Scion (Norseton Wolves Book 4) by Holley Trent Page A

read the sheepishness on his expression. She would have been more shocked at his relative shyness if she weren’t feeling so damned sheepish herself.
    He knows.
    She pulled the little bottles closer and wrapped her fingers around them. They were more valuable per ounce than gold, and the fact he’d brought them to her meant he knew about his imminent fatherhood.
    He’s not upset?
    He cleared his throat. “Uh—Mom pulled those out of today’s FedEx delivery. You have to let the doctor know they have to be stored in a refrigerator. He probably hasn’t administered it before.”
    “ She . I have a midwife. And it came fast. I didn’t know your mother would be able to get it so quickly. There’s usually a waitlist for it. Moon shifter packs have to stockpile it.”
    “I guess she was motivated. She’s been waiting a long time for grandkids.” His voice was quiet, tone even.
    Careful. He’s being careful. If a man from her pack had used that soft voice on her, she’d know he was trying to keep his temper in check. She wasn’t reading aggression off him, though. His energy was more or less neutral, almost artificially so.
    She drew in a long breath and let his scent—the one that pervaded her skin and their entire freakin’ house, even when he wasn’t there—hit the back of her nose. Tea. She put her hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle. He’d been drinking his mother’s tea.
    “She’s probably not going to give you five feet of space when the time comes. Sorry in advance.”
    “No, no. I appreciate it.” Suddenly, Ashley wished she had a cloak like Ótama’s to fidget with as she sat chatting. She needed some excuse to look away from Vic’s intense gaze. Anything beyond the fact that she didn’t know what to do with him, which was silly. In wolf culture, as a mate, she wasn’t supposed to have a say, but that had never felt right to her. Sometimes, men needed to be called out on their bullshit. She was certain that was why Adam was a good alpha—because he had a good wife, and he let her be a good wife.
    I could be a good wife.
    The question remained if Vic would let Ashley be one. She wanted to be.
    Closing her left fingers around the vial, she pushed back from the table and then fetched her purse from the nearby sideboard. “Um—if I’m lucky, I could get the midwife to jab me without an appointment.”
    Vic followed her into the hall, down the stairs, and out of the atrium door. He said nothing as she walked briskly toward the town square, just kept a respectful distance behind her. It was still close enough to keep the hairs on the back of her neck dancing.
    Say something. Don’t be like Ma, holding your tongue and acting like you don’t know shit. She cringed, and paused at the crosswalk to wait for the light to change. Glancing back over her shoulder, she dove right in. “Like I said, I’m going to see if I can get an injection today. This stuff needs to build up. I don’t want to get too close to the next full moon without it being at its peak effectiveness. Last week was scary.”
    He furrowed his brow. “How far along are you? I mean, I can guess, but pregnancy math doesn’t make sense to me.”
    The light turned, and she stepped into the street. “Six weeks, almost seven.”
    “Which means you’re due, when?”
    “I have no idea.”
    “Right. Right. You can’t tell if you’re going to gestate like a human or like a wolf.”
    “Or some average of the two. Last ultrasound said I looked like twelve or thirteen weeks, so who knows what’s going to happen.”
    “When were you going to tell me? Did you think I wouldn’t care?”
    She stifled a groan. She had thought that. “In my old pack, a wolf wouldn’t care unless it were a boy.”
    And then that wolf would stop caring about that boy altogether if he decided his son was a threat to his place in the pack. She couldn’t wrap her mind around anyone willingly expelling a much-wanted son to preserve his own stature.