Chapter Text
“Papa! Papa, look!”
An excited voice carries across a cold, empty field to Ben. The sun hasn’t quite risen yet but it’s the perfect time to hunt: the quarry is still drowsy, expecting the predators to come out later when the light improves. Dew clings to long tendrils of swaying brown grass and helps cover their peculiar scent.
Best of all, his mouth is full of rabbit blood; a nice warm meal to take home to his mate. She needs it.
Ben’s black ears twitch as he lifts his head to find his first pup hopping up over the tall grass with a squirrel in her jaw. She yaps and barks, black tail wagging. It’s a lovely, crisp fall morning, and Ben is hunting with his little one, and she already has her own breakfast.
Life doesn’t get much better than that.
—•—
After spending no less than an hour congratulating Breha on her kill, it’s time to go home. Rey is waiting.
The house casts a warm glow across Ben’s paws as he follows his daughter up familiar porch steps. She’s already barking when the door opens, tracking mud and snow inside the clean house and flinging squirrel guts all over the freshly painted blue walls.
Uh oh. That won’t end well.
“Breha—! BREHA!”
His tail wags lightly at the sound of his mate’s voice, angry as it is. Awake so soon? She should be in bed.
Ben tips the door shut with his snout before padding to the kitchen sink to deposit his kill. There isn’t much room to navigate his huge body but he’s grown accustomed to it by now, particularly when chasing Breha inside after a morning hunting lesson. Messy girl, just like her mother.
He shapeshifts as his Rey appears in the kitchen doorway holding their daughter by her scruff. Breha whimpers, curled up like a dying spider, trying to look as small as possible to avoid punishment.
Rey, on the other hand, has her long legs planted firm and wide, gunning for a fight like always. Her hooded hazel eyes tell him all he needs to know: namely, that she’s exhausted and should be in bed. Her round stomach protrudes from her middle in a way he doesn’t like—even if she’s always been athletic.
Mates should grow nice and plump when they’re pregnant. All attempts to accomplish that with Rey failed, leaving her like a snake that swallowed a quail’s egg. But she’s still beautiful.
Ben smiles, unperturbed by her display. “Good morning, my love. How did you sleep?”
“You.” Rey gives Breha a short shake before setting her to the floor, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “What did we say?! We said no shapeshifting in the goddamn house, didn’t we?!”
“Oh, don’t be that way, dear. Breha was excited about her squirrel.”
Rey launches into a tirade about how their paws ruin the hardwood, but Ben is too busy staring at her round, pregnant belly to pay attention. He nods and washes the blood off his mouth, eager to bring his heavily pregnant mate back to bed rest where she belongs. He can take care of the pup.
His daughter whimpers from the side of the island, hazel eyes baleful. Poor little thing. She’s precocious and eager to learn how to be a wolf, and her mother is decidedly human, which makes things… difficult.
Ben sighs when Rey runs out of steam. He glances at Breha and motions to the stairs.
“Go wash up and change. You know the rules.”
She turns away and transforms back to her four year old human body as she slinks toward the stairs. No back talk. She loves the back talk, just like her mother used to, but he’s gradually chipping it to bits.
All members of the pack learn their place. If they don’t, the entire thing collapses.
Rey touches the moping Breha on her way past, long fingers through her black hair. Ben tears his gaze away to tend to the rabbit. His mate can’t eat raw meat like he can, so it needs to be prepared. Only he can prepare food the way he wants her to eat it.
“You should be more encouraging,” he says. He opens a cabinet to find his dressing tools. “It’s a very important milestone for her.”
“Well three year olds shouldn’t be out killing small animals with their teeth.”
The cabinet closes with a rattle. Ben takes a moment before setting to the task of cleaning the rabbit. He has to feed his mate, and love his mate, even when she’s behaving poorly. It’s been a handful of years. Rey knows that the wolf blood runs thicker than the human blood.
So he doesn’t reply. She knows better. If he lets her dwell on it, she remembers.
A few minutes of silence have the intended effect: Rey mumbles an apology and brings him a pair of sweatpants. Nudity is fairly common in the house but covering up ensures any unexpected guests won’t get a rude surprise. Not that they have many guests.
Rey sits at the island and Ben stops dead in dressing the rabbit. He casts her an icy glare.
“Bed.”
“Aw, Ben—”
He growls softly, meeting her hazel eyes, lip curling with a thin threat. You know better.
Rey settles her small hands on her swollen belly. She’s wearing one of the nightgowns he bought her, one with no sleeves so she can keep cool (important to incubate a boy), and he can tell she has a chill. But she’s bored. Lonely.
That’s why she has him, but even he finds himself busy sometimes. Feeding his mate and pups is his primary responsibility—and keeping them resting and healthy is paramount. Disobedience kills.
“I’m bored,” Rey complains. “And the baby keeps kicking me in the ribs.” She drums her fingers. “Can I call Finn later? See if he wants to go out?”
“Out where?”
“I don’t know… movies? Shopping?”
Ben turns the rabbit over, shaking his head. No. She needs to rest.
“Please? I need the exercise.”
“No.”
“Ben, come on.”
“I said no.”
“You can’t just say no—”
He snarls, baring his teeth and restraining the urge to transform. Rey jerks back in her chair, eyes widening.
He clenches his jaw before going back to cutting up the rabbit. She knows. She knows she needs to rest so they don’t lose another pup, and going out to see her friends will impede that.
Ben isn’t willing to lose another one. His mate shouldn’t be, either. She should do everything in her power to bring the pregnancy to term.
Silence stretches across the cavernous farm house. Rey soon slides from her chair and mumbles a soft apology before stealing upstairs, back to bed where she belongs. He bought this for her benefit, so she had a place to nest and raise their babies in peace.
Ben glares at the stairs as he pops a bone in his mouth. It snaps, clean and satisfying, full of rich marrow. He chews as he turns with his bowl of chopped rabbit ready to be cooked for his mate.
Rey had plenty of opportunities to back out and chose not to. She knew what he was, and she still does—and she’s never going to change him.
—•—
The sun is well in the sky when Ben finishes making breakfast: eggs and rabbit sausage, half a grapefruit, and a glass of milk for extra calcium. It’s perfect for the baby, just like the yoga and prenatal pills his coworker told him to buy.
He prepares the same meal for Breha and whistles to summon her downstairs, which happens in a quick scamper of feet. She’s always been obedient, unlike her rather bratty and difficult mother. Shades of gray. Or maybe not.
Ben doesn’t turn. “Did you eat your kill, little one?”
“…Yes,” she mumbles.
“Very good. We mustn’t waste the things we take. And did you wash up afterwards?”
“Yes, papa, I did.” She wanders closer, wringing her hands. “Why was mommy so upset with me? Doesn’t she like when we bring her home presents?”
No. Rey has never been a fan of disemboweled animals, but she’d better learn to pretend.
“Of course she does,” he soothes. He sets Breha’s tray at the island and pats a chair. “Come, it’s time to eat. You need some fruit in that belly before the meat makes you sick.”
She clambers into her seat and Ben makes sure to give her a long hug and a kiss on his way past. She’s a good girl. Good pup. He’s going to keep her safe in their pack for as long as he can, until her estrous comes—and maybe even after that. There are pills for that nowadays. He doesn’t need to share his girls.
He carries the second tray up to the master bedroom, through hallways lined with portraits of Breha and Rey. He loves them both. Very much.
Some of the sunlight dissipates near the bedroom door. Ben nudges it open, irritated by the sound of the television he doesn’t want her watching. She insists on it in the morning, and it’s not worth starting an argument over. The science is inconclusive on long-term damage to a fetus.
Rey lays on her side, entwined with her body pillow and the other sheets and blankets Ben provided. Everything matches nicely in the room, from the blue and beige sheets to the cream drapes and tasteful, sparse furniture. He likes some space, but needs a sequestered spot for his mate to nest in.
He’s pleased until he catches a glimpse of her red eyes and puffy cheeks. She’s crying. Why? She shouldn’t be. Their bedroom is supposed to be a safe place for them; their den, where only the mingled scents of them penetrates. Nothing else. Just them.
“Rey,” he murmurs.
“I want to go out!” The tears come in a deluge and she buries her face in a pillow. “I’m so sick of laying around here watching TV!”
Ben sighs as he shuts the door. He sets the breakfast tray on the nightstand, murmuring as he crawls into bed with his Rey. It’s enormous, able to accommodate him in any form he decides to take: of which there are many, and his mate has seen them all.
He pushes aside their flower-printed sheets, curling up along her back, shushing her sobbing. A hand settles protectively over the swell of her stomach and Ben’s heart skips a beat when the pup kicks. Oof. No matter how many times he feels that or sees the heartbeat, he still can’t believe it.
“I wanna go home.” Rey shudders, twisting, sniffling. “Please bring me home.”
“You are home.”
“No I’m not. No I’m not. I wanna go home.”
Hm. Maybe she’s ill.
Ben nuzzles her hair, already purring. “Are you playing silly games, little one?” He runs his fingertips along her hip and down her thigh. “Like we used to?”
The sniffling stops. Reminders of the old games they would play have a tendency to stop Rey from careening down whatever hysterical track she’s on. Some days it works, some it doesn’t, but it isn’t meant to be a threat. Only a reminder.
Pleased, he nestles them under another blanket, purring, kissing her neck. Good girl. All she has to do is remember her place in the pack.