Between contractions, Damon pressed kisses to my temple, murmuring encouragement and promises. The mate bond, restored during these months of healing, pulsed with shared sensation. He felt echoes of my pain, and I felt his desperate love wrapping around me like armor.
“You’re doing amazing. So strong. So perfect.” His voice cracked with emotion as another wave built.
“It hurts. God, Damon, it hurts.” The admission came through gritted teeth as my body seized with fresh agony.
“I know, baby. I’m here. I’ve got you.” His free hand smoothed sweat-soaked hair from my forehead, touch gentle despite the violence of what was happening.
“The first one’s crowning. You’re almost there.” Dr. Mira’s professional calm couldn’t quite hide her excitement. History was being made in this room.
“I can’t... I can’t do this.” The words escaped as the pressure became unbearable, every nerve screaming.
But even as I said it, I knew it was a lie. I’d do anything for these babies who’d already survived so much. My parent’s exile, months of hiding, Lucinda’s poison, the stress of pack politics. They’d endured it all, growing stronger despite every obstacle. Now it was my turn to be strong for them.
The next contraction built like a tidal wave. I bore down with everything I had, Damon’s strength flowing through our bond to supplement mine. The world narrowed to this moment, this push, this desperate need to bring our son safely into the world.
“That’s it! Keep going!” Dr. Mira’s encouragement barely penetrated the roar in my ears.
Then, between one heartbeat and the next, pressure became relief. A cry split the air, powerful and demanding. Our sonannounced his arrival with all the authority of an alpha heir, tiny lungs producing a sound that seemed to shake the walls.
“It’s a boy!” Dr. Mira lifted him for us to see. Dark hair plastered to his tiny head, face scrunched in indignation at the cold world. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
Damon made a sound I’d never heard from him before, somewhere between sob and laugh. His hands shook as Dr. Mira guided him through cutting the cord. Then our son was placed on my chest, still crying but already seeking comfort. His weight felt like completion, like everything I’d endured had led to this moment.
“Hello, little warrior,” I whispered, touching his impossibly small fingers. They wrapped around mine with surprising strength.
But my body was already tensing again. The second twin demanded attention, unwilling to be overshadowed by their sibling.
The first twin arrived with a cry that shook the windows. Our son, already showing his alpha nature. Damon cut the cord with shaking hands, tears streaming down his face as he held his heir for the first time. But there was no time to rest. The second twin was coming fast, too fast.
Dr. Mira’s calm cracked as complications arose. The baby was turned wrong, each contraction causing dangerous stress. I heard terms like ‘emergency intervention’ and ‘critical positioning’ through a haze of pain. Damon had to give our son to a nurse, returning to my side as I fought to bring our secondchild into the world. His strength flowed through our bond, lending me power when mine failed.
I bore down with everything left in me, screaming through the agony, refusing to let our baby struggle alone.
“The baby’s breech. We need to act fast.” Dr. Mira’s hands moved with practiced urgency, but I caught the flash of worry.
“Do whatever it takes. Save them both.” Damon’s alpha command cut through the medical chatter.
“Rhea, I need you to push harder than you’ve ever pushed.” Dr. Mira positioned herself, ready for whatever came next.
My mother leaned down pressing a kiss to my cheek, “You have survived so much darling, you can do this, my child.”
The pain that followed defied description. Our second child was fighting the position, the cord, the very process of birth. I could feel the baby’s distress through some primal connection that transcended the physical. This little one needed me to be stronger than biology designed me to be.
“I can see the baby. One more push, baby. One more.” Damon’s voice broke completely now, raw with fear and hope.
“AHHHHH!” The scream tore from somewhere deep and primal as I gave everything. Blood, sweat, tears, and sheer determination to bring this child safely through.
Pressure, tearing, the sensation of something giving way. Then blessed release as the baby slipped free. But no cry followed. The room went silent except for my ragged breathing.
“Come on, little one,” Dr. Mira muttered, working with swift efficiency.
Longest seconds of my life. Damon’s hand crushed mine as we waited, both of us holding our breath. Our son had gone quiet on my chest, as if he too waited for his sibling.
Then, finally, a sound. Not the powerful roar of the brother but a delicate mewl that was perfect in its own way. Our second child announced their presence softly but determinedly.
Our daughter entered the world silent, too silent. Dr. Mira worked frantically while I reached for her, desperate to hold her. Then, a cry. Softer than her brother’s but perfect. Damon collapsed beside the bed, overwhelmed as nurses placed both babies on my chest. They were small but strong, already nuzzling for comfort.
Our son had Damon’s dark hair, our daughter my eyes. Both carried alpha markers despite their omega mother. A miracle that shouldn’t exist but did. Damon wrapped his arms around all of us, creating a cocoon of safety and love. The months of pain faded as I looked at what we created. These children who almost never were, who survived against every odd, who represented hope for a different future. The mate bond hummed with completion, finally whole after so much breaking.
