringe.
“Hi, this is Luna Foster. I need to see Dr. Ritchie. It’s urgent.”
“Oh, Luna!” Her tone immediately warms with recognition. “Let me check the schedule. How urgent are we talking? Today urgent or this week urgent?”
“Today would be best.” I grab a pair of jeans from my dresser drawer. “I’m having some unexpected bleeding.”
“Say no more. Let me see… We had a cancellation at ten thirty. Would that work?”
“Perfect. Thank you.” I hang up, relieved but anxious.
After a shower, feeding the babies, and some toast because that’s all I can stomach, I head next door.
Maren’s in the treatment room, bathing one of our small ferrets. They’re not old enough to adopt out yet, but she’s already found and vetted families for most of them. Her brown eyes lift to meet mine as I enter.
“Hey, I was just about to come over and make sure you were alive.” She doesn’t miss a beat as she lathers soap down the ferret’s back.
“Mr. Whiskers here had a little accident in his cage. Didn’t you, buddy?
” She scratches behind his ears, earning a contented chitter.
“I think trying that solid food yesterday was too soon.”
“I was worried it might be. And sorry for being late. Long night.”
One perfectly sculpted eyebrow arches, and a knowing smirk plays across her lips. “You have a lot of those these days.”
I ignore her and lean against the doorframe. “I need to run some errands this morning. How are the roads?”
“Fine. Snow’s all melted. Are you going down to Estes?”
“Yeah, do you need something?”
She grabs a towel from the warming rack by the oversized sink and wraps up the ferret.
“No, but if you wanted to stop by Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory and grab me some of their chocolate-dipped Bavarian pretzels, I wouldn’t argue with you.”
She wraps Mr. Whiskers in the heated towel like a burrito, leaving only his pointed face visible.
“I can probably do that.” I chuckle, then wince as another cramp rolls through me.
Maren misses nothing. Her hands pause mid-wrap, and her brown eyes sharpen as they sweep my face. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look a little pale.”
“Yeah. Just tired.”
I’m not ready to tell her about the blood or my doctor’s appointment until I know what’s going on with my body.
She rubs Mr. Whiskers’ fur, and he wiggles, chittering his approval. But Maren’s attention stays split between him and me, concern etched across her features.
“Grab some of those fancy dog treats they have while you’re there. Shadow loves those.”
“Shadow’s a wolf, not a dog.”
“He still likes them. And so does Ghost, and he’s half dog.” She cradles the bundled ferret against her chest. “Don’t be a mean, stingy mommy and not get your babies the fancy treats.”
I push off the doorframe without answering her because we both know I’d forgo eating myself to give my animals treats, especially Shadow.
“Grab some money out of my wallet if you need—”
“I got it. Thanks for holding down the fort.”
“No worries. Ethan will be here by ten, and Tate’s coming in after class. We’ll be fine.”
“Thanks, Maren. Really.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re the best, Maren. What would I do without you, Maren?” she says in a playful imitation of my voice. “Save the praise for my Christmas bonus, which I will want in chocolate-covered Bavarian pretzels.”
“Duly noted.” I back toward the door before she notices the rigid way I’m holding myself together. “You really are an angel, Mar.”
“Tell that to Estella. She showed up last night when JT and I were in the middle of one of our role-plays. If she thought I was going to hell for my behavior before, I reinforced it when she caught me wearing a strap-on.”
Somehow, Maren’s words don’t shock me. I guess she and JT patched things up. I’ll have to remember to ask her about it later, when my body isn’t staging some kind of revolt.
“That’s what you get for giving your grandmother a key to your apartment.”
Her scoff echoes all the way down the hall. “Did you hear that, Mr. Whiskers? Like she’s one to talk.”
The words stop me cold, but I force myself to keep moving.
There’s no way Maren knows. She’s many things.
Observant, intuitive, and possessing an almost uncanny ability to know when I’m lying, but actual mind reading isn’t part of her skill set.
Though it’s strange that her normally infallible bullshit detector hasn’t seen through me and the secrets I’m keeping.
The next cramp almost brings me to my knees against the corridor wall. It feels like someone’s twisting my uterus. My breath comes in shallow gasps. Dizziness sweeps over me, and the overhead lights flicker, or maybe that’s my vision wavering.
I push away from the wall, though my body protests every movement, making it three more steps before the nausea surges.
Something is seriously wrong. I don’t know what yet, but I can make it, one foot in front of the other. That’s all I have to manage.
Just get outside, get to my truck, and get to Estes so I can figure out what the hell is happening to my body.
The examination room is cold, or maybe it’s just me. I sit on the paper-covered table in the thin gown, staring at the anatomical poster on the wall while waiting for the doctor to return with my test results. The stirrups are already put away, the examination is over, but I still feel exposed.
When the door opens, Dr. Ritchie enters with my chart. She’s in her late fifties, with copper hair and kind eyes behind tortoiseshell glasses. The concern in those eyes makes my stomach ache more than it already does.
“Luna.” She sits on the rolling stool across from me. “How are you feeling now? Any more cramping since the exam?”
“A little. It comes and goes. So what’s going on? Is it just some kind of tear or…”
She folds her hands over my chart. “You have some minor vaginal bruising, but no tearing. Nothing that would cause the bleeding you’re experiencing.” She pauses, her dark eyes searching my face. “But is there anything you want to talk about?”
“No.”
She doesn’t move, doesn’t fidget, and doesn’t break eye contact. I caught the way her gaze hesitated over the fading bruises on my hips and scattered along my inner thighs during my exam.
The silence stretches. Outside the room, phones ring and footsteps echo down the hallway—the sounds of the clinic going about its business, but inside these four walls we exist in a bubble separate from all of that.
She waits, patient and calm, giving me space to fill the quiet with whatever I’m willing to share.
I don’t.
“All right.” The words come out measured and careful. She’s been treating me since I was a teenager, long enough to know I don’t play games with my health. When something’s wrong, I speak up. When I need answers, I ask. “That said, the bruising isn’t my concern today.”
My hands grip the examination table, the paper crinkling beneath my palms.
“What do you mean?”
She studies me for a moment, then continues. “Your blood work shows elevated hCG levels. Combined with the bleeding and cramping…” She pauses, her voice gentling. “You’re experiencing an early miscarriage.”
“Miscarriage?” I echo, the word sounding wrong, impossible. “But I’m on birth control. I can’t be—I wasn’t—”
“No birth control is 100% effective.” She speaks with the patience of someone who’s watched this shock play out too many times to count. “Based on your hormone levels, you were about six weeks along. Many women don’t even know they’re pregnant at this stage. I’m assuming that’s the case with you.”
I stare at her, my mind racing back through the past weeks, counting days, searching for signs I might have missed. “Are you sure?” Maybe it’s… something else.”
“I ran the test twice to confirm the results. Your hCG levels are elevated well above the normal range. There’s no ambiguity here.”
“But I didn’t miss any pills,” I protest, as if arguing will somehow change the reality. “I’ve been careful.”
“Pills can fail for many reasons. Other medications, illness, timing variations.” She leans forward, her tone remaining steady. “And if you’ve been on antibiotics recently.”
Shit! How could I be so stupid?
“I had a UTI almost two months ago. I self-prescribed.”
She gives me that look over her glasses, the one that reminds me that even as a doctor, I’m technically not supposed to self-prescribe meds.