"All right," the doctor said, sweeping into the room where Sinclair and I were resting together on my hospital bed. My head was on my mate's shoulder as we watched a daytime soap opera. I perked up at his entrance, eager to hear his news. Sinclair groaned slightly as he sat up, put his feet on the ground, and stood beside the bed. I knew he wasn't tired; on the contrary, the days and hours cooped up in that small room had made him restless. I reached out and took his hand, silently thanking him for everything he'd done.

"Well?" Sinclair asked, tucking one hand into his pocket. He looked steadily at the doctor, who had given me perhaps a hundred tests since I woke up a few days earlier: blood work, CT scans, ultrasounds. I'd been poked, prodded, and observed so much I felt like a science experiment.

The doctor paused, flipping through the pages on his clipboard, double- and triple-checking everything. I smiled; for all his cold bedside manner, he was diligent and dedicated.

"You'll be happy," the doctor said, dropping the pages and tucking the clipboard under his arm. "Everything came back stable." He looked at me seriously. "You're well enough to go home, Ella, but you are by no means a healthy woman, and your pregnancy remains extremely high-risk. I want you at home, in bed, relaxing, until this baby is born. Is that clear?"

I nodded eagerly, my heart beating faster with joy. Home. Home. God, I couldn't wait to be home.

"Good," he said, nodding and turning to Sinclair. "Was your home damaged during—"

"No," Sinclair said, a statement that thrilled me, despite already knowing the answer. He'd been receiving regular reports from Roger and his team, painting a surprisingly positive picture of our post-war world. "By some miracle, my residence was relatively untouched. The neighborhood is largely abandoned, but," he shrugged, looking down at me, "we don't need company."

I squeezed his hand, smiling up at him. We'd considered moving into the palace to reassure the people of Sinclair's intention to take the throne, but decided against it until after the baby was born. Even then, I imagined delaying as long as possible. I loved Sinclair's house; it held many good memories. It would take a great deal to persuade me to leave.

"No," the doctor mused, pursing his lips. "No, I don't imagine you do need company, newly mated as you are." He took a deep breath and leveled a serious gaze between us. "I want to be very clear: when I say Ella needs to relax, the activities promoting that relaxation must be entirely non-sexual."

I blinked in surprise at the blunt statement, feeling Sinclair stiffen beside me. I tried to hide my disappointment. Honestly, one good thing about bed rest was being in bed all the time. And aside from the lack of other activities, Sinclair and I well, we'd never been very good at keeping our hands off each other.

"It's crucial that you practice restraint," the doctor warned, his brow furrowed. "You had uterine surgery—it's very delicate. Even…" He sighed, putting a hand to his forehead, searching for the right words. I smiled at his discomfort. "Any disturbance to your uterine or vaginal tissues… just…" He sighed, dropped his hand, and shook his head. "Just don't do it. Okay?"

I nodded, smiling warmly to show my understanding. "Baby comes first, doc," I said. Sinclair nodded in agreement.

"Great," the doctor said, giving us a small smile and heading for the door. "Best of luck! Check in with your OB/GYN and regular doctor for continued care. I've sent them my notes." Sinclair surprised me by striding after him. I cocked my head, curious. What was he doing?

"Doctor," Sinclair's voice was quiet, almost muffled by the distance. I leaned forward to hear better. "How much are you paid here?"

The doctor scoffed, saying it was none of his business.

"It is now," Sinclair replied. "Because whatever it is, I'll pay you double to be Ella's personal physician for the remainder of her pregnancy, and our children's physician thereafter."

When I heard the sound of a handshake, I smiled and leaned back against my pillows, pleased. With this doctor and Cora on my side, I felt confident about this pregnancy. That is, if Sinclair and I could keep our hands off each other for the next three months…

A few hours later, Sinclair carried me over the threshold of our home, my arms around his neck. I grinned up at him. "Is this a tradition in werewolf mating ceremonies? Carrying the bride over the threshold?"

"Totally human, I'm afraid," Sinclair replied, grimacing. "In a traditional wolf homecoming, I'd be chasing you down in the moonlight, nipping at your heels…" He playfully snapped his teeth, making me laugh.

"Let's be human, then, for today," I said, putting a hand on my stomach as he stepped inside and closed the door. "Safer for the baby."

Sinclair headed for the stairs, carrying me easily upwards. "How's he doing?" he asked quietly, glancing down at me. "Angry about being jostled?"

"He's good," I said, sending a thought to my baby and receiving a ping of happiness in return. "He just says he's angry about missing our soaps. Wants to know what's happening with Tatiana locked in Leonardo's basement."

Sinclair chuckled, carrying me as if I weighed nothing. "Tell him we'll get a TV in the room, with all the channels. He'll have weeks to catch up." He carried me into our room, and I smiled to see the pillows and blankets arranged as I liked them.

"Nest!" I cried, gesturing dramatically. "How I've missed you, nest! My one and only love!"

Sinclair grinned as he settled me among the blankets. "Be careful," he warned, "or I'll be jealous."

"Of the darling nest?" I gasped, burying my face in the pillows. Then, I peeked up at him. "Actually, maybe you should be. I'll be snuggling with the nest more than you for the next few weeks."

Sinclair playfully glared at the blankets, pretending jealousy. "Watch out, nest," he murmured. "She's mine. And I can take you."

I pulled the blankets close, laughing. "How dare you threaten the nest! Brute!" I raised a hand to playfully smack him, but he caught my wrist, kissing it gently.

"You keep your nest," he murmured, making my stomach tingle. "Whatever makes you happy." I smiled at him, my love plain on my face. "Thank you for being good to me. For pulling me through all of this."

"Only a little further to go," he said, leaning forward to kiss my forehead. "But when this is over?" He paused, and I looked up, curious. He gave me a serious look. "I'm going to f*ck you for a week straight."

I laughed, quickly silenced by his kiss.