“Because she doesn’t know any better, but you can go fuck yourself if you think I am going to sentence her to death to appease your morbid curiosity. You’re talking about the woman I love.”
“Very well, what’s your plan then?” Silver asked. “Going to strap her down while someone forces an abortion on her? Slip the drugs into the food yourself?”
“If I can explain to her—”
“Explain what? That she’s carrying a werewolf baby in her womb who might potentially tear her apart from the inside.”
He cringed.
Griffin put a hand on his shoulder. “All this arguing is pointless until we know what the Cabal decides. If they say no, then we’ll formulate a plan. Drugs to induce a miscarriage would be the easiest solution. Can we order those?” he asked of his wife.
Maeve winced. “Yes, but ethically you can’t expect me to procure or administer them to her unknowingly. I love you, Griffin, and will do much to protect you and the pack, but I can’t do that to someone, not with the oath I gave as a doctor to do no harm.”
“And I would never ask you to.” Griffin drew her close to his body.
“If anyone has to do it, it will be me,” Ulric stated. He’d created this mess. He’d fix it.
“How about you all stick a pin in it and wait until the Cabal replies?” Silver said.
“How long for that?” Griffin asked.
“I should know by morning,” Silver replied.
“And if they say yes, then what?” Ulric asked.
“Then we do everything in our power to help Honey Iris have a safe pregnancy.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Ulric muttered. “Wish I’d known this before I spun her some story about a fetal defect requiring an abortion. She hates me.”
“She’s your mate. Give her time,” Griffin advised.
Easier said than done.
Honey refused to see him, speak to him, or have anything to do with him.
It had been a week since she’d kicked him out, days since the Cabal agreed with Silver’s plan to monitor her pregnancy.
A week of lonely nights and regrets so he was understandably excited when she called him. Her voice soft and hushed as she whispered, “Help. I think someone’s in my house.”
12
Honey wasn’t one to play games.
Usually.
And then she met Ulric.
Fell in love.
Got pregnant.
He turned into an ass.
He apologized.
Assed out again.
She stood up for herself and the baby.
Got lonely.
And scared.
What had he meant when he claimed there might be something wrong with the pregnancy? Was he being a lying jerk, or did she have to worry about something serious? She didn’t have a family doctor since hers retired. The walk-in clinic and emergency weren’t exactly the right places for a nervous expectant mother, and yet she couldn’t see a gynecologist without a referral. Freaking Canadian healthcare system had so many hoops to jump through. Sure she had access to an ultrasound with her practice, but would it show her if something was amiss?
What would she do if something affected the baby? Be brave like those who had children despite knowing they’d need extra care, or should she listen to Ulric and get an abortion? Both sounded scary. What if the baby was fine and Ulric lied? Being a mother sounded all good and exciting, but could she do this on her own? Her parents would offer to help, but they were in their sixties. Enjoying their golden years. It wouldn’t be fair to them.
All these thoughts and more kept her company as she walked home from work. A prickle at her nape gave the sensation someone watched. A whirl to glance behind showed the sidewalk clear, and yet the feeling persisted.
Am I being stalked?
Was it Ulric? She’d not seen him and, given she’d blocked him, no longer got his texts. Would he resort to shadowing her? Having spent time with him she would have said he lacked the subtlety for spy work. If he lurked nearby, what could she do to flush him out? A sly idea to find out hit her.
She entered her house quickly, locking the door before jogging upstairs. Only then did she dial his number.
Right away he answered. “Honey.”
She cut him off. “Help. I think someone’s in my house.”
“Oh fuck. Don’t panic. Are you hiding?” he asked.
“Yes. In my closet.” She kept whispering while watching out a window on the top floor.
“Good, stay there. I’m on my way.”
“Where are you?”
“The shop. I’m working a late one on account Quinn’s off.”
“You’ve been there all day?” she confirmed as she saw someone exiting a car across the road. A tall guy wearing a ball cap and hoodie. He didn’t walk like Ulric, but he headed for her side of the street.
“Yeah. So excuse me if I stink of weed. There was an incident with a new shipment and a cat who decided it was evil and took off with a package. Apparently, that little bugger is stronger than he looks. By the time I ripped it out of his mouth, shit was flying all over.”
She almost smiled. She’d missed his stories. Missed him.
The tall man had crossed the road by now and headed for the corner of the street. Not Ulric after all. Although why park here and walk?
“I was mistaken. No one’s here. You don’t have to come over.”
“I don’t mind. I’m glad you called me.”
She wandered from the bedroom toward the stairs. “I don’t know why I did. In a real emergency, you should be the last person I call.”
“Yet I’d protect your life with my own.”
“But not that of our child.” She couldn’t help the bitter retort.
He sighed. “If circumstances were different, you know I would love any child we created. That’s not the issue. Your health and safety is.”
“What if this medical issue that’s got you so worried doesn’t even present? You could be freaking for nothing. I haven’t even seen a doctor yet.”
“A doctor might not be able to diagnose it until it’s too late.”
“But shouldn’t we at least try?” She slipped when she said we.
He caught it and said, “We could, but I’m scared for you, Bee. I don’t want to lose you.”
A phone wasn’t the way to have this conversation. “Are you still coming over?”
“I’d like to.”
“How far are you?”
“Just passing that place that sells the best Shawarma in Ottawa.”
“Given Mr. Shawarma isn’t anywhere close, that puts you pretty far.”
“I miss this,” he said suddenly.
She understood exactly what he meant. They’d had such a good repartee. While they didn’t finish each other sentences, they’d meshed when it came to humor. Could talk for hours or even just snuggle and watch a movie.
A pang hit her as she realized she’d called him not because she actually thought he stalked her but because she missed him. That feeling of being watched? Blame the pregnancy hormones.
She’d gone silent, and he queried with her name, “Honey?”
“Yeah.”