Chapter 30 · After Hours

"Mine," Ethan said, like he was reading off a chart. "She's carrying mine."

The suture needle stopped in my hand. I had a hunter's claw mark open on my own forearm, half-stitched, blood still sheeting down to my wrist, and Ethan Cole stood in my clinic doorway at one in the morning announcing I was pregnant like it was a press release.

"Get out," I said. "We're closed."

"Not until you tell him." He didn't look at me. He looked at Cassian, who was leaning against the exam table with a hunter's bullet still lodged somewhere under his collarbone, not bleeding because his kind didn't bleed for long. "Tell your Chicago wolf whose pup is in you, Sloane."

"There's no pup." I set the needle down before my hand shook enough to rip the stitch. "There's no anything. You rejected me on a stage in front of forty people, Ethan. You don't get to un-reject me with a rumor."

"It's not a rumor if it's true."

Cassian pushed off the table. Slow.