Page 49 of Sold Bullied Mate

But it will also be important to make sure they can’t steal from us again, keep our supply secure.

“Only one problem,” I laugh, rubbing a hand over my eyes.

“What’s that?”

“Your sister is completely pissed at me,” I say into my hand. “Since I’m making her stay home. But I can’t tell her the full truth of what’s going on—I don’t want to freak her out.”

Emin laughs, claps a hand on my shoulder. I’ve always felt closer than friends with him, but right now, I truly feel like his brother.

“Well, you’d better crawl out of the dog house and beg her forgiveness, because we could really use her help right about now.”

Chapter 30 - Kira

I wake up the next morning, in my room, alone.

As it has so often, my hand drifts down my body, resting on my stomach. Is there a little life in there? Something growing that Dorian and I have created together?

The thought of him makes my skin prickle, and I swing my legs out of the bed, getting to my feet. I walk to the window, pulling open the curtains and looking through the brush. If I look long and hard, I can just make out the town in the distance, the tall spiral of the old church right in the middle of everything.

I want to go out there. See what’s changed. Other than that first day, when I was walking to my parents’, I haven’t been in the town at all. It’s been far too long stuck in this house, and it’s starting to grate on me. I’m going stir crazy.

But more than that, it’s the sense that Dorian doesn’t want anyone knowing I’m here. The same shame and humiliation burn inside me that I felt as a kid, but this time, there’s the knowledge that I let him in, trusted him, am carrying his baby.

I drop my head into my hands and take a deep breath, trying to organize my thoughts. Trying to figure out what to do. A few days ago, I’d determined I would ask him point-blank what he wanted.

That’s still what I need to do. I need to tell him that it’s all or nothing for us—that either he accepts me, or I’m leaving.

The very thought of leaving him, especially with the baby I might be carrying, makes me sick. But I spent enough of my life not respecting myself, being okay with him taking advantage ofme. Accepting what everyone else said my value was, to the point where that’s what I thought my value was, too.

Not knowing what to do, I decide it can’t hurt to get ready for the day. I step into the shower, stand in the hot water. Then, I wonder if hot showers are bad for pregnancy and turn it to cool, then think that might be bad, too, before I settle on warm and realize I have a lot to figure out.

By the time I get out of the shower, I’m only feeling more confused.

I walk through the hallway, past the room filled with my sewing things, and remember the day he brought it all back for me. Our first kiss, the way it had felt to realize he was thinking of me, and that he was willing to go to Grayhide territory, to get the things I loved.

In the kitchen, I start to make myself a coffee, then realize I probably shouldn’t have one if I’m pregnant. I put the cup back, stand still for a moment, then turn and walk back in the direction of my sewing room.

I have no pattern, no plan, but I start pulling fabric down from the shelf, cutting it out, mind whirring with Dorian leaving all day, how he didn’t communicate with me.

How much pressure he must be under, to be the alpha leader.

We need to talk. That’s obvious—I need to figure out how he feels about me and what he wants from me. I need to tell him what Ineedin order to be happy here.

I need to tell him about my potential pregnancy, the fact that I’ve had a premonition of giving birth to his baby at some point in the future. But he’s not home now, and he was gone all day yesterday.

Without me realizing, two hours go by, the sewing machine working, my thoughts running, until I sit back and realize I’m holding a completed baby onesie in my hands. A little pale blue thing, so tiny I can hardly believe it would fit around a baby.

It probably won’t—I didn’t measure a thing to make it. But something inside tells me that I knew exactly what size my baby would need, exactly how tiny he would come out.

He. I blink, sit back in my chair, put my hand to my stomach again. Is this baby a boy?

Shaking my head, I try to clear the thoughts from my head. There’s a chance that I might not even be pregnant—there’s no point in thinking in circles, tying myself up with questions I can’t answer.

I’m still sitting there, staring at the onesie, when I hear someone coming to the front door.

Dorian.

I know without knowing, and I’m on my feet, moving toward the door, watching as he pushes through. The anger and hurt are still simmering below the surface, and when I look at him, I can see that nothing has changed for him.

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