The Werewolf's Secret Baby: A Paranormal Shifter Romance

Chapter Six

Desmond didn't know when he had finally drifted off to sleep, but it seemed only seconds had gone by before he jerked awake. At first, he wasn't sure why. The sky was still dark outside and the clock beside the bed showed it was just past three. Marceline laid curled up beside him, her curly hair splayed out like a mane around her head.

Slowly, he relaxed beside her again and closed his eyes again, only to tense as a strange smell hit his nose. He stilled completely, not even daring to breathe as he strained to listen around him. Something was wrong.

Marceline's deep breathing was distracting beside him and deadened the other soft sounds of the night, yet still he strained until—

"Say goodnight, Desmond." The soft shnk of a knife being pulled from its sheath sent adrenaline flooding his system, fueled all the more by the softly whispered statement. His eyes flew open only to stare straight up into Ramson's cruel green irises.

He moved—too late—to attack the rival alpha that stood over him, only to feel the cold bite of steel sink into the flesh of his chest.

"M-Marceline!" he choked out, eyes lightening silver with the danger of Ramson presence.

"Shut up. She's mine, Desmond. There is nothing you can do to stop that," Ramson snarled, turning the knife handle as he bore deeper into the wound he'd created.

Blood poured from Desmond's chest and yet his skin still shivered. The clicks and pops of bones reshaping could be heard for a mere handful of seconds until a wolf exploded from Desmond's body.

With a thunderous snarl, he charged at Ramson, lunging at his legs, his sides, his hands, anything he could get his jaws around. At one point, he sank his teeth deep into the rival alpha's calf, but even as a human, the man possessed a strength and agility that he should have.

With a few sharp shakes, Desmond lost his hold and Ramson bowled him over, a second knife gripped in his hand.

"Give it up, Desmond," he sneered, lunging forward with blinding speed that left Desmond with a fresh slash across his snout. He snarled deafeningly but made no move to attack further as his eyes started blurring with blood loss. "Marceline was never yours! She never wanted you! You're stifling! Uncaring! She h—"

Three loud cracks of a gun firing cut off his word, and with wide eyes, Ramson looked down at his chest. Blood welled up from three, near perfect, circular wounds until, much like the wound Desmond had suffered, it coated his entire front and dripped to the floor.

"Don't speak like you do any better, Ramson." Marceline murmured, the gun she had threatened Desmond with the morning before was once again gripped firmly between her hands.

The rival alpha's eyes flew wide as he stumbled about, turning to face the woman with pure hatred in his gaze until, with a gasp, they rolled back in his skull and he fell face first into the growing puddle of his own blood.

Marceline shivered as she dropped the gun, tears of fear and anger apparent in her dark brown eyes as she quickly ran to Desmond's side and with trembling hands, inspected the stab wound on his chest.

"T-Turn back, baby... Please. W-We," she sniffled, a look of panic on her face. "We need to get you patched up."

Desmond whined, his eyes hazy and distant. For a moment, he didn't think he had the energy to change back, but one look at the sheer desperation on his mate's face and he slowly, painfully shifted back into his human form.

The wound on his chest was deep. Far deeper than anything he'd ever received before and his entire body felt cold. In the growing darkness, though, he was aware of Marceline's touch as she held him.

"Gauze..." he whispered, forcing his eyes to focus on her perfect face. "Pack the wound with gauze."

"I can't leave you!" Marceline cried, clutching desperately at his hand as tears rolled down her cherub cheeks.

"Sweetheart, I'll be ok," he whispered, a faint smile on his lips. "Pack the wound. Stop the bleeding."

He watched as she nodded and smiled. With a shaking hand, he reached up and brushed away a tear on her cheek. She laughed sadly and pressed into his touch, shaking herself, she got to her feet and walked away.

In the moments she was gone, Desmond had to seriously struggle with himself not to fall asleep.

"It's just a little blood loss," he scolded himself, gritting his teeth. "What's the big deal?" But, he'd be a liar if he said he wasn't relieved when his mate returned and began stuffing the stab wound with gauze, as instructed.

"Son of a..." he swore, alertness gripping him as pain at her prodding rocked through him. A cold sweat had broken out on his skin by the time she was through. Things must not have looked so bad, though, because Marceline smiled and laid down beside him on the blood soaked floor, her hand resting against his bandaged chest gently.

"I thought you were the one who was going to take care of me," she teased softly. Her lips pressed lovingly against his side before he could answer, and he sighed, knowing she meant the words to help him feel better.

Ramson was dead. His pack would scramble to find a new alpha that, hopefully, wasn't as corrupt by lust as Ramson had. There was nothing left to worry about, except—

"Marceline?" Desmond whispered softly, his voice hesitant as he forced himself upwards just enough to look at her properly.

"Desmond what—"

"I want to meet Therese," he told her, "Soon."

Marceline stared at him with a stunned expression on her face. Her dark eyes were puzzled, scared and excited all in the same instant. For a moment, he worried that her concern about him taking their daughter away from her still haunted her, but then her face softened, and a rock fell off Desmond's chest. "I'll call Auntie May tomorrow, see if she can bring Therese," she told him gently.

She began to settle at his side again when he called for her again.

"Marceline?"

"Yes, Desmond?" she asked, no doubt expecting another glimpse into the soft heart of him, the one that he saved just for her... and, now, their child.

"Will you marry me?"

Whatever she was expecting to hear, the look on her face told him that was not it. Her mouth gapped open, and she clearly didn't know what to say. As she closed it slowly, still silent, he began to fear she would reject him, but then she curled ever closer and rested her head just below the wound she'd taken care to bandage.

"Of course..." she whispered, tears in her eyes once again and a smile on her lips. "Of course I'll marry you, Desmond."

He smiled and laid his head back down with a sigh, eyes slipping closed. "Good," he whispered, finally allowing himself to wrap an arm around her and pull her closer.

"I'm never letting you get away from me again."

"Do you promise?" she asked, kissing over his heart.

"I promise."

*****

THE END