Page 28 of Alpha's Heir

A girl. A tiny, fierce jolt of joy surged through me, followed closely by a ripple of fear. How were we going to bring a daughter into this world, into this war?

Weston's grin was huge, his happiness a temporary salve to my worries. "A daughter," he said, the word laden with wonder and pride.

The nurse left us alone for a moment, and we savored the privacy. "A little she-wolf," Weston said, his hand gently caressing where our daughter grew.

"I just hope—" My voice broke, the fear creeping back in.

"Hey," Weston interrupted gently. "We're going to keep her safe, Cora. We're going to keep all of us safe."

His confidence was infectious, and for a moment, I allowed myself to believe it. "Yeah," I said, my voice firmer. "We will."

The doctor came in then, a man with kind eyes and a gentle demeanor. "Congratulations on your baby girl," he began, shaking our hands. "Let's take a look and make sure everything else is as it should be."

He went through the motions, the measurements, the questions. It all blurred together, a litany of "normal" and "healthy" that grounded me. When he was done, he offered us a smile. "Everything looks perfect. Do you have any questions?"

"A million," I wanted to say, but instead, I just shook my head. "No, thank you."

We were soon back in the waiting room, the visit a surreal memory already. "A girl," I said again, testing out the word, the idea.

Weston's smile was all the answer I needed. "Yeah, our little girl."

As we left the doctor's office, I felt a shift inside me. Yes, there was still fear, uncertainty about the future. But there was also determination, a fierceness I hadn't known I possessed. I was going to bring my daughter into a safe world. Whatever it took, whatever we had to do—I would make it happen.

The car hummed beneath us, the vibration a steady reminder of the world outside our sanctuary in the forest. As Weston drove, his jaw set in that way it did when he was deep in thought, I watched the trees blur past, feeling the weight of our decision settle in my chest. My mind was a whirlwind, caught between the reality of our situation and the flickering image of the tiny heartbeat that was our daughter. A life yet to be, already so fiercely loved and so fiercely at risk.

We didn't speak. There was a mutual understanding that words would be superficial compared to the gravity of our thoughts. When we finally pulled up to our home, the sight of the familiar surroundings struck a chord of sadness within me. This land, these trees, they were more than just a backdrop to our lives—they were a part of us.

"I..." My voice trailed off as I stepped out of the car, my eyes sweeping over the land that I had thought would always be ours. I felt Weston's gaze on me, his concern palpable.

"It's the right choice," I said suddenly, the words spilling out before I could catch them. The air around us seemed to still, the forest holding its breath.

Weston looked at me, his confusion clear. "Cora—"

"Leaving," I cut in, turning to face him. "For her. To keep her safe. To keep all of us safe. It's the right choice." The words felt like stones in my mouth, heavy and hard, but they were true.

His face softened, the edges of his worry smoothing as he understood. "We'll do whatever it takes," he said, his voice a low promise.

The walk to our house was short, but with each step, I felt the distance from our past grow. Once inside, the familiarity of the space was both a balm and a pang. It was filled with memories, laughter, and plans that might never come to fruition.

I sat on the edge of our bed, the exhaustion of the day seeping into my bones. It was more than physical; it was the emotional toll of fear, hope, and determination all mixed into a potent cocktail that left me feeling drained yet somehow more alive.

Weston came up behind me, his hands resting on my shoulders. "You need to rest," he murmured, but I shook my head.

"Not yet," I said, and there was a tremble in my voice that betrayed my need for more than sleep.

I turned to him then, my hands finding his face, and I pulled him down to me. Our lips met, and the kiss was a world away from gentle—it was desperate, a confluence of all our fears and our resolve, a silent vow to fight for the future we wanted.

His arms wrapped around me, strong and sure, and I clung to him as if he were the only solid thing in a sea of uncertainty. Our breaths mingled, ragged and quick, and I poured everything into that kiss: my fear for our child, my grief for the life we were leaving behind, and my love for the man who stood with me at the precipice of our new reality.

We stayed like that, lost in each other, the night closing around us, a cocoon against the chaos. The kiss deepened, and for a moment, there was nothing else—no war, no threats, just us and the life we would do anything to protect.

I felt the roughness of his shirt under my fingers as I pressed closer to Weston, my need for him sharpening with each ragged breath. The world outside was chaos, but here, with him, there was a certainty I clung to fiercely.

"Weston," I whispered against his lips, the name an anchor in the storm.

"Yeah?" His voice was rough, mirroring the raw need that clawed at my insides.

His presence, the steady beat of his heart against mine, was the one thing in this tempest of life that I couldn’t afford to lose. My hands moved with purpose, my fingers slipping over his belt, feeling the rush of his response beneath my touch. I wanted him—no, needed him—like the parched earth needs rain, to remember what it was to be alive, to be grounded.

---