Page 147 of The Reluctant Alpha

"Is this normal?" Bayer asked Simeon, his voice strained. "This fast?"

"Bear cubs tend to come quick once they start," Simeon replied. "My mom always said they were impatient. Like their fathers."

"Excuse me," I gasped between contractions, "can we not insult my mate while I'm pushing a second child out of my—FUCK."

The contraction hit with a vengeance, and I grabbed Bayer's hand so hard I heard something pop. He didn't flinch. Didn't even blink.

"Push," Simeon said.

I pushed. I pushed until spots danced in my vision and every muscle in my body trembled with effort. I pushed until I was sure I had nothing left, and then I pushed again because there was a baby inside me who needed to be outside me, and I was the only one who could make that happen.

"Crowning—there we go—one more, Danny—"

I screamed. Actually, genuinely screamed, the sound tearing out of me raw and animalistic, and then the second rush of release, and another cry filled the room—higher-pitched than the first, sharper, more insistent.

"Girl," Simeon said, and his voice cracked on the word. "It's your girl."

I was sobbing before she even reached my chest. She was smaller than her brother—so small that fear lanced through me like a blade—but she was moving, her tiny limbs jerking in outraged protest, her mouth open in a wail that somehow already sounded bossy.

"She's breathing well," Esther assured me, checking the baby with swift, competent hands. "Small but strong. She's perfect, Danny."

"Of course she's perfect," I managed through my tears. "Look at her parents."

Bayer laughed—a wet, broken, beautiful laugh that shook his whole body. He pressed his lips to my sweaty hair and just breathed me in, one hand hovering over our daughter like he was afraid to touch her, afraid she'd shatter.

His hand trembled as he stroked one finger down her cheek, and she turned her face toward him—toward his warmth, his scent—and something in Bayer's expression changed fundamentally. I watched the last wall inside him crumble, the one he'd built against his father's cruelty, against years of being told he was weak, worthless, not enough. It dissolved like smoke in the presence of this tiny, furious girl who already had him wrapped around her finger.

"One more," Simeon reminded us gently, and reality crashed back in. Right. Three. There were three.

Esther took the baby girl, wrapping her carefully and placing her in the makeshift bassinet beside her brother, who had stopped screaming and was now making soft snuffling sounds that were unreasonably adorable.

I was exhausted, a bone-deep, soul-tired exhaustion that went beyond physical. My body felt hollowed out, my muscles were liquid, and the idea of pushing again seemed as feasible as climbing Everest in flip-flops.

"I can't," I whispered, and I hated myself for saying it. "Bayer, I can't. I'm—"

"You can." His voice was right there, steady as bedrock. "You've already done the impossible twice. One more. Just one more, and we're done."

"Easy for you to say," I panted.

"Danny, you are the strongest person I have ever known. You carried three bear cubs for five months. You survived a silver-skin. You survived me." A ghost of a smile. "One more push, baby. Then I'll carry you for the rest of our lives."

"That's—" I gasped as another contraction began building, slower this time, heavier. "That's incredibly cheesy, and I'm going to hold you to every word of it."

The front door banged open somewhere in the distance, and I heard Dr. Coughran's voice—breathless, urgent—calling out as he barreled through the house. He appeared in the doorway just as the contraction peaked, his medical bag in one hand and his coat half-off, looking like he'd sprinted the last mile.

"How many?" he demanded, already pulling on gloves.

"Two down, one to go," Simeon reported without looking up. "Both healthy. Strong cries, good color. This one's taking his time."

Dr. Coughran moved to Simeon's side, and the two of them exchanged a rapid assessment that I couldn't follow through the haze of pain. I caught fragments—posterior position, cord's clear, good descent—and then Coughran's weathered face appeared above me.

"Danny, this baby's turned a bit awkwardly. Nothing dangerous, but it means you'll need to work harder on this one. Can you do that for me?"

"Do I have a choice?" I asked.

"Not really, no."

"Then stop asking stupid questions and tell me when to push."