Sunlight flooded through the kitchen windows as I sat at my mother’s huge wooden table, attempting to eat a breakfast my mutinous stomach wanted no part of. The bacon that had always made my mouth water now made me feel nauseous, and the sight of eggs alone sent my stomach into an infamous downward spin.
"Not hungry this morning, Luna?" said Marie, the head cook for the pack, her elderly face creased with worry.
“Oh, just feel out of sorts lately,” I said, with an half-assed attempt to casually push the plate away.
But Marie’s knowing glance said she was not fooled. Nor were the other pack mates, who’d been giving me those intensifying looks of hope for weeks now.
They were all waiting. Hoping. Searching for indication that their Alpha's mate was indeed carrying the next generation.
“
