Page 71 of Thrown into the Mob

The next few hours were a series of cramps, walking, wailing, gritting my teeth, and yelling at the universe about the unfairness of it all. The contractions were closer, and each one was more severe than the last.

But between them, there were quiet moments. Madd told me about the time Ranger tried to assemble a crib and it took four hours and related how Treyton hadn’t been let into the room when Storm was born.

There was a change in the contractions, and I wanted to push.

“Don't fight it.” Treyton had done this many times, and his voice was soothing.

Madd helped me onto all fours, and my thoughts went to my omega dad. He'd carried one egg containing two babies, and the delivery had taken his life. For thirty-one years, that story had defined my life.

But me giving birth was different. My mate was here and so was Treyton. And I had one baby inside me, not an oversized egg. I wasn’t my omega father.

“I want to push,” I grunted.

Madd was on his hands and knees beside me, and we were breathing in tandem, but the pain was nothing like what I’d experienced, not in human or dragon form.

“You’re doing so well. On the next contraction, push again,” Treyton instructed.

Madd was encouraging me as I pushed again and then more pushing. I should have pushed the baby out by now, but this was never-ending agony.

“One more,” Treyton urged me. “The baby’s head is out. Come on, another great big one.”

I bore down. One push and another and a third. And the room was filled with yelling. But it wasn’t coming from me. Madd was sobbing at my side, and he helped me onto the mattress.

Treyton placed a squirming furious little bundle on my chest. “You have a son.”

I kissed the baby’s brow. “I know, sweetheart. You liked being inside me, and now you’re in a new place.”

“Durands are loud,” Treyton noted.

Madd covered me and our son with a blanket. “Our little man is here.” His forehead was on my shoulder as he placed a hand on the baby’s back. Tears spilled over his cheeks and onto the baby.

Our son was warm, and I suspected warmer than a newborn wolf pup or a human, though I had no experience of either.

He’s got some fire in him for sure, my dragon told me.

The baby found my finger and gripped it. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Madd and I had made this little miracle.

Madd’s hand was on my mating mark, and he traced around the scar with one finger.

“I’ll leave you, but I’ll be back tomorrow to see how you’re both doing.” Treyton eyed his brother. “Maybe I’ll need to check on all three of you.”

Our son's complaining was now a grumble, but he was still clutching my finger.

“Does he look like the name we chose?” Madd’s face was beside the baby as he studied him. Our son opened his eyes and stopped crying as his alpha father stared at him.

We decided that as the baby was most likely a wolf because I’d carried him, not an egg, we’d pay homage to his dragon blood by giving him a name that represented fire.

“Tyson.” I held the baby up, and his gaze shifted from Madd to me. “I’d say he’s demonstrated a fieriness since his birth.”

My mate held Tyson and helped me up. The crib was beside our bed because our son was not sleeping by himself tonight and maybe not for many nights to come. With both of us cleaned up, Madd and I climbed into bed beside me as I placed Tyson on my chest.

“He can hear your heartbeat as he did for nine months.” Madd brushed Tyson’s full head of hair. “He knows he’s safe.”

THIRTY-FOUR

CONRAD

Tyson was six days old, and I was in the garden with him.