Hope

Morning sickness hits me like a punch to the stomach the moment I sit up. The room tilts, my gut twisting, and I slap a hand over my mouth as a wave of heat rolls through me.

Not again.

My wolf whines softly inside me—her voice softer these days but laced with protective instinct.

We must stay steady.

“Easy for you to say,” I mutter under my breath.

It’s been days of this—waking up nauseous, dizzy, exhausted—and by now I’m no longer pretending it’s anything but what it is. Those dreams of Keith… the ones where I saw him, felt him, heard him as if he were speaking into...