The Professor's Mate Clause novel Chapter 128

Chapter 128

ADRIAN’S POV

The continental gathering speech goes better than I dared hope.

Freya stands before two hundred Alphas, visibly pregnant, undeniably powerful, and delivers a presentation that’s equal parts personal testimony and practical demonstration of why equal bonds work. She doesn’t shy away from the difficulties, doesn’t pretend the journey was easy. She simply tells the truth, and the truth is compelling.

By the time she finishes, half the room is nodding in agreement and the other half looks thoughtful rather than hostile. Not a complete victory, but a significant shift from where we started.

The gathering lasts three days, filled with formal sessions, private meetings, and careful political navigation. By the end, we’ve secured agreements with fifteen new allied packs, opened discussions with a dozen more, and only made enemies of the most extreme traditionalists who were never going to be swayed anyway.

When we finally return home, exhausted but triumphant, the pack greets us with celebration.

Freya handles it all with grace, accepting congratulations and answering questions until I see the fatigue creeping in, the way her hand keeps finding her lower back, the slight wince when she shifts weight.

“Alright, everyone,” I announce, wrapping a protective arm around her. “Luna Freya needs rest. We’ll continue the celebrations tomorrow.”

The pack disperses without argument, understanding in their expressions. Our baby is pack baby, after all. Everyone invested in its safe arrival.

Once we’re alone in our quarters, Freya collapses onto the couch with a groan.

“My feet are killing me,” she mutters.

“Let me.” I kneel before her, removing her shoes and taking one swollen foot in my hands. She sighs in relief as I start massaging, working out the tension.

“That’s amazing. Don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning to.” I work methodically, watching her gradually relax. “You were incredible today. Did you see Alpha Chen’s face during the Q&A? I thought he was going to start taking notes.

She smiles tiredly. “We did good, didn’t we?”

“We did great. You did great.” I switch to her other foot. “Now you’re going to rest. Doctor’s orders.

“Dr. Chen didn’t say that.”

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“I’m saying it. As your mate. Your equal. And someone who watched you push yourself for three straight days.” I meet her eyes. “Rest, Freya. Let the pack handle things for a while. Let me handle things.”

For once, she doesn’t argue. “Okay. But just for a few days.”

Those few days stretch into two weeks.

Not because Freya is incapable, but because at twenty-six weeks pregnant, her body finally demands the rest she’s been putting off. She’s tired more easily, needs more sleep, and develops a sudden, intense nesting instinct that transforms our quarters.

I come home one afternoon to find her reorganizing our bedroom for the third time in a week

“The crib should be closer to our bed,” she’s muttering, trying to push the furniture herself despite her growing belly.

“Stop.” I rush to her side, gently pulling her away from the crib. “What are you doing?”

“Nesting. The baby needs everything to be perfect. The crib needs to be at the right angle so we can reach them easily but not so close that we’ll wake them with every movement and the changing table needs better lighting and we need more storage for baby clothes and-”

“Freya. Breathe.” I guide her to sit. “The nursery is perfect. Everything is ready.”

“It’s not ready. Nothing’s ready. What if the baby comes early and nothing’s in the right place and I can’t find what I need and-”

The anxiety pouring through the bond is overwhelming, primal, nothing to do with logic and everything to do with instinct.

Nesting. She’s nesting.

“Okay,” I say gently. “Tell me what you need. What would make you feel better?”

She looks around the room, tears gathering. “I don’t know. I just know it’s not right yet.”

Over the next few days, I learn that “not right” applies to everything.

The nursery gets reorganized daily. Baby clothes are washed, folded, and reorganized by size, then by color, then by type. Every surface in our quarters gets cleaned compulsively. Freya develops strong opinions about things she never cared about before-the exact temperature the room should be, which blankets are acceptable, how the curtains should hang.

It would be funny if she wasn’t so genuinely distressed by it all.

Clara, Kelvin, and Emma pitch in without being asked. Clara helps with the endless reorganizing, offering opinions when Freya needs validation. Kelvin builds additional storage shelves exactly to Freya’s specifications, rebuilding them twice when she changes her mind. Emma coordinates with pack members who want to contribute, managing the influx of baby gifts and well-wishes so Freya doesn’t get overwhelmed.

“This is normal, right?” I ask Dr. Chen during one of Freya’s check-ups. “The nesting instinct?”

“Completely normal,” he assures me. “Especially for Alpha females. The instinct to create a perfect, safe

space for the baby is primal. It’ll ease up as she gets closer to delivery.”

“How much closer?”

“Hard to say. Every pregnancy is different.” He examines Freya’s chart. “But everything looks healthy Baby is growing well, Luna Freya is strong. Just let her nest. It’s good for her.”

At twenty-eight weeks, we have a scare.

Freya wakes me in the middle of the night, her hand gripping mine tightly.

“Something’s wrong,” she whispers.

I’m instantly alert. “What kind of wrong?”

“I don’t know. I just feel… off. Wrong. Different.” Her other hand presses against her stomach. “The baby’s not moving as much.”

We’re in Dr. Chen’s office within fifteen minutes.

He runs tests, does an ultrasound, checks vitals while I hold Freya’s hand and try not to let my terror show through the bond. She needs me steady, not panicking.

“Braxton Hicks contractions,” Dr. Chen finally announces. “Practice contractions. Your body preparing for eventual labor. Completely normal, but they can feel concerning.”

The relief is staggering.

“So the baby’s okay?” Freya asks, voice small.

“Baby’s perfect. Heart rate excellent, movement normal. You’re both fine.” He smiles kindly. “This is your first pregnancy. Every new sensation is going to be scary. Don’t hesitate to call me, day or night. I’d rather check a hundred false alarms than miss something real.”

After that, Freya becomes hypervigilant about every twinge, every change. I don’t blame her. The threats against her, against the baby, have made both of us paranoid about anything that could indicate danger.

At thirty weeks, the nursery is finally deemed acceptable.

I stand in the doorway watching Freya make one final adjustment to the mobile hanging over the crib, turning it slightly so it catches the light differently.

“There,” she says, satisfied. “Perfect.”

The room is beautiful. Soft grays and whites, natural wood furniture, carefully curated decorations that are both aesthetically pleasing and functional. Every item has been chosen with care, washed and prepared and positioned exactly where it needs to be.

“You did an amazing job,” I tell her.

She turns, one hand supporting her lower back, the other resting on her prominent belly. At thirty weeks,

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there’s no hiding the pregnancy. She looks exactly like what she is: a woman growing life, powerful and vulnerable in equal measure.

“We did an amazing job,” she corrects. “You built half of this furniture.”

“Under your very specific direction.”

“Which you followed perfectly.” She crosses to me, or waddles more accurately, the pregnancy affecting her balance. “Thank you. For being patient. For helping. For not telling me I was being crazy”

“You weren’t being crazy. You were being a mom.” I rest my hands on her stomach, feeling our child shift inside. “Getting everything ready for our baby. Making sure they have the safest, most comfortable space possible. That’s not crazy. That’s love.”

She rises on her toes to kiss me, awkward with her belly between us but sweet nonetheless.

“Ten more weeks,” she whispers against my lips.

“Ten more weeks,” I agree. “Then we meet them.” 1

The anticipation is overwhelming. In ten weeks, everything changes again. We become parents. Our child enters the world. The future we’ve been building becomes present tense.

I’m terrified.

I’m excited.

I’m ready.

Mostly ready.

We’re going to make mistakes, I know that. Going to have moments of panic and confusion and wondering what the hell we’re doing. But we’ll figure it out together, the way we figure out everything.

As equals.

As mates.

As parents who love their child fiercely and unconditionally, regardless of what or who they turn out to

That night, after Freya falls asleep, I sit in the nursery alone.

The crib waits, empty but ready. The changing table is stocked with diapers and wipes and tiny clothes folded with care. The rocking chair sits by the window, positioned perfectly for late-night feedings and soothing.

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