She didn’t think she was asking for much. Your list included basically your entire floor. Hey, female alpha? Suddenly ever girl on this floor is gay—for you—and Cate has to hear about all your nightly escapades. As your best friend and all. The least you could do is add her to the list.

To take care of her heats. Not a kid.

It was supposed to be a simple favour. Now she's done something stupid, like get knocked-up.

You hadn't even marked her, despite her slurred pleas to at the time (it's all fuzzy. Though, she does distinctly remember a lot of alpha alpha alpha's and a lot of why aren't you taking me—need—feel safe—care of me and finally—)

Yet, as she stares blankly the shining red plus symbol glaring back up at her, suddenly she has a perfect recollection of events.

Okay, in retrospect, maybe taking off her gloves behind your back and crying out 'fuckin' fuck just—wan' you to breed me—already—fucking, please—" was a bad idea. Almost in wonder, Cate's hand slides over her belly, blinking down at the toned expanse of her tummy.

She's pregnant. With your kid. A delighted shiver runs down her spine, curls in her gut. It's probably her omega instincts. Definitely. She's not taking a secret delight in the fact that there won't be anymore girls slipping out of your dorm room, if she has anything to say about it. She's absolutely not thinking about the round, perfect indent of your canines latching down on her scent glands— permanently bonding you. For good.

Definitely not.

Cate stands in the middle of your doorway. She stares at your sleep-mussed appearance, and the only thing she's thinking right now is alpha alpha my alpha and she can't stop the words from falling out of her mouth, no ‘Good morning’, or ‘How are you?’—just— "I'm pregnant.",

Her eyes are wide as she wrings her hands in front of her lap, buzz spreading all the way from her toes to her head as the words leave her mouth. You’re going to be a mother. She’s going to be a mother.