“Wait, what?!” I exclaimed, certain I was hearing things. Sinclair couldn't possibly have just said what I thought he did.
He smiled, tracing circles on my soft belly. “You heard me,” he teased.
“Completely naked?” I gaped, blushing at the mere idea. “Everyone? Even the children?”
“I’ve told you, shifters don’t associate nudity with sex the way humans do. It’s our natural state,” Sinclair explained gently. “No one feels self-conscious because there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
I should have known something was up when he came in that afternoon and woke me from my nap, climbing into bed behind me and sliding his hand under the hem of my top to feel the baby. I’d whined at being disturbed but cuddled closer anyway, stretching into his tender caresses like a sleepy kitten. Only once I was purring with contentment did he broach the subject.
The fourth night of the Solstice festival is apparently devoted to something called moonbathing. I’d hesitated when Aileen first showed me the schedule, but I’d been so distracted by the wild hunt and the masquerade ball that I hadn’t focused on it. Now, however, I couldn’t focus on anything else. Sinclair had just explained that the moonbathing ritual involved stripping naked and anointing our bodies with oil, then lying out in the full moon’s light. I’d been okay with this until Sinclair clarified that it would happen at a sacred stone circle—surrounded by other shifters.
“But… it’s also natural to be curious about other people’s bodies. Doesn’t everyone stare? Doesn’t that bother you?” I squeaked, thinking of times I’d been uncomfortable under the male gaze while fully clothed, and not wanting to imagine how much worse it would be naked.
Sinclair shrugged, looking down at me intently. “It doesn’t bother me to be studied or admired. But I can understand how that might be different if I were a human woman, used to being looked at like an object. You have to realize that male wolves don’t disrespect she-wolves that way.”
“So when you were with Lydia, it didn’t bother you that your mate was naked in front of other men?” I doubted I’d be so generous if the tables were turned; I was already thinking about all the she-wolves who would undoubtedly be checking out Sinclair, and I didn’t like it.
“No shifter would be stupid enough to lay their eyes on the Alpha’s mate in the manner you’re thinking—not if they want to keep their heads attached to their bodies,” Sinclair assured me. “And if they’re envious, it’s no threat to me. In fact, I enjoy having a partner others covet; it shows I won the lottery and reminds me to be the best mate I can be, to be worthy of her.”
I considered this. On one hand, I was wary of any man who wanted a partner he could show off like a trophy—that’s exactly what Mike had done, and I knew it was a far cry from being truly valued or respected. At the same time, Sinclair wasn’t talking about women the same way Mike used to. He didn’t want to show off his mate to make others jealous or feel threatened if someone else glanced her way. What’s more, he associated envy with her intrinsic value, not a boost to his own ego or masculinity.
“Now,” Sinclair continued, a sharp edge in his voice, “if they were to disrespect her, to sniff around her despite my claim, or set a single paw on her…” He growled wordlessly, sending shivers down my spine. “Now that would be another matter entirely.”
I snorted at his menacing expression. “Sometimes I get caught up thinking shifters are so far ahead of humans, and then you say things like that, and I remember you’re just big furry beasts wearing the guise of civility.”
Sinclair chuckled. “We all have our contradictions.”
“I don’t,” I argued, chin lifted defiantly.
“I beg to differ,” Sinclair replied warmly, his fingers dancing over my bare skin in increasingly sensuous patterns. “You’re the fiercest little ball of mischief I’ve ever encountered, but you’re also the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen,” he purred, “or held… or tasted.”
“Hey, none of that,” I objected, pushing his head away. “I don’t need you getting me all worked up right before I go strip naked in front of a hundred strangers,” I admonished, my voice trailing off as the reality of the event ahead set in.
“It’s going to be okay,” Sinclair promised. “Besides, all anyone’s going to be doing is trying to figure out if you’re showing yet. This is a royal baby, remember,” he said, tapping my belly button.
“Well, they’re going to be disappointed,” I sighed, though it had been a few days since I’d stood in front of the mirror and glared at my middle, willing it to show signs of the growing life within.
“Are you sure about that?” Sinclair arched a brow. “This feels like a baby bump to me.”
I promptly pushed up onto my elbows to look at my stomach, even though sitting up put my neck dangerously close to Sinclair’s mouth again. I could almost feel him thinking about stealing more kisses while I was distracted. Ever since we’d admitted we were attracted to each other, he’d been more forward about showing me affection, which only made it more difficult to resist my feelings. If only I didn’t enjoy his touch so much, maybe I could be more forceful about rebuffing his advances.
His oversized hand was sprawled over my tummy, keeping my shirt bunched up beneath my breasts. It was hard to see anything with his palm in the way, so he traced the outline of my womb with a featherlight touch. Sure enough, I was surprised to see the smallest of swellings just north of my pelvis. I suppose part of shifters’ short gestation is seeing these changes much sooner than expected, but that scared me too. What if my body didn’t have enough time to adjust, to go through all the changes human mothers spend nine months manifesting?
I think Sinclair sensed my unease, because the next thing I knew he was kissing my belly—once, twice, three times.
“I said no kisses,” I scolded him, earning myself a low rumble in Sinclair’s chest and his green eyes flashing at my challenge.
“I’m kissing the baby,” he insisted, a devious, wolfish grin on his face. “He likes it.”
“Oh, sure,” I replied tartly. “Blame it on the baby.”
“He does,” Sinclair repeated, kissing me again before slyly adding, “But then he likes it because it makes you happy.”
“You’re incorrigible,” I rolled my eyes, but I was blushing. More than that, I was amazed to think the tiny life growing inside me knew what I was feeling. It hadn’t seemed strange when the doctors told me he could sense my stress, but I suppose I’d attributed that to him being impacted by the physical symptoms of stress, not truly feeling my emotions. My heart both swelled and tightened as I contemplated this idea—that we had a bond every bit as strong as Sinclair’s; I just couldn’t feel it.
Suddenly I was crying, and Sinclair stopped his teasing and crawled back up my body, clucking sympathetically. “What is it, sweetheart?”
“Nothing, I’m just being silly,” I hiccuped, shaking my head. “It’s hormones, that’s all.”
“Why don’t you tell me, and then we can decide together if it’s silly,” he replied, brushing the pads of his thumbs over my cheeks, caressing the tears away.
“I just wish I had a connection to him like you do,” I confessed. “I wish I could sense what he’s feeling. I want you to be close with him, of course. I’m just… jealous, I suppose. You’ll always be the better parent; you’ll always know what he needs without asking, and I’ll be bumbling around blind in comparison.”
“That’s not silly at all,” Sinclair assured me. “It’s only natural that you should feel that way. But you’re wrong about something, Ella. You’ll have a bond with the baby every bit as strong as mine by the time you bring him into the world. Mothers have connections to their babies that most fathers—even shifter fathers—can never have, because we don’t carry and deliver them. We can’t nourish them with our own bodies; we’re not the ones who sheltered and protected them in the first and most vulnerable months of their existence.”
“You promise it will be as strong as yours?” I asked, sniffling.
“I think you’re focusing on the idea of a bond too much,” Sinclair mused. “You have to remember that a connection isn’t the same as a relationship, Ella. All parents are bonded with their children, but some still have terrible relationships, just like everyone is bonded to their lover, but some couples are much happier than others.”
“I think it’s difficult because it’s such an abstract idea,” I said, already feeling less blue. “I mean, you tell me something is magic, and I’m automatically going to assume it’s more powerful than natural things.”
“But magic is part of nature,” Sinclair corrected me. “The Goddess created all of it at the same time. The difference is simply that you didn’t know about it.”
“Right,” I nodded slowly, telling myself to keep this reminder at the forefront of my thoughts.
“Better?” Sinclair prompted, stroking my hair.
“Yes, thank you for making me talk about it,” I said, feeling a strong urge to hug the big Alpha.
“Always,” he agreed. “Now get ready; we have some moonbathing to do.”
My eyes widened. “Wait, I spoke too soon; I’m not better at all. I think I need to stay home and process this.”
Sinclair chuckled. “Nice try, trouble. We leave in half an hour.” He leaned down and kissed the tip of my nose before sliding from the bed, leaving me with a low purr. “And I, for one, can’t wait.”