Beneath the Alpha's Moon

P.O.V. You know, I’ve lived a few centuries, watched empires rise and fall, and seen things that would make the average mortal lose sleep for months. But there I was, grinning like a fool, walking alongside Teresa and her newborns as we strolled out of the hospital. It was almost surreal – the congratulatory smiles from everyone we passed, nods of admiration, people stopping to coo over the babies. I swear, if I could blush, I’d be positively pink.

"Look at you," I murmured, leaning close to Teresa. "Our little princess and prince, finally out of their castle."

She gave me a soft, somewhat shy smile, glancing down at the babies cradled in her arms. "I can’t believe they’re finally here," she said quietly, her voice like a soft hum in my ear. I found myself melting right then and there. Who knew a vampire could feel like he’d just won the lottery of eternity?

Yet something gnawed at me, an uneasy, persistent prickling beneath my skin, like a pebble lodged in the sole of my shoe. From the moment Teresa awoke this morning, a tension had lingered between us—subtle yet unmistakable, growing sharper with each passing glance, every heartbeat quickened in my presence. I’d been sitting by her hospital bed, watching her stir as consciousness slowly crept over her. Her lashes fluttered, her gaze swept around the room, and then... she’d shut her eyes, feigning sleep. I knew the difference; I’ve spent years studying humans, observing their every nuance and quirk. I could tell when someone was pretending, trying to hide beneath the fragile veil of closed eyes. But why? Why would Teresa, of all people, feel the need to mask herself from me?

Every time I spoke, I could hear her heart—a rapid, uncoordinated beats that betrayed her unease, spiking sharply as if recoiling from each word. It was more than simple fatigue or post-birth disorientation; there was fear there, a tremor in her pulse that sent a faint chill through my core.

The real worry came, though, when I held one of the babies. I’d lifted the tiny bundle with a sense of respect and pride, feeling the softness of new life against me, a warmth I’d almost forgotten. But the instant I cradled the child in my arms, Teresa’s heart seemed to thunder, the rhythm wild and erratic, as if it were fighting to break free from her chest. Her eyes never left my hands, her gaze flickering between me and the baby with an intensity that bordered on panic.

Gently, sensing the distress radiating from her, I’d placed the baby back into her arms. "Teresa," I murmured, keeping my voice soft, laced with the warmth I hoped would soothe her. "Do you remember much from that night?"

I watched her carefully, searching her expression for any hint of what she might be hiding. But her face was a mask, a strained calm held together by threads of apprehension. I could feel the tension between us, thick and unyielding, a barrier I couldn’t quite penetrate.