Falling For The Demon Wolf-Chapter 69: With Child

I stayed by the fire as the sun inched higher, chasing away the early chill, but nothing could warm the coil of unease twisting tighter in my belly.

I was still sitting there, mind spinning, when Maelra returned—this time with another woman trailing behind her. She was older, with silver threaded through her dark braid, and skin like aged parchment wrapped around sharp eyes. A leather satchel swung from her shoulder.

"Violet," Maelra said in a low voice. "This is Ilyra. She’s our healer."

I stood slowly, tension spiking in my chest. "That’s not necessary. I don’t even know for sure if—"

Maelra cut me off with a look. "Better to know than to wonder. Ilyra’s discreet."

The healer gave me a small, reassuring nod. "I won’t pry. But if you’ve been sick more than once, and you’ve missed your bleeding... we can find out."

I hesitated, fingers brushing the pendant still hidden under my cloak. Garrick’s words echoed in the back of my mind.

"You may need your mate sooner than you expect."

And what if this was why?

I finally gave a faint nod. "Alright."

They led me into one of the smaller, warmer tents near the healer’s own space. It smelled of dried herbs, crushed bark, and something faintly sweet. Ilyra asked gentle questions as she worked—about my nausea, my sleep, my scent sensitivity, the last time I’d felt a shift in my cycle.

She didn’t press when I couldn’t meet her eyes while answering.

After what felt like an eternity of hushed movements and herbal tinctures, Ilyra sat back on her heels and gave Maelra a look that said everything before she spoke a word.

Maelra’s arms folded across her chest, but her jaw tensed.

Ilyra turned to me, her voice even. "You’re carrying."

The world narrowed.

I blinked at her, at Maelra, then down at my own hands. They didn’t feel like mine. The tent spun, just slightly.

"You’re still early," Ilyra continued, carefully. "A moon and a half along, maybe less. But the signs are clear."

My mouth went dry. "So it’s real."

"It is."

I pressed a hand to my stomach, but there was nothing to feel. No flutter, no kick—just a quiet heaviness that suddenly felt sacred and terrifying all at once.

Maelra exhaled through her nose, then placed a hand on my shoulder—not light, not soft, but firm.

"You’re not alone," she said.

I nodded slowly, trying to make my breathing match the steady rhythm of the wind beyond the tent. In, out. In, out. Like if I could just keep that going, the ground wouldn’t tilt under me.

"I need some time," I whispered.

"Take it," Maelra said. "But don’t wait too long. That tether you carry—that bond—he’ll feel it soon, if he hasn’t already."

I stayed quiet for a long time after Ilyra confirmed it.

Pregnant.

The word echoed through me like a distant bell, growing louder the more I tried to push it down. I couldn’t deny it anymore—not the nausea, not the tenderness, not the strange way my senses had sharpened and dulled at once.

I wasn’t just carrying the weight of Liora’s bloodline now... I was carrying something more.

Someone more.

Zain’s child.

The thought made my breath hitch, and before I could stop myself, I pressed both hands to my lower stomach.

I hadn’t run from him. He’d let me go.

He’d held my face in his hands the night I left, his voice raw with something close to reverence. "Find what you need, Violet. And when you’re ready, come back to me."

But if he knew now... if he felt this...

He would come.

Not in patience. Not with diplomacy.

Zain would tear the trees apart looking for me. He’d rip through every barrier the rogues had built just to reach me. And if he thought—for even a second—that I’d been harmed, or that I was kept from him?

He’d set the forest on fire to get me back.

I couldn’t let that happen. Not yet. Not until I knew what I was meant to do with this life forming inside me—and the legacy Garrick believed I carried.

I looked up sharply, turning to Ilyra. "Can you mask it?"

The healer blinked. "Your scent?"

"Yes," I said. "The pregnancy. The bond. Whatever part of me he might feel through it. I need to stay hidden—just for now."

Maelra narrowed her eyes. "You think he’ll come after you?"

"No," I said, softer this time. "He won’t come after me. He’ll come for me. Because he cares. Because the bond... it’s still there. I can feel it too, like a thread stretching between us. But if he senses this"—I pressed a hand to my abdomen again—"he’ll come no matter the cost. And if he thinks I’m not safe here, he won’t ask questions. He’ll act."

Ilyra studied me carefully, then gave a slow nod. "There’s a way. Not permanent, but strong enough to dull the trail. It won’t break the bond, but it will mute it. He’ll feel distance. Fog. Nothing clear."

"How long would it last?"

"Three, maybe four weeks if the herbs are strong."

"Then do it," I said. "Please."

Ilyra moved to her shelves without another word. Maelra didn’t look away.

"You trust him," she said. "But you’re still hiding."

"I trust him," I said quietly. "But I don’t trust fate. Not yet. There’s too much I don’t know."

And I couldn’t risk him arriving before I figured out what kind of mother—what kind of woman—I was about to become.

Maelra finally gave a slow, short nod. "Then we keep your secret. For now."

I closed my eyes, breathing deeply as the tent filled with the bitter scent of crushed herbs and wood ash. Somewhere, deep in the forest, I knew the bond would flicker—but not break.

Zain would feel me slipping further away.

But it was only for a while.

Just until I understood who I was becoming—before I became his again

Zain.

My mate.

If what Garrick said was true... if the bond hadn’t snapped, then Zain would feel this—me—through it. The distance, the sickness, the shift.

And if he hadn’t already come for me?

He would soon. And I needed to delay that as much as I can

I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of the pendant and the even heavier truth nestled just beneath my ribs.

Whatever peace I’d found in this camp... it wasn’t going to last much longer.

I barely slept that night.

The herbs Ilyra gave me dulled the edge of the bond, just like she said they would. But I still felt it—like a shadow pressed against the edge of my awareness, pulsing faintly in time with my heartbeat. Distant. Muted.

But still there.

I lay curled beneath the worn furs, one hand resting over my stomach, listening to the wind outside the tent flap. Every rustle of leaves made me flinch. Every unfamiliar howl in the distance felt like a harbinger.

Was it him?

Was he already on his way?

The nausea came again just before dawn—sharp and relentless. I stumbled out of the tent, barely making it past the flap before I doubled over and vomited into the dead ferns.

It left me shaking, breathless, cold.

Behind me, soft footsteps approached.

"Again?" Maelra’s voice was quieter than usual.

I nodded, wiping my mouth on my sleeve. "Third time since yesterday."

She didn’t speak, just handed me a damp cloth she must have brought with her. I pressed it to my lips, forcing myself upright even though the ground still tilted under my feet.

"Ilyra said it might get worse before it settles," I murmured. "I guess she was right."

Maelra gave a grunt of acknowledgment. "You’re strong. But strength doesn’t mean doing this alone."

I didn’t reply. I didn’t have the words. Because she was right—about everything—and yet, I couldn’t bring myself to share this burden. Not even with her.

Not yet.

Back inside the tent, I collapsed onto the furs again, my body drained. Maelra sat by the fire, stirring something thick and dark in a clay bowl.

"She’ll want to see you again today," she said without looking at me. "Ilyra. To check your temperature and make sure the tonic isn’t masking something worse."

I nodded, eyes slipping shut.

"Do you want to tell the others?" she asked, her tone cautious. "Eska, Garrick?"

I opened my eyes again. "Not yet. I want to be sure. I need more time."

Maelra didn’t argue. She just added another log to the fire and said, "Then we keep your secret. A little longer."

The rest of the day blurred into fits of sleep and soft footsteps outside the tent. Ilyra came and went, offering mild tinctures and earthy tea, her face unreadable but kind. She never once asked about Zain.

But I knew the question was there, hovering in every glance:

When will you call him?

When I stepped outside that night, the sky was painted in deep violet and bruised blue. Stars stretched across the heavens like silver scars. I breathed in the cool air, one hand resting just below my ribs.

I didn’t know how long I had.

The herbs would hold Zain off for a few more weeks at most.

But if he pushed through them...

If the bond proved stronger than Ilyra’s magic...

Then the camp would see what happened when an Alpha was denied his mate and his child.

And if Garrick was right—if my blood held more than I’d ever known—then this child was more than just Zain’s.

It was Moonborn.

Sacred.

And in danger.

I lowered my hand, fingers curling into the fabric of my cloak.

I had to figure out what I was... what we were... before Zain arrived. Because when he did, there would be no more hiding.

And no more time left for doubt.