The Mates of Monsters

Chapter 47

Part 3

"Good morning, dear. How was your sleep?"

"It's was fine," I tell Helena as I enter the kitchen, clad in a robe and shrugging off the mental residue of lovemaking. "Did David get something to eat before he left?"

"He did," she assures me. "And I've got some stuff for you as well; the things we talked about yesterday."

Yesterday I told Helena that I may be pregnant soon. I couldn't help myself, with all that's been happening, it wouldn't be a complete surprise. I sit at the counter island as she displays some pregnancy-related goods in front of me.

"I've got the teas, the salve, and I even found the necklace I told you about." She holds up a dainty metal chain with a fertility goddess charm in its center. "Now you be careful with teas—only drink what I give you. Not everything is safe for the baby."

"There isn't necessarily a baby, Helena. I said there might be."

She comes around the counter and secures the necklace around my neck. I rub the pendant between my fingertips; the upper body of a woman whose arms hold her big, round belly. Her stomach is carved with some old symbol. "Only take this off when you sleep," she instructs, ignoring my previous comment.

"Did you say anything to David this morning?"

"You asked me not to, so I didn't," she says and begins preparing what I can only deem to be a nutritiously balanced breakfast. "But I don't know why he wouldn't want to talk about it. I'm sure he's excited."

I pick up the jar of salve and twist the lid open, sniffing its potent herbal scent. "I would say he's more nervous than excited. You know how he is. He thinks being pregnant will drain my life force and mummify me."

Our situation has been somewhat complicated ever since we've taken our bond to the next level.

Every night, every morning—even during the day he comes home and throws out some issue we need to discuss so I can excuse myself from Helena or Jeremy. Upstairs, downstairs. Inside, outside. We're no better than animals, losing ourselves to the beasts within and feeding the flame of the bond. It's like the bond tortures us for being apart—shows us just how satisfying mating is, how much better it feels to be entwined with each other, no boundaries. And these primal urges have rejected the precautions more than David would like.

And David is starting to worry. Like those addicted to other things, there will be consequences.

He monitors me; how I'm feeling, how I'm eating, asking about my cycle. I have nothing to tell him other than the fact that I'm fine. Everything feels normal other than the symptoms of being in constant heat.

I've become so tuned in on his body that the mere smell of him triggers me.

"Once he sees how well you do, he'll begin to relax."

"With all of this stuff, how could I possibly do badly," I say and secure the lid back onto the thick, homemade mixture. "But, as I said, there is no definite baby. There's a maybe baby."

"A maybe baby is good enough for me."

"I know that David's mother had a difficult time getting pregnant. I could be the same way; no one knows. I could have a maybe baby for years, so right now I'll just wait for my time of the month, and if it comes it comes, and if it doesn't, it doesn't. No pressure. No expectations."