"—saying the bloodline's too strong."
Rena's hand is still on my belly. Her fingers press harder, like she's reading something through my skin. I want to pull away but I can't move. Cole's standing by the door, watching her face.
"Too strong for what?" I manage.
Rena pulls back. She wipes her palm on her jeans like my stomach burned her. "For hiding. For running. For pretending it's just yours." She looks at Cole, then back at me. "How far along?"
"Seven months. Maybe eight."
"Maybe?"
I don't answer. I stopped counting weeks after I faked the drowning. Counting made it real. Made it something they could take.
Rena grabs a bag from the floor and starts pulling things out. Bandages. A stethoscope. A syringe that's way too big. She lines them up on the wooden crate next to me like she's setting up for surgery.
"I need to check your blood pressure. Then we're going to talk about what happens next."
"Next?" I don't like how she said that. Too calm. Too clinical.
She wraps the cuff around my arm and pumps it tight. The squeeze makes my ribs ache. I've been getting that a lot. Breathing hurts. Sitting hurts. Existing hurts.
"Your body's not handling this pregnancy," Rena says. She's not looking at me. She's looking at the gauge. "You're running too hot. Your heart rate's through the roof. And that kid—" She stops.
"What about the kid?"
She rips the cuff off. "The kid's fine. Better than fine. That's the problem."
Cole takes a step forward. He makes a gesture I don't understand, something sharp with his hands. Rena shakes her head.
"I'm not saying we kill it. I'm saying we slow it down."
My whole body goes cold. "Slow it down?"
"There's a suppressant. It'll buy you time. Make the bloodline markers less obvious. Right now, anyone with a nose can smell what you're carrying. That's not going to work if you want to stay hidden."
I look at Cole. He's staring at Rena like he's trying to decide if she's lying. I don't think she is. That's what scares me.
"What's in it?" I ask.
Rena hesitates. That's all I need to know.
"Wolfsbane extract. Low dose. It won't hurt the baby, but it'll mask the scent. Dull the bloodline signature."
"Wolfsbane."
"I've used it before. On three other mothers. All of them delivered healthy."
"How many didn't?"
She doesn't answer.
I push myself up off the crate. My legs are shaking but I don't care. "I'm not putting poison in my body."
"It's not poison. It's a tool."
"It's wolfsbane. You just said it."
"And I said low dose—"
"I don't care what dose it is. I'm not doing it."
Rena's jaw tightens. She glances at Cole, like she's hoping he'll back her up. He doesn't move. Just stands there with his arms crossed, watching me.
"Listen to me," Rena says. Her voice drops. It's not clinical anymore. It's tired. "Derek Vaughn has hunters in every pack territory north of here. They're not looking for a dead girl. They're looking for a pregnant one. If you walk into a clinic, a hospital, even a midwife's house, you're done. They'll smell that kid before you even sit down."
"Then I won't go to a clinic."
"You think you can deliver alone? In a safe house? With no equipment?"
"People have been doing it for thousands of years."
"People died doing it for thousands of years." Rena picks up the syringe. She holds it between us like a threat. "You want to be one of them? Fine. But don't drag Cole down with you."
That lands hard. I look at him. He's still not moving, but something shifts in his eyes. Guilt, maybe. Or anger. I can't tell.
"I didn't ask him to help me," I say.
Rena snorts. "Yeah, well, he did. And now every contact he's got down here is on the line. You think people forget faces in Grayline? You think they don't talk?"
I want to argue. I want to tell her I'll leave. I'll disappear somewhere else. But I know she's right. I've been running for six months and I'm out of places to go.
Rena sets the syringe down. She crosses her arms. "So what's it going to be? You take the suppressant and we figure out a plan, or you walk out that door and see how far you get before someone smells you."
I don't answer. My hand goes to my stomach without thinking. The baby kicks. Hard. Like it knows we're talking about it.
"I'm not putting wolfsbane in my body," I say again. Quieter this time.
Rena looks at me for a long moment. Then she nods. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"You heard me. It's your body. Your call." She starts packing up her supplies. "But if you're not going to mask the scent, we need to move you somewhere deeper. Somewhere off the network."
Cole makes a low sound in his throat. Rena glances at him.
"I know," she says. "But it's the only option."
He shakes his head. Sharp. Final.
"What's he saying?" I ask.
Rena sighs. "He's saying the deep shelters are full. And dangerous. And run by people who don't owe him favors."
"Then where—"
The door slams open.
All three of us freeze. A man stumbles in. He's covered in blood. I can't tell if it's his or someone else's. He's holding his side, breathing hard, and his eyes are wild.
Cole moves fast. He's across the room in two steps, catching the man before he falls. The guy grabs Cole's shirt and pulls himself up. His mouth is moving but no sound comes out at first. Just wet, gasping breaths.
"They—" He coughs. Blood sprays across Cole's shoulder. "They got Marco. And Finn. And—Jesus, they're everywhere."
Rena's already moving. She's got her hands on the man's side, pulling his shirt up. There's a gash across his ribs. Deep. Too deep.
"Who's everywhere?" Rena demands.
"Vaughn's people. They hit the east tunnel an hour ago. Killed everyone who didn't run."
My stomach drops.
"They're not looking for runners," the man says. He's looking at me now. His eyes are losing focus. "They're looking for her. For the baby. Vaughn knows it's not born yet. He's got every hospital, every clinic, every midwife on his payroll. He's waiting. Waiting for her to—"
He doesn't finish. His head drops. His body goes limp in Cole's arms.
Rena checks his pulse. Then she looks up at Cole and shakes her head.
The room is silent.
I can't breathe. I can't move. I just stand there, staring at the dead man on the floor, and all I can think is:
Derek knows I'm still alive.
And he knows I'm about to give birth.