Who's My Triplet's Alpha Daddy? Novel

Chapter 135 Dec 26, 2025 POV: Lysander Peace feels wrong after months of coordinated genocide and family drama that would make Greek tragedies look functional. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop-another attack, another crisis, Lia returning with a vendetta and better planning. But there's just silence. The pack healing, rebuilding homes, processing trauma through group therapy sessions that Luna helps facilitate with empathic abilities that still blow my mind.

Caroline's pregnancy is progressing into the second trimester with complications that make our pack doctor use words like "unprecedented" and "concerning" in that clinical tone that really means "this could go catastrophically wrong." Human bodies aren't designed for supernatural babies, turns out. Who knew. I'm reviewing corporate damage control reports in my office-Fenris Legal Group lost three major accounts but gained seven after the hunter attacks went public as "domestic terrorism"-when my phone buzzes against the desk. Unknown number.

I almost delete it on principle because unknown numbers since the attacks usually mean hunters or reporters or hunters pretending to be reporters. Then I see the message preview and my stomach drops through the floor. The test was negative. I'm not pregnant. Staying in Canada. Don't look for me. Good luck with everything. Claire. The woman I was involved with before Caroline, before the bond, before everything went to absolute hell.

The woman who disappeared four months ago with vague explanations about "needing space" and "figuring things out" that I'd translated as "you're too complicated and I'm done." I hadn't looked for her. Didn't seem fair when I was already falling for Caroline, already feeling the bond forming despite us both trying to ignore it. Claire deserved better than being someone's backup plan. The test was negative. Which means she thought she might be pregnant. With my child. And didn't tell me until she confirmed she wasn't. I'm staring at the message trying to process how I feel about this-relief?

Guilt? Some complicated mix of both?-when Caroline walks through my office door carrying takeout that smells like Thai food and good life choices. "Brought lunch." She's glowing in that second-trimester way, baby bump finally visible beneath her dress, looking absolutely radiant despite the complications trying to kill her. "Also, your receptionist is terrified of you. Just FYI. You might want to smile occasionally so she stops thinking you're planning her murder." "I don't plan murders. I delegate them." I'm still holding my phone, message burning holes in my retinas.

Caroline notices immediately because she's terrifyingly perceptive beneath the bubbly exterior. "What's wrong? Did something happen? Is it the pack? Is it-" "Claire texted me." I hand her the phone before I can overthink it, before I can craft some diplomatic explanation that hides the complicated mess underneath. She reads it twice. Sets the phone down carefully. "Oh." "Yeah." "She thought she was pregnant." Caroline's hand moves to her own stomach automatically, protective instinct that's become second nature. "With your baby." "Apparently." My hands spread helplessly on the desk.

"She didn't tell me. Just handled it alone in Canada, confirmed she wasn't, and now she's letting me know so I don't spend years wondering." "That was kind of her." Caroline sits in the chair across from my desk, studying me with eyes that see too much. "You loved her." Not a question. Statement of fact that doesn't require confirmation. "I thought I did." The words come out more honest than I intended. "Now I know the difference." "What's that?" She's not jealous, not hurt, just genuinely curious about the distinction.

"Love is choosing someone when you could walk away." I'm around the desk before conscious thought catches up, kneeling beside her chair, hands settling on her thighs. "Claire and I were easy. Comfortable. No complications, no pack politics, no supernatural bullshit to navigate." "But she left when things got hard." Caroline's fingers find my hair, stroking through it with the kind of absent affection that makes my chest tight. "You could have stayed with your father, stayed human, stayed safe from all of this." My hands slide to her belly, feeling the barely-there swell that holds our child.

"You chose this. Chose me. Chose a life that's actively trying to kill you through pregnancy complications. That's love." "Also possibly stupidity." Her smile is soft, genuine, the one she saves for when the masks come down. "But I prefer love as explanation." "Our baby is going to be so loved." I press my forehead to her stomach, feeling the subtle flutter that might be movement or might be my imagination. "Obsessively. Aggressively. To an almost unhealthy degree." "Perfect." She laughs and the sound makes everything complicated feel simple for exactly three seconds. Then her face goes pale.

Hand pressing to her side, breath hitching in that way that makes every protective instinct I possess roar to life. "Caroline?" "It's fine." Her voice is tight, controlled, absolutely not fine. "Just-the baby's strong. Kicks hard sometimes." Except it's not kicking. I can smell blood-copper and wrong, internal bleeding that humans can't survive without immediate intervention. Her hand comes away from her side stained red, soaking through her dress in spreading darkness.

I'm moving before conscious thought catches up, scooping her into my arms, already running for the pack doctor's office three floors down. She's protesting weakly, insisting it's not that bad, typical Caroline downplaying medical emergencies because acknowledging weakness isn't her style. Dr. Reeves takes one look at her and goes into crisis mode. Monitors, ultrasound, hands moving with practiced efficiency while Caroline bleeds onto examination table paper. "What's happening?" My voice sounds detached, clinical, completely divorced from the panic trying to claw up my throat.

"The baby's strong." Reeves doesn't look up from the ultrasound screen showing impossibly clear image of our child-too developed for sixteen weeks, already displaying muscle definition that shouldn't exist. "Too strong. Supernatural strength in a human womb causes complications." "We knew there would be complications." Caroline's gripping my hand hard enough bones grind together. "You said it was manageable-" "It was." Reeves interrupts with the kind of brutal honesty that makes you wish doctors would sugarcoat more. "Until the baby started developing Alpha traits ahead of schedule.

The strength is increasing, organs are shifting to accommodate werewolf growth patterns, and your human body can't adapt fast enough." She pulls up images I don't want to see-internal bleeding, tissue damage, organs displaced by a fetus that's rewriting biological rules. "You're bleeding internally. The baby's movements are causing trauma your human healing factor can't repair." "So fix it." I'm already planning solutions, calculating options, doing the vicious intelligence thing where I find angles nobody else sees.

"Surgery, medication, whatever it takes-" "There's only one fix." Reeves meets my eyes with expression that promises I'm not going to like this. "Turn her. Make her wolf. It's the only way the baby won't destroy her from the inside out." The words land like bullets. Turn Caroline. Force supernatural transformation on the woman who chose me despite being human, despite having the option to stay safe. Make her into something she never asked to be. "No." Caroline's voice is immediate, absolute. "I'm not getting turned just because-" "You'll die." Reeves doesn't soften it. "Not maybe.

Not probably. You will die if we don't do something. The baby's too strong, growing too fast, and your human body can't survive what it needs." Caroline's hand finds mine, squeezes with strength that's already fading. "How long do I have? To decide?" "Days." Reeves shuts down the ultrasound like she can't bear looking at the evidence anymore. "Maybe a week if we're lucky.

After that, the bleeding becomes catastrophic and we can't save you even with supernatural intervention." I'm staring at Caroline who's staring at the ceiling, both of us processing the impossible choice biology just handed us. Turn her-take away her humanity, her choice, her entire identity-or watch her die carrying our child. Some choices aren't really choices at all. Just varying degrees of losing everything. Archer