Luca's POV
Morning sickness is hell.
I wake for the third time this week, rushing to the bathroom. Rian's behind me instantly, holding my hair, rubbing my back.
"I hate this," I gasp between heaves.
"I know, baby. I'm sorry." His voice is pained—he feels helpless.
After I'm empty and miserable, he carries me back to bed. Brings water, crackers, anything that might help.
"I'm supposed to be glowing. Instead I'm dying."
"You're still beautiful." He kisses my forehead. "The doctor said it'll pass after first trimester."
"That's three more weeks."
"I'll be here. Every morning. Every time." He settles beside me, hand on my stomach. "We're in this together."
I love him for that. For never complaining, never leaving, always supporting.
Later, when I can keep food down, he brings breakfast in bed.
"You don't have to—"
"I want to. Taking care of my pregnant mate is my job." He feeds me gently. "Besides, you're growing our baby. Least I can do."
"You're too good to me."
"Impossible. You deserve everything." He kisses me softly. "How's our little one today?"
"Making me miserable. But worth it."
His smile is radiant. "Yeah. Definitely worth it."
That afternoon, despite nausea, I have Luna duties. Rian hovers constantly.
"I'm fine," I tell him. "Go do Alpha things."
"You're pale. Tired. Need to rest."
"I need to work. I'm pregnant, not invalid."
We stare at each other—stubborn versus worried.
"One hour," he compromises. "Then you rest."
"Two hours."
"Ninety minutes. Final offer."
"Deal."
He kisses me thoroughly before leaving. Through the bond, I feel his reluctance and concern.
I'm fine, I send.
I know. Can't help worrying. His mental voice is warm. You're carrying our everything.
That evening, exhausted but satisfied with work done, I collapse on the couch.
Rian finds me there, lifts me gently.
"Bath time. Then dinner. Then bed."
"Bossy Alpha."
"Protective Alpha." He carries me upstairs. "There's a difference."
The bath is perfect—warm water, scented oils, his hands massaging my sore muscles.
"This is nice," I sigh, relaxing against him.
"You work too hard. Need to slow down." His hands find my small bump. "For both of you."
"Can't just stop being Luna."
"Can delegate more. Let the pack help." He kisses my neck. "You're growing our child. That's your primary job now."
"That's very traditional Alpha of you."
"I'm a traditional Alpha. Sue me." But he's smiling. "Just want you healthy. Both of you."
Later, in bed, he's extra gentle. His touch is reverent, worshipful.
"Still want me?" I ask. "Even sick and tired?"
"Always." He kisses me deeply. "You're carrying my child. Nothing is sexier than that."
We make love slowly—careful, tender, loving. He treats me like precious glass, and for once, I don't complain.
"Love you," I breathe.
"Love you both," he responds, hand on my stomach. "So much."
Three weeks until second trimester. Three weeks until this gets easier.