Book 13: Perfectly Imperfect

Logan

Several months later...

Moonrise is washed in rain as I pace the upper hallways of the grand palace. My muscles are impossibly tight as moans echo toward me and away again. I pace in the opposite direction of the cries of agony that cut me to the core.

It’s been like this for hours now. We’d arrived in Moonrise last night with plans to visit for a few days before leaving for Veiled Valley for the next month or so, returning to Emberfyll in time for the birth of our child with time to spare, but things went awry.

A nurse–a witch–rushes in my direction, her face pale and washed in concern. “Alpha King Logan? It’s time.”

“Is she all right?”

“She’s okay,” she lies, her eyes giving away her worry.

I brush past her, the hallway blurring as my vision hones in on the door behind which my mate is writhing, begging for relief, but also more time.

Our son is months early. Eight weeks early, to be exact. The witches have bee