Mate Me in Moonlight

Chapter 140

POV: Adeline

I was in the garden when it happened.

Months along now. Big enough that my center of gravity had shifted, that simple movements required thought. Big enough that strangers could tell I was pregnant just by looking. Big enough that the baby was no longer just an abstract concept but a physical reality I carried with me everywhere.

I was checking the herbs—making sure they had enough water, that the rabbits hadn't gotten through the new fence Marcus had built. The afternoon sun was warm on my back. The scent of earth and growing things filled the air.

Peaceful. Ordinary.

Then—

A flutter.

So subtle I almost missed it. Like butterfly wings brushing against my insides. There and gone in an instant.

I froze. Hand on my stomach. Waiting.

Nothing.

Maybe I'd imagined it. Maybe it was just my body doing weird pregnancy things. Maybe—

There. Again. Stronger this time.

A kick.

I gasped. Actually gasped, like someone had knocked the air out of my lungs.

The baby. Our baby. Moving. Real. There.

"Aiden!" I called, too loud, too urgent.

He appeared from the direction of the main house, moving fast, his expression concerned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." I was laughing and crying at the same time. "Give me your hand."

He came closer, wary but compliant. I grabbed his hand—probably too hard—and pressed it flat against my stomach.

"Wait," I said breathlessly. "Wait—"

We stood there. His hand on my stomach. My hand over his. Both of us barely breathing. Waiting.

"Adeline, I don't—"

Another kick. Harder this time. Unmistakable.

His eyes went wide.

"Was that—"

"The baby," I confirmed, my voice breaking. "That's our baby."

We stayed frozen. His hand still pressed to my stomach. Both of us waiting for it to happen again, needing confirmation that it was real, that we hadn't imagined it.

The baby kicked again. Then again. Like they knew we were paying attention. Like they wanted to make sure we knew they were there.

"That's our child," Aiden whispered, his voice filled with wonder. "That's—"

He couldn't finish. His eyes were wet. That same expression on his face from when I'd first told him—pure, overwhelming joy mixed with disbelief that this was really happening.

"Our child," I agreed.

The baby kept moving. Small movements now. Flutters and stretches. Getting comfortable or maybe just exploring the space they occupied. Testing boundaries. Making their presence known.

Real. So impossibly real.

I'd known, intellectually, that I was pregnant. Had seen my body change. Had felt the exhaustion and the nausea and all the symptoms that came with growing a life. But somehow it had still felt abstract. Like something happening to me rather than something I was actively participating in.

But this—feeling them move—made it concrete in a way nothing else had.

There was a person inside me. A small, growing person. With their own movements and their own will and their own existence separate from mine.

Our child.

"They're strong," Aiden said, his hand still on my stomach, reverent and careful.

"They are."

"They're real."

"They are."

We stood there in the garden, both of us touching the place where our child grew, feeling them move beneath our hands. The afternoon sun painted everything gold. The herbs released their scent into the warm air. Somewhere, I could hear pack members going about their day, unaware that our world was being remade in this quiet moment.

That night, Aiden talked to my belly for the first time.

We were in bed, the lights low, just existing in our space. He'd been quiet since the garden—thoughtful in a way that meant he was processing something big.

Then he shifted. Moved down the bed. Pressed his face close to my stomach.

"Hey," he said softly. "Can you hear me in there?"

I froze, not wanting to interrupt.

"I'm your dad." His voice was gentle, conversational, like he was talking to someone who could understand. "We felt you move today. You scared your mom. She thought something was wrong. But you were just saying hello, weren't you?"

The baby kicked, right where his face was pressed. Like answering.

Aiden laughed—soft and delighted. "Yeah. Hello to you too."

I watched him, my heart so full it hurt. This man. This Alpha who'd fought wars and led wolves through impossible odds. Talking to our unborn child like they were already the most important thing in his world.

"You're going to love it here," he continued. "You've got a whole pack waiting to meet you. Aunt Freya's already planning all the trouble she's going to get you into. Uncle Luca pretends he's not excited but he's already carved you three toys. And your mom—" His voice roughened. "Your mom is the strongest wolf I've ever known. She's going to teach you everything worth knowing."

Another kick. Stronger this time.

"You're safe in there," Aiden said. "Growing. Getting strong. Take all the time you need. We'll be here when you're ready."

I wiped at my eyes, trying not to sob and interrupt this moment. But Aiden noticed anyway. He looked up, his expression soft.

"You okay?"

"That was beautiful," I managed.

"Just telling them the truth." He moved back up the bed, gathering me close. His hand returned to my stomach, and the baby kicked against his palm again. "They respond to my voice."

"They know their dad."

"They do, don't they?" The wonder in his voice was unbearable in the best way.

Every night after that, Aiden talked to my belly.

He told the baby about the pack. About the territory. About the history of Willow Ridge and the war they'd never have to fight. He told them about their grandparents—his father, mentioned briefly with the promise that they'd be different, and my parents from Ash Hollow, described with love and loss.

He told them about the plans we had. The future we were building. The life they'd grow into.

And every night, the baby responded. Kicks and flutters and movements that said I hear you, I'm here, I'm coming.

The baby was real now. Not just a concept or a hope or a pregnancy. A person. Growing and moving and getting ready to join us.

Almost here.

I watched my stomach ripple with their movements. Watched Aiden's face light up every time he felt them kick. Felt the strange, wonderful sensation of sharing my body with someone else.

Soon, I'd be able to hold them. See their face. Count their fingers and toes. Discover if they had my eyes or Aiden's, my coloring or his.

Soon they'd be out here, in the world, in the nursery we'd prepared, in the pack that was waiting to love them.

Soon.

But for now, they moved inside me. Safe and warm and growing. Protected by my body and Aiden's love and the entire pack's fierce commitment to their wellbeing.

The baby was real.

Coming.

Almost here.

And we were ready.

As ready as any parent ever was.

Terrified and hopeful and so full of love there wasn't room for anything else.

Ready.