The Heartbroken Luna's Choice Banish Love novel Chapter 278

Third Person's POV

Cassian's hand slid under her clothes, expertly unfastening the constraints.

He locked her in his arms, his kisses turning frantic and uncoordinated, his heavy breathing thick with a long-repressed possessiveness.

Trista felt the sudden explosion of aggression in his body and tried to thrash her way out of his hold.

Just as Cassian prepared to reclaim the bond by marking the pulse at the side of her neck, her stomach did a violent somersault without warning.

"Ugh..."

Trista shoved Cassian back with all her might, doubled over, and dry-heaved so hard she almost tumbled off the poker table.

Cassian's face went pitch black as he reached out to steady her.

But before he could snap, Trista shoved his hands away and scrambled toward the bathroom.

Minutes later, Cassian knelt beside Trista, holding a wet cloth and a glass of water.

She was slumped over the toilet, her face pale and covered in a fine layer of cold sweat.

"Rinse your mouth," Cassian said, his voice stiff but laced with an anxiety he couldn't hide. "If you don't stop, I'm taking you to the pack's clinic for a full panel."

Trista rinsed her mouth and splashed cold water on her face.

"Just go," she said. "I'm fine now."

Cassian stood behind her, their eyes locking in the mirror.

"Do you really hate me that much now?" he whispered.

Hate him so much that a single touch from him made her body react with physical revulsion.

Trista's mind was a mess; she didn't say a word as she pushed him out the door.

As the door clicked shut, she collapsed against it, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor.

Her heat and her cycle were usually like clockwork—always at the end of the month.

It was only two or three days late, but she'd had fluctuations before.

Then she remembered: two days ago in the cafeteria, she'd felt a sudden wave of nausea too.

At the time, she'd written it off as a reaction to another Alpha's pheromones.

But this was the second time.

She realized how abnormal she'd been lately—unusually sleepy, her stamina bottoming out, even her colleagues mentioning her face looked fuller.

She'd assumed it was just "recovery weight" from the peace of Cassian being away.

Now, her healer instincts finally kicked in.

Even without experience in reproduction, she could guess what was happening.

Trista hugged her knees, her breathing becoming shallow and panicked.

If she was right, she needed to get a test at work first thing tomorrow.

Outside the bathroom door, Cassian was staring at the wood as if he could see through it.

Trista tried to piece together the timeline, but her brain felt like lead.

She drifted off into a deep, heavy sleep almost instantly.

In the study, Cassian answered the call. It was Humphrey.

"Alpha Cassian, something happened with Samantha."

Cassian's brow furrowed. "Get to the point."

"Someone trashed her rental. There's paint everywhere, the hallway smells like blood, and her car was destroyed," Humphrey reported.

"She's unstable. Her pheromones are crashing. She says she has something to tell you about her son."

Cassian hesitated for a split second, then spoke coldly. "Tell her I'm busy. Send a few guards to handle the cleanup. You're in charge."

When he returned to the bedroom, Trista was out cold.

Cassian crawled into the other side of the bed with extreme care, looping an arm around her over the blankets.

He rested his palm lightly over her stomach and pressed a ghost of a kiss to her temple.

The next morning, a scream shattered the quiet of the bedroom.

Trista woke up to see Cassian right next to her. She scrambled backward in a panic, nearly falling off the bed.

Cassian's reflexes were faster; he reached out and hauled her back in one smooth motion.

"What are you doing in my bed?!" Trista gasped, clutching the duvet and glaring at him.