The Alpha Who Let His Luna Die novel · Chapter 8 of 24

Chapter 8: Lyra

Hester met us at the longhouse door in her pajamas with a pair of scissors in her hand.

Kellan had howled the whole way up the hill, and the pack had woken to the sound.

"Put her on the table," Hester said. "Everybody out except the Alpha, and if he faints, he faints."

"I won't faint," Kellan said.

"You'll want to."

They laid me on the long table in the Ashfall infirmary, under a hard white light.

Hester washed her arms to the elbow and pulled on gloves with a snap.

"I've delivered twelve pups," she said, calm as a drill sergeant. "Four of them early. You are not going to die on my table, Elora Tolbert. Do you hear me?"

"I hear you."

"Good. Breathe."

The next hours came in waves.

Nothing in the past week had prepared me for this.

Each contraction rose and dropped me down it.

Kellan held my hand through all of it.

He didn't say comforting nonsense.

He said my name, over and over, in that low steady voice, and let me crush his fingers until I heard a bone creak.

"Sorry," I panted.

"Don't be."

"I think I broke your hand."

"It'll heal," Kellan said. "Squeeze."

Around the fifth hour I started to swear.

I swore at the moon, at Dorian, at Rhea, at the tea, at the tree, and at every wolf who had ever stood in a ring and watched.

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