The Possessive Alpha Chapter 136

FOUR YEARS LATER

Elle- 22 years old; Damon- 23 years old 

ELLE POV 

**************************

I don't know what's going on with me, but it's not pretty, my stomach convulsing with another dry heave like it's waged a bloody war on my body without my knowledge. Goddess, what is this? Was I poisoned? It has to be poison. Someone trying to kill me slowly is the only obvious reason behind this sickness. Werewolves don't get sick. 

Leaning my head against the porcelain rim of a place my face should never be close to, I try catching my breath, my forehead pouring in sweat. A sickly sweet smell makes its way into my nostrils as another wave of nausea forces its way through me. Rolling my insides around like a boat in the middle of the ocean during a summer storm. 

"Happy Matesday!" Damon sings, pushing open the bathroom door, a tray in his hand, the offensive odor oozing from beneath the plate cover. Before I can keep it in, I am purging the nonexistent contents of my stomach. Once I finish hacking up my insides, I glare at the tray in his hands.

"What's on that plate?" I question as another unstable rumble runs rampant in my intestines. "Roadkill?" I ask, but as if it's instant karma, another session of dry heaving resumes. 

Damon doesn't get offended by my snarky remark; instead, the same secretive smile lines his lips, infuriating me instantly. The rage rising faster than bile in my throat, "no, it's french toast, bacon, and hashbrowns. It's all you talked about yesterday."

"Eww, no," I groan, shuddering, hoping I can go five minutes before needing to throw up again. "Get it away from me, Damon, before I-" So much for hope, as my torso bends over the toilet in desperation. "Get it out! Now!" I manage to croak out before I choke. 

"Okay," Damon says hurriedly, carrying the tray out into our room, but the scent still tingles my nose, upsetting my stomach. 'Not far enough,' I inform him through the link. 

'How far is enough?' He asks, his footsteps taking him to our bedroom door; the further that plate of death gets away, the more settled I become. 

'Outside,' I respond, leaning against the wall and enjoying the moment of peace. 'Throw that disaster in the woods.' 

Damon says nothing in response, flashing an image of throwing the tray's contents into the abyss of the tree line behind our house. I finally close my eyes, welcoming the silence, as sweats and shivers run along my skin. A few minutes later, I hear Damon's footsteps as he enters the room, but I don't bother opening my eyes, feeling too weak to move. 

"I think I am being poisoned," I moan as another wave of unrelenting unease burrows in my stomach, leaning my head over the toilet, praying for the Goddess' mercy. 

"You're not being poisoned, Biscuit," Damon replies, through snickers as a devilish glint invades his eyes.

"Really?" I counter, gesturing to my position of hanging over the porcelain thrown, "what else could it be? Werewolves don't get sick, Damon!" Grabbing a washcloth from the counter, Damon wets it before bringing it to me; kneeling, he begins wiping the sweat off my forehead and neck. 

"I thought the answer to your question was rather obvious, my Luna," he says, throwing a pointed look my way like I should know what it means. 

"What?" I question, not in the mood for the mind games, my patience nowhere near where it once was. "What do you know, Damon? Tell me!"

"Shhhh," he whispers, placing his finger over my mouth and stopping my rant in its tracks, "listen." I stop making a noise, concentrating but hearing nothing, throwing my arms up in frustration. 

"I don't hear anything," I huff, my annoyance being the first thing to calm my stomach in hours. Damon looks at me, letting me know he sees through my bullshit. With a shake of his head, he says with judgment, "no, you weren't. Now be quiet and listen."

Following his directions, I push my hair behind my ears, my head tilting as I listen for the magical answer, but only hearing his and mine heartbeat. I am about to give up when the faintest flutter catches my attention. Putting all of my attention onto this one sound. 

That's when I hear the steady thump of one....two....three...heartbeats? Heartbeats? Three heartbeats? My own heart races aimlessly as the reality of the situation settles in. "No," I say aloud, shaking my head in refusal; the initial shock begins wearing off. "No, definitely not!" I squirm, getting to my feet as Damon helps me. Turning to my mate, I point an angry finger at his shocked face. 

"YOU!" I roar, the pregnancy rage consuming every cell in my DNA, each one begging for retribution, "this is YOUR fault! You and your magical penis! Never again!" I scream; my anxiety has me pacing in front of the toilet, nauseous, but for an entirely different reason now.

Damon remains unphased by my meltdown, with an egotistical smile on his face, "don't forget you're the  one who phrased it as a "magical penis," because I never will." He roars, with laughter, bending at the waist as he tries to calm the laughter shaking his body. 

"This isn't funny," I growl, my hands on my hips. I glare daggers in his direction, hoping to get my point across, but he doesn't even flinch, a large smile on his face. He seems too calm for someone who just learned we are having triplets. TRIPLETS!! Goddess, help me. "How long have you known?" I question. 

"Almost two weeks..." he replies, shoving his hands into his pockets, his face filled with guilt; we don't keep secrets. Even for things most mates would, like birthday gifts or surprises. We always spill the beans eventually. We can't keep secrets from each other, it used to drive our friends nuts, but now that they have their mates, they have begun to understand. The history of our parents not helping the entire situation. 

"I should have told you," he says, walking closer so he can tip my chin upwards, so I look him in the eye, "but honestly, I enjoyed knowing before you. Do you want to know when I realized?" He asks, stepping forward and pulling me into his arms, his scent calming my upset stomach. 

Try as I might, the anger I was once consumed by slowly dissipates into nothing as it had never been. "I came to bed late from the office, and you were dead to the world. You have been so tired, and I started worrying until I climbed into bed that night. Watching you sleep, I heard their little heartbeats fluttering so strongly; it was magical. So every night, after you would fall asleep, I would listen and talk to them. You'll bond with our children in a way I never will. Those nights, when the entire world was at peace, listening to and talking with them was like bonding until they're born."

Tears are pouring down my cheeks as if a faucet was turned on, sobs racking through me uncontrollably. Wrapping my arms around him, I let the pregnancy hormones take over. The sparks and his scent calm me quickly. "You're excited?" I ask, skeptical of his reaction because I feel nauseous, and...how the hell am I supposed to push three Damon-sized babies out of me? I wonder, glancing at the behemoth of a man standing before me. 

"Of course I am excited!" He exclaims, no hidden emotion in his words, lifting me off my feet in a bear hug, "you're giving me everything I ever wanted, and I'll spend the rest of my life doing my best to remain worthy of you and our pups. You and them will be the reason I live, fight, breathe, and wake each day to be the best version of myself. I love you, my Luna." 

"I love you too," I whisper, the fear and angst I felt melting like ice cream in the summer sun as my lips crash into his as push him into the wall taking more control of the situation than I normally do. Removing my lips to catch my breath, I can't help the desire swirling between my thighs. "Wanna go to the bedroom? It's not like you can get me more pregnant." I tease before trotting into the bedroom, his growl following behind me. 

*****************************