Pregnant With Alpha’s Genius Twins

“Why not have her on call?” Victor replies, leaning down and giving me a kiss on the forehead. “You

spent your last pregnancy at free clinics and eating from the day-old selections available at the gas

station. We’re doing this one right.”

I laugh a little, taking his hand. “Actually, one of those gas station egg salad sandwiches sounds good

right now…maybe that was less poverty and more a pregnancy craving…”

“Um,” the doctor says, laughing a little, “I’m going to suggest that you…avoid food poisoning, Evelyn,

for the next eight months.” I laugh with her and she heads out of the room, assuring me that she’ll be

back in a couple of weeks for my next check-up.

Then, once she’s closed the door behind her, Victor nearly leaps on me, wrapping me tight in his arms

and rolling me around on the bed, laughing with his happiness. I shriek, laughing as well, enjoying the

nearness of his body, the press of his weight against mine.

“Crap,” he murmurs when he realizes that his weight is almost fully pressed on me, “I’m going to squish

the babies –“ Quickly, he shifts his body, eager to lighten the load, but I stop him, wanting to feel him

there.

“No, stay,” I murmur, smiling up at him, sliding a hand down the length of his flank. “It feels nice. The

babies are too small to smush.”

We stay like that, then, breathing softly, for a long moment. I close my eyes, resting, entwining my legs

with his and thinking about all of the next steps ahead of us. But I open my eyes again when I hear him

speak.

“Thank you, Evelyn,” he says quietly, looking down at me. “This is…the most amazing gift. I couldn’t

imagine anything better.”

“You don’t want boys?” I ask, curious. “Two more magical little Alpha babies who look just like you?”

He thinks about it for a moment and then shakes his head. “No, I want two of you this time,” he

murmurs. “But we can name them after me, so they know which parent is their favorite. Victoria and…

Vikki.”

“That’s the same name!”

“Fine, Viclinda –“

“That’s not even a name!”

He laughs, falling on his side, grinning at me. “Well, whatever, it’s my choice, you have no say.”

“What?” I spit out, appalled. “Says who?”

“You got to name the other two,” he says, gesturing towards the door, to where Alvin and Ian are

somewhere in the house. “I got no say there – so I get to pick these ones.”

“No way!” I protest. “I refuse! I will run away again – go have the babies in private and come back once

their birth certificates are written out –“

Victor laughs and wraps his arms tighter around me, holding me like I’m in a vice, perhaps trying to

demonstrate to me that he’s in charge. But I know the truth.

“I’ll just change their names when you bring them back,” he muses. “That’s just paperwork. Say

helloooooo to Mildred and Helga Kensington –“

“Don’t you dare –“ I hiss, pushing against him, unable to stop the giggles that bubble out of me – “we

are not naming one Helga –“

“Oh, we are,” he whispers, wicked, “whichever one is prettier, she gets the really ugly name –“

“Child abuse! Horrible!” I shriek, but Victor silences me with a kiss, his lips warm and laughing, and I

kiss him back, knowing that despite his big words he’ll let me name them whatever I want.

Because he is my Alpha, and I am his Luna, and I know in my heart that all he really wants in this world

is for me, and our family, to be happy.

And there’s no way little Viclinda Helga Kensington-Ortega is going to be happy with that name.

So, we’ll just have to spend a couple of months thinking of something better.

_________________

I come downstairs about an hour later after a long shower. I’ve decided to take the doctor’s low-stress

orders to heart as much as possible and indulge in these sorts of things when I have the time. So,

when I come downstairs, still toweling my hair, I’m surprised and a little chagrined to see that the house

is full of people.

“What’s going on?” I ask Victor, moving over to him.

“News,” he says, staring at the TV with some of his Betas. “Word got out that your dad is back at his

house, and the media is having a little bit of a frenzy with it. My teams are holding, no one’s gotten

through for an interview or anything but…there’s speculation.”

“Is that…bad?” I ask, looking up at him.

“It’s unexpected,” he answers, looking down at me, a little grim. “Annabeth and I discussed this – we

didn’t think people would care much to see Walsh return. But, apparently, some packs are taking it as a

sign that I’m…loosing a little of my hold on the situation. They’re wondering if Walsh is going to use this

opportunity to retaliate, to make a grab for power.”

My stomach sinks further and I wonder, guilty, if Rafe was right – if I was too close to the situation and

my personal emotions got in the way of Victor’s politics. Was this one choice going to lose us a lot of

our hard-earned footing and curb our ability to do good things by the people of this world?

“Hey,” Victor says, putting a hand on my back, bringing me out of my reverie. “Don’t do that?”

I look up ot him, confused.

“Don’t second-guess your choices just becouse the medio is soying o bunch of stuff,” he soys. “It’s their

job to get viewers – they’ll soy onything. It’s not o reol reflection of the world. We’ve still got this.”

“Well, whot ore they soying?” I osk, still onxious. “Why don’t they reolize thot?”

“They’re wondering,” Victor onswers, o little hesitont, “if…my power these post few months wos just…o

miroge. Or o fluke. Or o possing ship. There’s speculotion thot I’ll lose my footing ond thot my life will

devolve into choos…”

“Whot?” I osk, confused.

“Well,” he soys, twisting his lips os he looks ot me. “There hove been some occusotions of me os…

inconsistent. I ron o good wor, but then I let my moin prisoner return to his house. I hod o strong, moted

Luno, but then I left her ot the oltor. Becouse they don’t know the detoils, people could be perceive me

os…flighty. For on Alpho.”

I huff o little lough, crossing my orms. “Well, if onyone thinks thot, they don’t know you,” I murmur,

wotching drone footoge of my childhood home on the screen, wondering possively whot my mother

thinks of oll this. Then, I turn my ottention to him ogoin. “Whot do we do to fix it?”

“Well,” he soys, hesitont ogoin. “We could…moke it cleor to everyone. Thot I’m not flighty, thot my

emotionol life is consistent. Perhops by onnouncing…”

“