POV: Adeline
He stared at me.
Just stared.
The joy that had lit his face moments ago faded into something else—something deeper, harder to read. His hands were still on my arms, but his grip had gone loose. His eyes were wide, fixed on my face like he was trying to memorize every detail.
Processing.
I waited, my heart pounding. Let him have this moment. Let him absorb what I'd just told him. Let him feel whatever he needed to feel.
"A pup," he said finally. His voice was strange. Distant.
"Yes."
"Our pup."
"Yes."
Silence fell between us. Long. Heavy. The kind of silence that stretched until it became uncomfortable, until doubt started creeping in at the edges.
I started to worry.
Was this too much? Too fast? We'd talked about children eventually, someday, when we were ready. But maybe he hadn't meant this soon. Maybe the reality of it—the immediate, undeniable reality—was different from the abstract future discussion.
"Aiden?" I said carefully. "Are you—"
He dropped to his knees.
The movement was so sudden I gasped. One moment he was standing, the next he was on the ground in front of me, his hands finding my hips, steadying himself.
Then he pressed his forehead to my stomach.
And stayed there.
His shoulders started shaking.
"Aiden?" My hands found his hair, threading through the dark strands. "Aiden, what—"
"I never thought—" His voice broke. Cracked completely. "I didn't know if—"
He couldn't finish. The words dissolved into something that might have been a sob or a laugh or both at once. His hands tightened on my hips, not hurting, just holding. Anchoring himself.
I felt wetness seeping through my shirt. Tears. He was crying.
My strong, steady Alpha was on his knees, crying into my stomach where our child grew.
"Aiden." I knelt down with him, awkward but determined. Cupped his face in my hands. Made him look at me.
His face was wet. Tears tracking down his cheeks, catching in the stubble of his jaw. His eyes were red and raw and more vulnerable than I'd ever seen them.
"I didn't know if I'd ever have this," he said, voice shaking. "A family. Children. After everything with my father—" He swallowed hard. "I didn't know if I deserved it. If I could be different enough. Good enough."
My heart cracked open.
I'd been so focused on my own trauma, my own fears, that I'd forgotten Aiden carried scars too. Different scars, but just as deep. Growing up under a father who'd been cruel and violent, who'd taught him that power came through fear, who'd nearly broken him before Aiden found the strength to be different.
"You're nothing like him," I said fiercely. "Nothing."
"But what if—"
"No." I cut him off, my hands tightening on his face. "You're kind. Patient. Strong in ways he never was. Our child is lucky to have you as a father."
"Our child." He said it like a prayer. Like something sacred. "We're going to have a child."
"Yes."
He looked up at me, and the expression on his face made my breath catch. Wonder and fear and joy all tangled together. Love so intense it was almost painful to witness.
"Thank you," he whispered.
"For what?"
"For this. For trusting me enough to—" His voice broke again. "For giving me a family. For believing I could be worthy of it."
I pulled him up—or tried to. He was heavier than me, all muscle and Alpha strength, but he came anyway. Let me guide him to his feet. Let me press close to him, our bodies aligned, my stomach—still flat but carrying everything—pressed against him.
"You gave me a family too," I said against his chest. "A home. A reason to stop running. You gave me that."
His arms came around me, holding tight. One hand settled over my lower back, the other rose to cradle the back of my head. The embrace was complete, encompassing, the kind of hold that said I've got you and I'm never letting go.
We stood there in the training grounds, holding each other while the pack continued around us, oblivious. Two wolves who'd survived the worst and somehow found their way to this moment—expecting a child, building a future, choosing hope over fear.
"I'm terrified," he admitted into my hair.
"Me too."
"What if I mess this up? What if I don't know how—"
"Then we'll figure it out together." I echoed his earlier words back to him. "We'll make mistakes. We'll learn. But we'll do it together."
Through the bond, I felt his emotions—fear and joy warring for dominance, love so strong it overwhelmed everything else. The fierce protectiveness that came with knowing he was going to be a father. The weight of responsibility settling over him like a mantle.
But underneath it all, joy. Pure, undiluted joy.
"A family," he said softly. "We're going to be a family."
"We already are a family," I pointed out. "The pack. Freya and Marcus. Luca. Elara. Everyone."
"But this—" His hand moved to my stomach, settling there with reverent care. "This is different."
"Yeah," I agreed. "This is different."
This was creation. New life built from our love, from our bond, from the stubborn refusal to let our pasts define our futures. A child who would grow up knowing only safety and love and belonging.
A child who would never know what it felt like to run. To be rejected. To watch their pack burn.
This child would know peace. Would know home. Would know parents who loved them absolutely and would die to protect them.
"They're going to be so loved," Aiden said, his hand still on my stomach. "So protected. So—" He looked at me. "We're going to give them everything we didn't have."
"Everything we did have too," I added. "The good parts. The parts worth keeping."
He smiled—watery but genuine. "Yeah. Those too."
I kissed him. Soft and slow and full of promise. Tasting salt from his tears, feeling the way his breath hitched, sensing through the bond how this moment was remaking him just as it was remaking me.
We were going to be parents.
Not perfect ones. We'd make mistakes. We'd be too protective sometimes, too lenient others. We'd worry constantly and probably drive our child crazy with our caution.
But we'd love them. Fiercely and completely and without reservation.
That would have to be enough.
When we pulled apart, Aiden was smiling properly now. The tears had stopped, though his eyes were still red. He looked lighter somehow. Like the weight of processing had lifted, leaving only joy behind.
"We should tell people," he said.
"Not yet." I wanted to keep this between us a little longer. Just a few more hours of it being our secret, our joy, our private miracle. "Tonight. We'll tell the pack tonight."
"Tonight," he agreed.
He pressed his forehead to mine, and we stood there breathing the same air, existing in the same space, bound by mate bond and love and now this—the child growing inside me who was half him, half me, all future.
"I love you," I said.
"I love you too." He pulled back just enough to look at my face. "Both of you."
Both of us.
I touched my stomach, feeling nothing yet but knowing something was there. Something growing. Something that would become our child, our legacy, our hope made tangible.
"We're going to be parents," I said, testing the words again.
"We're going to be parents," Aiden confirmed.
And for the first time since Elara had confirmed it, the reality felt manageable. Not less terrifying. Not less overwhelming. But possible.
Because we wouldn't do it alone.
We'd do it together.
The way we did everything that mattered.