Page 69 of His Unicorn Alpha
I smiled as he carefully lifted our second daughter for emphasis. “You should have the honor.”
Micah grinned. “Belle,” his answer came quickly and definitively. “Because she’s beautiful.”
“They are all beautiful,” I rebuked gently, but I nodded anyway. “Belle it is.” My lips quirked. “You are going to purchase all the Disney themed toys and clothing, aren’t you?”
He nodded. “And I’ll do their hair up in all the princess styles, too.”
I sent affection and amusement his way as I sighed and answered, “Of course you will.” Then I looked back down at our third daughter, still so much smaller than her sisters. “What do you think of Rita? From memory, it can mean pearl or brave…” I trailed off, not feeling the need to explain why I thought those fitting meanings.
Still holding Belle —and it was such a surreal feeling to suddenly have names for our daughters— Micah crouched carefully at my side and peered down at our tiniest of tiny ones.
“Hi, Rita,” he whispered, making a hushed ‘aww’ sound as she cracked open a dark blue eye. “Yeah,” his voice was thick with emotion, “that’s the one.”
It felt too easy. I knew we had discussed names on and off for weeks, but to just decide like that, without argument or debate, felt…strange. Then again, we were a bonded pair; it made some sense that we would be compatible on even this.
“If all goes well, they should be able to go home with you in a few more weeks,” Casey’s voice cut into my musings. I turnedmy head to find him leaning against the doorframe, wearing his powder blue nursing scrubs.
He was also human, but, like Tammy, did not seem at all fazed to be surrounded by shifters and talk of magic and dragons and unicorns. If anything, he seemed excited by it, his dark brown eyes lighting up any time the topics were mentioned within his earshot. Also like Tammy, he was extremely proficient in his work, and he truly seemed to love working with the babies as much as she did. I was thankful that Eric had managed to find two people who I felt I could trust with my children, not that I believed he had had much sway in the matter.
“I do hope so,” I said in response to Casey’s optimism.
He smiled and stepped further into the room. “Did you want to try chestfeeding today? Or were you going to switch to formula completely? Zero judgment,” he held his hands up in surrender, “fed is best as far as I’m concerned. And you’ve got three little mouths to feed, so I’d probably recommend supplementing with formula anyway, if only to give yourself a breather every now and then.”
We had already been supplementing my pumped milk with formula, and seeing my girls growing was enough to convince me that it had most certainly been the right choice for us. “I would like to try,” I answered, “however, I read that, being premature, they may struggle to latch.”
“They might,” he nodded. “But we can work on that if it happens to be the case. I’m not qualified as a lactation consultant, but I’ve worked with a few in my time.” He offered me a rueful smile.
Where Tammy was young, Casey was inching closer to what humans considered middle-aged. His brown hair had a few tiny glints of silver peeking out, and I saw similar hints of the grey on his stubbled jaw. Still, he wasn’t that much older than Micah,and I didn’t think he had any reason to worry about his age just yet.
“I would appreciate any advice you can give me,” I replied. “I will admit that in my many years practicing medicine, lactation support is not something I have studied.”
Casey shrugged. “Well, you never practiced in obstetrics or postnatal care, so it makes sense that it wasn’t on your radar.”
I appreciated his pragmatism and lack of judgement. Even Tammy had been surprised that, in hundreds of years, I had not taken the opportunity to branch out with my medical training. I supposed I was, at heart, a creature of habit.
Casey helped shift Rita from my arms to Micah’s, then, after I lifted one side of my shirt, guided me through the process of assisting Lucia to latch on for her first feeding. Through whatever shifter magic ran through my veins, my body had been changing during the pregnancy to prepare for this ability, changing the shape of my already somewhat soft pectorals, but also shedding —for lack of a better word— any chest hair around my nipples. The changes had been so gradual that I had almost forgotten what I had looked like prior to the pregnancy, but gazing down at my nursing newborn, I was suddenly struck by how surreal the situation was.
“Wow,” I murmured, the connection to my daughter soothing some of the lingering emotional pain of weeks spent unable to hold her or take her home. She brought up a tiny hand, as if kneading my pec, and it melted my heart.
“Looks like she knows what to do,” Casey grinned. “When she’s had her fill, we’ll switch her out with Belle and switch sides when we do.”
I nodded, transfixed by the rhythmic movement at my chest, the gentle pull as she nursed and the relief —both emotional and physical— of feeding her directly.
“Uh, sugar?” I looked up to find Micah biting his lip. He gestured with his chin towards my other side and…oh.
“Ah, your body has just gone into let down mode,” Casey didn’t seem at all fazed to see the wet patch forming on the other side of my shirt. “It’s perfectly normal. You can use nursing pads to prevent it from happening…but, uh, I’m not entirely sure how you’d wear them…maybe fixed on with some medical tape? Anyway,” he shrugged, “you might get to a point where you can feed two at once and it won’t be an issue.”
The thought was somewhat overwhelming, but I nodded. “We will make it work.”
I was just thrilled with the strides forward we had taken already. For the first time in weeks, I began to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Through the bond, I felt my mate’s love and affection, and I knew that he felt just as optimistic as I did.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Aww, I don’t think ours were ever this small,” Ollie cooed down at Rita, rocking her in his arms.
Beck and Sandy had asked if they could throw us a ‘Welcome Home’ party in lieu of the baby shower we had never had (or wanted), and neither Brandt nor I could bear to say no to our pack.
“Remember the colic,” Beck said, “and focus on how hard the potty training is.” He shot me a pleading look. “Tell him how hard newborns are. Please?”
