The Mates of Monsters novel Chapter 17

David can't take it anymore, but he has no choice. Helena peeks her head into the hall and he steps back just in time. "Dessert is served," she informs us.

My head spins and twirls as we make our way back into the dining room. The floor seems to shift under my feet, and the heat that rose to my face and neck fails to cool. I take my place and stare down at the darling chocolate cake placed before me on a precious little plate. All I can think about is my dinner making its way back up my throat and splattering all over the pretty table and our noble guests.

"Are you alright?" Aurora asks discreetly.

I face her and plaster a smile on my face. "I'm fine—well, is it hot in here?"

She shakes her head. "Maybe you should lay down."

"Dinner is almost over. I-I'll just wait until everyone leaves."

I pick up my fork and aim it at the cake. My hand shakes and I suddenly put the utensil back down, not wanting anyone to see how worked up I am.

"Brigette?" David questions.

I look up and everyone's eyes are watching me. I'll have to go along with it now, won't I?

I turn to him and subtly shield my flushed face from the others. "I'm not feeling very well," I admit.

"Turn in for the night," he says. "Don't worry, I can take things from here."

Is it ridiculous to say that I don't want to leave him? I'd rather tough it out—nearly passing out in my cake—than lay alone in my bed upstairs. But I know what's best for appearances. I nod and scoot my chair out. "I apologize, Aurora. I'm afraid that I have to end the night early."

"It's alright. I just hope you feel better. Hopefully we can see each other again soon."

I carefully walk along the table, passing occupied chairs on my way to the staircase. Two women whisper to each other as I exit, their voices not quiet enough for my capable ears. "She's sick," one wife says to the other. "Pregnant already," the second comments back. I roll my eyes and bite my tongue. If I weren't about to collapse, I would say something witty under my breath.

Once I'm free to do as I please in the privacy of my room, I immediately shed my dress and kick off my heels. I wash my face of all the makeup and brush my hair. The ritual of undoing myself already eases my lightheadedness, but slipping on my pajamas is the final touch to my decompression. I didn't realize it downstairs, but I wasn't really breathing. They were shallow, unnerved breaths that did nothing but panic me further. All I can see is the image of David in my head—how he was so close to losing himself. I can only imagine what would have happened if Helena didn't interrupt. I know I would have regretted it to no end, but what I would give just to feel him touch me and hold me and, well, kiss me.

If I think about anything more I'll trip the alarm in his head.

Oh but those gossiping women. Their noisy theories don't bother me. But to think about being pregnant; it must be all I'm good for in their eyes. They must picture their Alpha and I together, young and fertile, unlike their own bodies. Everyone woman, young or old, dreams about being in my position, so they can gossip all they like. They can theorize about my swelling belly and Alpha-blood children. They can be jealous of my passionate love-making—

I'm yanked out of my head when someone knocks on the door. It's David; I can tell. I can almost hear the sirens.