Epilogue
Nine months later
I can’t deny that I’ve dreaded this day.
Part of it is just that I’ve so enjoyed being pregnant. My body seems to know exactly how to respond. Over and over, I’ve reminded myself that this is what I was built for. It’s not surprising that it’s easy for me, physically, that it feels so right and natural. It’s as much a part of who I am as shifting itself. How can I be surprised that carrying a litter comes as easily to me as breathing?
And yet, as the weeks turned into months and I got bigger and bigger, to the point where I couldn’t even stand or walk without help, I was startled to find that I never viewed my condition as a hardship. I’ve loved having my little cubs inside, and there’s a part of me that will miss them achingly when this is over, even though I know they’ll never be far from me.
But the end of my pregnancy isn’t the only thing I’ve been dreading. There’s also the fear of giving birth here, in our cave, with no doctors present and no medical intervention possible. It’s what I want, of course—giving birth to a whole litter, with three anxious fathers to be pacing around the waiting room, would raise too many eyebrows. This way, my men can all be at my side, ready to greet their new children as they come. But if we change our minds, or if something goes wrong, there will be nothing we can do about it. It’s not like Jack can throw me on the back of his motorcycle and ride me into town mid-labor. Nor can we call a taxi to pick us up in the middle of the woods. We’re committed to seeing our course of action through to the end, whatever the consequences may be.
I’ve been concerned about my ability to carry the babies to term, but when I raised the issue with Jack, he laughed it off. “Of course, you’ll go the full nine months,” he assured me. “You’re an omega, after all. A normal woman couldn’t handle it, but you’re built for this. Those cubs aren’t coming out until they’re good and ready.”
As it turns out, he’s right.
I go into labor early one afternoon, when the sun is still shining through the clouds outside our den. Luka is the only one home when it happens—Jack and Ryan are both out hunting in preparation for a coming storm—and he springs into action, helping me settle into my nest and bunching up folded skins behind my head to serve as pillows.
“I should go,” he says, moving toward the door, hesitant. “I should go out and find the others, right?”
“No!” I gasp. I’m suddenly terrified—this is already painful, and I suspect it’s only going to get worse—and I don’t want to be left alone. “You can’t leave me, Luka, you have to stay. Promise you won’t go anywhere.” I’m struck by the fact that there’s no way I could move right now. If he does decide to leave, I won’t be able to chase after him. I’d be stuck here, alone and helpless. The idea scares me more than anything that’s happened to me so far. “Don’t go.”
“Okay, okay.” I can tell it upsets him to see me so frightened. He lies down next to me on the floor of the den and takes both my hands in his. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here, Cami.”
We’re still like this, side by side on the floor, me fighting through the agony of each contraction and Luka watching helplessly and wiping my sweat-soaked hair from my face, when Jack returns. He takes in the scene and immediately understands what’s going on. He’s at my side in a flash, kneeling at my feet, speaking to me in a low and steady voice. “Cami, do you remember the breathing exercises we did?”
I nod, my eyes squeezed closed. Jack and I sat together on a few separate occasions and he coached me on how to breathe when I was in labor. But how does he expect me to do that now? I can’t even think straight.
His hands rub up and down my thighs. “You’re doing great,” he says quietly. “Just keep going. You’re doing a great job.”
At some point, the storm begins. I don’t know if it’s before or after Ryan returns. I’m in a haze of pain for a while, just trying to live through each second, focusing on the voices around me in turn, the gentle hands on my hot skin. At some point, I become aware of lips pressing into my collarbone and I open my eyes to see Ryan there, his eyes warm and worried.
“You’re all right,” he whispers. “Nothing’s wrong.”
Outside, the thunder rumbles, and I feel like it’s shaking my bones.
“Okay, Cami,” Jack says, his voice suddenly businesslike. “It’s time.”
And somehow, physically, intuitively, I know exactly what to do. A moment later, my work is rewarded by a high, piercing cry. Jack passes the baby into Luka’s arms and Luka looks down in wonder. “It’s a girl.”
I don’t have time to marvel at that. I want to take my new baby girl from Luka and hold her, admire her, give her a name and tell her how loved she is. But my work isn’t over. Jack’s voice draws me back to the business at hand.
Five more times, the process is repeated. Five more babies. Five more cubs to join the clan. By the time it’s all over, I’m gasping, completely worn out, but high on my own achievement, and each of my bears is cradling two new babies in his arms. Six babies...I can’t believe I carried them all. I can’t believe I gave birth to them all. I’ve never been so proud of myself in all my life.
Exhausted and more content than I’ve ever been, I allow my eyes to close and the sounds of my children to wash over me.
***
BY THE TIME I WAKEup, the men have cleaned the babies up and dressed them in the tiny onesies we bought in preparation for their arrival. Now that Jack has a job at the nearby auto shop, it’s easy to pay for the few things we can’t get for ourselves. As I gain consciousness, the first thing I’m aware of is the lightness of my own body. It feels wrong after so many months pregnant, and it jolts me awake before I can fully remember what happened and why it’s okay that my body is no longer full.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” says an amused voice, and I look up. Ryan is sitting behind me, cradling my head in his lap.
“Have I been out long?” I mumble.
“Only about an hour. We thought you deserved the rest.”
“The babies?”
“They’re perfect, Cami. Absolutely perfect.”
