Page 30 of King Luna

I hope this is a good omen for our trip. We’re leaving three days early, allowing us today for traveling, and two additional days to bond with four of our best allies. Our hosts Viktor and Annika, the King Alpha and Queen Luna, lead their pack in Sweden, where they’re giving us a room to stay in their lakeside Community Center. Tane and Waimarie will arrive shortly after us, catching an even longer flight from Aotearoa—the land I’ve known as “New Zealand” until learning more about its indigenous roots from these new friends.

Judging by everyone’s lighthearted natures the last time we talked, I’m relieved to know we’ll start our trip on a pleasant note.

But as Noah and I grip the door handles to exit the car in the parking lot, Lilian’s sharp, furious mindlink freezes us in place.

You two need to wear scarves on that plane before you inevitably mate. I’ve never seen more pregnant wolves in my lifetime! They’re so ravenous in the Community Center kitchen that I’m going to have to make more food—all because of your wild Luna mating ritual.

Noah’s eyes widen so far that I burst out laughing. He beams at my heavy laughter despite his darkening cheeks.

“I guess we better listen to our Elder Luna,” Noah mutters, hopping out of the car.

Laughing, I follow Noah to the SUV’s trunk. He tugs one of my three scarves out of my backpack, draping it around my neck. But when my abdomen accidentally brushes against his belt, Noah freezes.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

He holds me back by the hips, rotating me left and right. “Holy shit, Aliya, you have such a clear little bump today.”

My stomach flips. “It’s— It’s still just extra bloating, I think. Isn’t it?”

“No, no, no—”

Noah spins me until my back presses against his chest. Whipping out his phone to take a photo of us, he grasps the back of my bulky hoodie until it’s wrapped tight around my belly, exposing the smooth curve of my stomach. My heart catapults into my throat as Noah skates one hand down it, his eyes locked on mine as I gaze in awe at his phone’s screen. “That’s not bloating like last month, sweet Omega. You’ve stayed this big for over a week, and you’ve only gotten bigger. That’s our baby.”

Tears cloud my vision, but when I blink them away to meet Noah’s dazed eyes above me, I release a wet, giddy laugh; he already looks like a terrified yet euphoric new dad.

Gripping Noah’s hand on my belly, I turn over my shoulder, planting a hard kiss into his lips. Noah breathes me in, holding me even closer. Except he’s not just holding me. He’s holding the faint, new soul I keep feeling between us—occasionally poking their little head into our bond to say hello. My breath restarts as elation crashes between us, amplified by the heat of our lips.

When I pull back to gaze at Noah, his electrified eyes squeeze my heart. I trust him, not only with our pack, the world, and myself, but also with this baby we’re carrying together.

Tapping his recent photos on his phone, Noah grins wider, adoration flooding our bond. I stretch on my toes, tilting his hand for a better view of his screen. I thought he put his phone away after showing me how pregnant I looked, but Noah took a sneaky photo of us afterward, and it steals my breath away.

He’s right: my bump looks like it’s here to stay. In the photo, Noah’s big hand swoops under it to emphasize how it curves past my hip bones. My heart flips at the way he’s cradling our baby while also snuggling me tight against his chest, gazing down at me like there’s nothing else in the world to look at. But what strikes me the most is the pure joy in my weepy, giddy eyes, beaming up at Noah in a way I’ve never seen myself look in any photo I’ve taken. I look more than just in love. I look deeply, truly cared for—and understood.

“Oh,Noah. We’re beautiful,” I whisper.

Noah chuckles, kissing my temple. I sweep both hands across his chest, stretching to meet his lips. With a soft purr, Noah wraps his hands around my waist as our lips glide over each other, stirring a fuzzy warmth in my stomach.

Carrying our coats for once we arrive in Sweden, Noah and I top off our outfits with scarves, as requested. With our bags ready and our baby beneath my palm, Noah and I make our way through the parking garage.

Airplanes rumble overhead. It’s not too chilly yet in early autumn, but the scarf was the right call for other reasons: I have to yank it up and over my nose, keeping out the sour, overpowering jet fuel smell—and, therefore, preventing myself from vomiting in the parking garage. Noah is forced to roll our luggage faster, chasing after me as I scurry inside.

But it’s not much better in here. Fluorescent lights attempt to make up for dark skies outside, straining my eyes as my focus zips from person to person. Rainn gave me that vial of her scent blocker to try, but Noah and I originally planned to wait to start using it until we arrived in Sweden—especially since we might need to blow through the whole bottle while we’re there. But now that we’re entering the airport, I don’t know if I want to wait. Every passing face heightens my nerves, even as Noah stands at my side, patiently waiting for me to move from my spot.

“Aliya.”

Noah’s low, enchanting tone mixes with a waft of his Alpha musk, urging me to suck in a lungful of his mouth-watering scent. Every muscle in my body loosens, my eyes fluttering in delight as I sigh.

Noah chuckles. “Shit, maybe that was a bit much. Come here, Luna.”

I giggle, my cheeks hot as my fear dissolves. With my focus locked on Noah’s back, I gawk at the subtle rippling of his back as he hoists all of our luggage along, his coat flung over one shoulder. As he glances at me over the puffy fabric, excitement builds low in my belly, stoking heat in my groin.

Noah smiles up to his wild, eager eyes, ducking his head with a sharp turn away from me. I have to laugh, quickening my steps to rejoin his side. But Noah guides me to a lone, empty row of chairs near the first set of escalators, motioning for me to sit.

The second I do, Noah towers over me, blocking the blaring lights above us with his wide shoulders. As I blink up at him, I realize he’s barely suppressing a smile, biting his lips as he plops my stuffed backpack in the empty chair beside me with a squeak of the vinyl. As he digs through my bag, I can’t stop myself, stealing one of his hands away. I purr, dragging my neck over his wrist to mark him with my pleased scent.

Noah breaks into giggles, wriggling his hand from my ravenous grip. I try to catch his wrist again, but a large hand comes down over the top of my head, pinning me in place.

“No,” Noah says.

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