Fated and knocked up by the Alpha King (Elara) novel Chapter 8

Chapter Eight- Mother’s Eyes

The packhouse felt like it had finally exhaled. After the morning’s chaos Cassia’s shrieks, Caius’s smirks, Alpha Darius’s muttering the hum of daily life had returned. But inside me? Everything was tilted sideways.

I sat on my bed, sweater sleeves pulled over my hands, knees tucked tight against my chest. The pregnancy test lay face down on the nightstand like it could still burn me if I looked too long. My heart wouldn’t settle. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Three weeks. That’s all it had been. Three weeks since Paris. One night. One man. A first name whispered in the dark. And now this.

The door eased open without a knock. Mom slipped in quietly, the scent of sage and chamomile trailing with her. She looked like she hadn’t slept, but her healer’s calm never wavered. She sat at the edge of the bed the way she had when I was little and feverish, as if she could anchor me with her presence alone.

“Elara,” she said softly.

“Please don’t.” My throat closed. “Please don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you already know.”

Her lips curved in the smallest, saddest smile. “I am your mother. Of course I know.”

I buried my face in my hands, words breaking out fast and jagged. “I wasn’t

supposed to this wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t thinking. I’m not ready. Goddess, I can barely take care of myself-how am I supposed to take care of a baby?”

Mom let me tumble out everything every frantic, ugly thought.

–

“What if I mess it up? What if I’m not strong enough? What if people look at me and think I ruined my life? What if the baby grows up and feels unwanted because I wasn’t enough?”

The sobs broke before I could hold them back. And then her arms were around me, steady, grounding, the way they had been when nightmares used to send me running into her room as a child.

“Elara Quinn,” she murmured against my hair, “you are stronger than you believe. This child will never be unwanted. Not while I live. Not while this pack stands. You will not face this alone.”

The dam burst, and I cried harder. My chest shook with it, every ounce of fear spilling out.

–

When the storm eased, she stroked my hair, her tone shifting softer, but deliberate. “Do you want to find the father?”

”

The question cut straight to my heart. My head jerked up, eyes wide. “Mom

Her gaze was unwavering, healer-steady but mother-fierce. “I need to know what you want. If you hope for him to be part of this, we will find him. If you would rather raise this child without him, we will stand with you. But this choice must come from you.”

The room pressed in, heavy with the weight of it.

His face flashed through me sharp jaw, rough hands, a mouth that kissed like fire. His voice when he said my name. The way the wolf in me had gone still, like it finally recognized home.

And the way he was gone when morning came.

“I…” My voice broke. “I don’t know if I can find him. And what if I did – what if he doesn’t want me? What if he doesn’t want the baby? What if I tell him and it ruins everything?”

Mom’s hand cupped my cheek, her thumb brushing away the tear I didn’t know had fallen. “Then he does not deserve you. Or this child. But if he is worthy, you may one day want him to know. For now, you decide only this: will you keep the child?”

I stared down at my trembling hands, then at the place where my palm pressed unconsciously against my stomach.

“Yes,” I whispered, more fragile than I meant. “Yes, I’ll keep them. I have to. They’re mine.”

Her lips touched my forehead, sealing the vow like a blessing. “Then we will walk this road together.”

And for the first time all day, my fear didn’t feel like drowning. It still pressed heavy, but Mom’s words, her strength, wrapped around me like armor.

You are not alone. Not while I live. Not while this pack stands.

I clung to it like lifeline.

The packhouse settled into its nightly rhythm-footsteps fading, doors closing, voices softening to murmurs. But my mind didn’t follow. It spun, restless, caught between my mother’s steady hands and the reality now anchored inside

The room was dim except for the lantern by my bed. Shadows crawled across the walls, stretching long and sharp, like the future itself – uncertain, too big to hold.

I lay back on the covers, one arm across my stomach. It wasn’t visible yet, not really. Just a secret. Just a whisper of life, too fragile to name. But I felt it, deep in my bones, like the tiniest ember catching flame.

Mine.

The word echoed with both pride and terror.

What did I know about being a mother? I could barely keep my plants alive at college. I had no partner. No father for this child. Just me, my family, and the gaping silence where he should have been.

Him.

The Paris stranger with the storm-gray eyes and the voice that wrapped around me like velvet and steel. The man who held me as if I was both fragile glass and wildfire. The one who kissed me like he’d been waiting centuries.

My chest clenched. I didn’t even know his last name.

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