if he maimed her mate. Pick your battles.
“Morning.” Bethany waddled in. At five months pregnant, she looked bigger than Jen had at that stage in her pregnancy, but Decebel was smart enough not to mention that. Drake was right beside her. He did not say good morning. He was too busy casting worried looks at his mate. Decebel imagined they had quite an interesting discussion about the fact that Drake didn’t want Bethany up, moving around, and wearing herself out. To which Bethany would have told him that “when he was pregnant, growing a life inside of him, then he could give her advice on how to be pregnant.” Decebel nearly grinned as he stared at the pair but refrained when Drake glanced at him with a pleading look. He shrugged at the male. Decebel was not about to get in the middle of that.
“Bethany, are you sure you should be … you know … upright?” Wadim asked.
Drake took a step behind his mate, his eyes wide. He made a slashing motion across his neck. Clearly an abort signal. Wadim, who had not had the pleasure of having a pregnant mate, was oblivious.
“You’re waddling around like the pup’s going to drop out of you at any second,” the historian continued. “Should you actually be waddling at this point? I thought that happened closer to the nine-month mark.”
Drake’s shoulders slumped. Bethany’s head turned slowly. Her lips turned up at the corners, but the look on her face showed anything but a smile. “Wadim,” she said through clenched teeth, “have you ever been pregnant?”
Wadim’s brow rose as he shook his head.
She took a step closer to the historian. “Then you have no idea that the reason a pregnant woman is waddling might not be because she’s about to give birth.” She poked him with a chubby finger in the middle of his chest. “You wouldn’t know that perhaps the pregnant woman is simply trying not to pee herself. You…” She poked him again.
“Ow.” Wadim took a step backward, but Bethany closed the distance and poked him a third time.
“…wouldn’t understand the precious …” poke “… amazing …” poke “… life …” poke “… the pregnant woman is carrying is kicking her bladder every three seconds.” Another poke and another yelp from the historian. Wadim looked like he was about to turn and run from the room, and Bethany sounded as if the life growing in her belly was anything but precious or amazing. “Have you ever been kicked in the bladder, Wadim?”
He gulped and shook his head.
Bethany leaned in until she was inches away from Wadim’s face and hissed. “Would you like to be?”
“Uh-oh.” Jacque sauntered in with Slate sitting on her hip. His eyes lit up the moment he saw Thia. “I see someone was dumb enough to give pregnancy advice.”
Decebel cleared his throat. He wanted to kick Wadim himself a few moments ago. Now, he felt sorry for the historian. “Wadim, apparently we need to have a meeting for the ignorant males of the pack.”
“Yes,” Fane chimed in. “A lesson on proper etiquette around pregnant females is in order. Who, by the way,” he glanced at Jen, Jacque, and then Bethany, “are simply amazing because they can grow a life inside of them and suffer through nine months of hell that we males cannot even begin to understand.”
“Hell!” Thia mimicked.
Decebel sighed.
Fane kept going. “And then endure the agonizing pain of childbirth, just to ensure the survival of our very species. I mean, wow. That’s all I can say. Just, wow.”
“Okay, wolf-man,” Jacque patted him on the shoulder. “Now you’re laying it on a bit too thick. But we do appreciate the effort.”
Wadim took another small step away from Bethany, and a look of relief came over his face when she didn’t follow. “My apologies … um … ma’am.” All the males in the room groaned.
“Did you just call me … ma’am?” Bethany asked.
“Bethy,” Drake interrupted. Everyone except the historian knew—perhaps because he’d spent entirely too much time poring through centuries-old tomes instead of hanging out with actual women—that calling a woman ma’am when she was under the age of some indistinct number of which no male was entirely certain and therefore wisely avoided the term altogether, was an insult of the highest order. “Would you like me to get you a glass of orange juice, my love?”
Bethany immediately turned to her mate. “Orange juice sounds outstanding.” Suddenly, the girl was all smiles, and the tension in the room fell several