Page 72 of Omega's Fire

“How long have you been having contractions?” I ask, keeping my voice calm despite the panic rising in my chest.

“Since this morning,” he admits. “But they weren’t bad, just uncomfortable. I thought—” Another contraction cuts him off.

“We need to get you to the hospital,” I say, already supporting his weight. “Can you walk?”

Leo nods, but he’s leaning heavily on me as we make our way towards my car. This is happening. Our daughter is coming, six weeks early, and we’re about to become parents whether we’re ready or not.

Leo

Nash’s scent changes with mine the moment that he realizes that the baby is coming. The change hits my nostrils and something deep in my body responds, a flutter of recognition that says safe, protected, alpha will handle this. I want to hate that my body reacts to him like this, but I don’t have the luxury of self-loathing.

Another wave crashes through my abdomen, stronger than anything I’ve felt before. My knees buckle and I grab Nash’s forearm, fingers digging into his sleeve as the contraction steals my breath.

“Fuck.” The word tears out of me, raw and undignified. “Oh fuck, that hurts.”

Nash catches me before I can crumple against the car door, his hands steady on my waist. “Breathe through it. Just like we practiced.” His voice carries absolute calm, the kind of authority that I used to despise in him. Now it’s an anchor in a storm.

I try to follow the breathing pattern from class, but this contraction feels like my daughter has decided to claw her way out through my spine. The pain peaks and I make a sound that’s half-moan, half-growl, my grip on Nash tightening until I’m probably leaving marks.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, one hand moving to the small of my back, applying pressure exactly where I need it. “You’re doinggreat.”

The contraction finally releases its grip and I slump against him, breathing hard. His chest is solid beneath my cheek, heartbeat steady despite the crisis pheromones I can smell rolling off him in waves. His body is reacting to mine but he’s steady and calm, ready to keep me safe.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen yet,” I say. “I don’t have my hospital bag, I haven’t finished the nursery, I haven’t—”

“Hey.” His hands frame my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. Dark brown, steady, completely focused on me. “None of that matters right now. What matters is getting you and our daughter to hospital.”

Our daughter. The possessive pronoun should irritate me but instead it settles something anxious in my chest. She’s not just mine to worry about, to protect, to figure out. She’s ours. He’s going to make sure she is okay.

Nash is already moving, opening the passenger door of his car with one hand while keeping the other steady on my back. “Can you get in?”

I nod, then immediately regret the movement as another contraction starts building. This one feels different—deeper, more insistent, like my body has finally accepted what’s happening and decided to get serious about it.

“Wait,” I gasp, gripping the door frame. “I need to—”

The contraction hits like a sledgehammer to my lower back and I cry out, probably loud enough for half the parking lot to hear. My knees give out completely and Nash catches me, one arm around my waist, supporting my full weight without effort.

“I’ve got you.” His voice is rough now, alpha protectiveness bleeding through the calm facade. “Just breathe. Don’t fight it.”

I want to tell him I’m not fighting anything, that I’m just trying to survive each wave of pain, but speaking requires more coordination than I can manage. Instead I focus on his scent, onthe solid warmth of his body against mine, on the steady rhythm of his breathing that my body wants to match.

When the contraction finally ebbs, I’m shaking. “Something’s wrong,” I whisper. “It’s too early. What if something’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Nash helps me into the passenger seat. “Babies come when they’re ready. Our daughter is just eager to meet us.”

He buckles my seatbelt like I’m made of glass, then closes the door and rounds to the driver’s side. The car starts immediately and he’s pulling out of the parking lot before I’ve fully processed that we’re leaving.

“My mother,” I say suddenly. “I need to call her.”

“I’ll call her from the hospital.” Nash glances at me, then reaches across to squeeze my hand briefly. “Your phone is buzzing.”

I look down to see missed calls from an unknown number, but another contraction is starting to build and I can’t focus on anything else. This one peaks faster, sharper, and I hear myself make a sound that’s pure animal distress.

Nash’s hand finds mine again, fingers intertwining. “Squeeze as hard as you need to.”

I do, probably cutting off his circulation, but he doesn’t complain. Just keeps driving with one hand while letting me use the other as my personal stress ball. The steady pressure of his palm against mine is the only thing keeping me grounded as my body seems determined to turn itself inside out.

“How far apart are they now?” he asks when I can breathe again.

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