Ella
“I’m very worried about this, Ella.” The doctor pronounces grimly. He’s just taken my blood pressure, and it’s the same high reading we recorded this morning with the home kit. “I know you’re in the middle of a campaign and you’re going through a lot, but you’ve got to find a way to de-stress. If you don’t, we’ll have to put you on bed rest.”
“Bed rest?” I repeat anxiously. “For how long?”
The doctor’s grave face speaks volume, “the duration of your pregnancy.”
Sinclair stiffens beside me, moving the hand at my nape to massage my tense shoulder muscles. “What can we do, other than avoiding high pressure situations?”
“I’m going to prescribe you some medicine that will be safe for you and the baby. Be sure to take it every day, and otherwise just keep up the things we’ve already talked about – healthy eating, regular exercise, activities you find calming or relaxing.” The doctor continues, listing off suggestions. “You can try meditation or breathing exercises, pregnancy yoga is getting very popular. Sticking to a daily routine can really help when things are uncertain and you’re going through all these changes. And Alpha, help her however you can.”
“The instructor at our parenting class advised us not to coddle our mates– is that still good advice given Ella’s risk level?” Sinclair inquires.
“Yes.” The doctor agrees, smashing the small surge of hope I’d felt to pieces. “Human or wolf, your mate needs to feel like you’re in control, especially in cases like this where so much is out of your hands. She needs you to ground her if she starts to spiral – to show her she can rely on you no matter what.”
I can’t see the logic underpinning his words, but I still don’t like it. What’s so wrong with a bit of coddling? I’ve never been coddled in my entire life. As if he can read my thoughts, Sinclair’s warm breath flutters over my neck, “Just remember how much you hated it when I kept you out of the loop, trying to protect you.”
Oh. I guess I have been coddled after all. I’m about to acknowledge this, but when I look up at Sinclair, he’s smiling at me so affectionately that my heart stops beating.“Besides,” He continues indulgently. “Just because I don’t coddle you, doesn’t mean I can’t pamper you the way you deserve.”
I find myself giggling like a schoolgirl, and the doctor steps out, clearly feeling as though he’s intruding on something even though we’re only talking. When we get home, Sinclair tucks me in for a nap and returns to work, making me promise to call on the servants if I need anything and vowing to be home as early as he can.
I sleep fitfully. Even exhausted as I am, I find it very difficult to sleep without Sinclair. I swear he’s becoming like my security blanket – my body won’t relax fully unless he’s with me and my nightmares always surge in his absence. I’m getting too attached to him. I think sadly, climbing out of bed after half an hour of tossing and turning.
So? The little voice in my head challenges. He’s the baby’s father – he’s going to be in your life forever. Why not get attached?
Because he won’t always be in my life in this way. He’s not going to be sleeping with me when he finds his second chance mate – and I have to be able to survive on my own. I can’t become so codependent that I need him to take care of me. I answer ruefully.
Maybe he won’t find his mate at all. The voice suggests, sounding much too hopeful for my liking.
I scoff at my own naivete, get it together, Ella! You can’t start thinking that way - it’s just asking for heartbreak.
I’ve only just opened the door to go downstairs and find an afternoon snack when one of the guards appears at the top of the stairwell. “Luna, there’s a visitor for you.”
“Really?” I stop in my tracks. “Who is it? I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
“She says you used to work for her.” He shrugs. “I tried to get her name but she wouldn’t tell me. Should I make her leave?”
I pause, knowing Sinclair wouldn’t like the idea of an unidentified woman entering his home. I don’t like the idea myself – especially after Roger’s warning. “What does she look like?”
“Tall, dark hair, tan skin – maybe 40?” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “She’s human.”
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