“You’re Neva’s girl.” Not a question. She stepped aside, gesturing me into shadows that smelled of antiseptic and sage.
She led me through to the makeshift clinic without small talk, professionalism replacing pleasantries. The garage had been transformed with medical precision. White sheets hung from the ceiling, creating privacy screens. Shelves lined one wall, stocked with supplies I recognized from my mother’s healing work. The ultrasound machine in the corner looked ancient but functional, probably bought from medical surplus when newer models made it obsolete. But the screen glowed steady, and the control panel responded to her practiced touches.
“Strip from the waist up, gown’s on the table. I’ll be back in two minutes.” She left me alone with my thundering heartbeat and the reality of what I was about to learn.
The paper gown crinkled like an accusation as I changed. The examination table’s vinyl surface was cold against my back whenI lay down, staring at water stains on the ceiling that looked like clouds. Or ultrasound images. Or the shape of my future spreading in directions I couldn’t control.
Meredith returned with the quiet efficiency of someone who’d done this ten thousand times. Her hands were warm as she helped position me, adjusting the table’s angle with foot pedals that squeaked in protest. Everything in this makeshift clinic spoke of function over form, healing stripped to its essential elements.
“Fifteen weeks, you said?” Her voice carried no judgment, just clinical assessment.
“Give or take. I haven’t exactly been tracking carefully.” The admission burned with shame. What kind of omega didn’t know precisely how far along she was?
“Happens more than you’d think.” She squeezed gel onto my stomach, the cold shock making me flinch. “Women in hiding rarely have the luxury of regular cycles. Stress, displacement, trauma, they all affect our bodies’ rhythms.”
The first pass of the wand across my skin felt like a prophecy. The screen flickered to life, black and white static resolving into shapes that stole my breath. Meredith’s movements were gentle but efficient, decades of practice guiding her search. She pressed slightly harder, angling the wand, and suddenly the image crystallized.
Meredith started high on my abdomen, her touch steady as she guided the wand across the barely there curve. The screen flickered, and I watched her eyes scan with calmprofessionalism. “There it is,” she said softly, turning the monitor slightly toward me. “Strong heartbeat. Looks good.”
She adjusted the angle, moving lower, slower. Her brow furrowed, and then her lips parted with a quiet breath. Her voice dropped as if the room had shrunk around us.
“And... here’s another one. Tucked just behind. That explains it.”
Two heartbeats fluttered on the grainy screen like hummingbird wings. Two small forms curled together in perfect symmetry, already claiming space, already demanding recognition. The sound filled the small room, rapid and strong and undeniable. I had convinced myself I could manage this one heartbeat, just one life growing beneath my skin. One child I could learn to raise in hiding. One mistake to atone for. One legacy to carry.
But two. Two changed everything.
I blinked at the screen, leaning in closer as if the image might vanish. My breath caught. The gel on my belly felt suddenly cold, and the smells in the room felt thick. “Wait. What? Two?”
Meredith did not look up. Her attention stayed on the wand in her hand and the image on the screen. The tiny flickers of life danced steadily, one just behind the other.
“Yes, twins. Both appear healthy, developing normally.” Her voice was gentler now, though still matter-of-fact. She must have seen this before. But not like this. Not with me.
“No,” I said, my voice cracking around the word. “That can’t be right. It was one. Just one. I would’ve known. I only ever felt one.”
“Sometimes they shield each other in early development. It’s not uncommon. Your uterus is measuring larger than average. I suspected it, but this confirms everything.”
I stared harder at the screen, heart pounding, body frozen. The sound of the heartbeats seemed louder now, overlapping in a rhythm that didn’t make sense to me. “I can’t... how am I supposed to carry two?”
“Alpha bloodline?” she asked, her gaze finally meeting mine.
I nodded, feeling the weight of the truth settle deeper inside me. She sighed, not out of frustration, but with the gravity of someone who knew what that meant.
“I know you were not ready for this, but you will be alright. It is not uncommon for twins in such cases. It is in our blood, to ensure our lineage continues to grow. And with omegas being so rare, your body naturally is more fertile than other wolves.”
Two of his children. Not one. Two echoes of him growing in my body, imprinting themselves on my every breath and heartbeat. Even after rejection. Even after I ran. Even in exile.
Two souls who bore his blood. Two children who would always be part of him. Of me. Of everything we once were.
Meredith turned back to the screen, adjusting her grip on the wand. Her voice returned to its clinical cadence, calling out medical terms like lifelines. Crown-rump length. Fluid measurements. Placental mapping. Numbers and ratios meant to soothe me.
But they didn’t. They meant nothing. Not when my world had tilted sideways.
Then she went still. Her hand paused mid-scan, and I felt her breath catch in her chest. Her brows lifted and her pupils dilated just slightly.
“What? What is it? Tell me,” I whispered.
Her eyes flicked to mine. Her tone shifted to something reverent. “These aren’t just twins. The energy signature is stronger than anything I’ve scanned before.”
