The Dark Alpha: True Luna

I lie on my bed, mentally and physically drained after yet another feeding of my twins. They're always hungry; I don't know how my body produces enough milk to fulfill their needs. I'm their mother, and I love them to the point of heartache, but I dream of a break from nursing like a caged bird dreams of flight.

And it's only been one week.

It's too early to fall asleep, so I soothe myself by remembering things—not just any things, of course, but times and situations I wish I could return to for a little while.

I remember the first night Theo and I slept here together. He shocked me with his muscular, marked-up body, and I didn't know what to do with all the feelings I felt for him. I was utterly embarrassed when he nudged me into a conversation about pleasuring myself; I instantly refused to entertain him. Back then, my chest was so panicked—torn between my own shyness and the bluntness of intimacy. I never imagined having such a conversation with my mate. My mother spoke so vaguely and flowery about mating, it wasn't at all what I thought it would be like. And Theo is the opposite of vague and flowery.

I smile to myself. Despite it all, he was patient with me.

Theo leaves the bathroom, shaven and no longer in ill-fitting clothes. "The boys are knocked out," he says as he peers into Daniel's crib and then over at Reid's.

"They're full, again. They'll sleep. And then they'll be hungry, again. And it will continue with intermissions of cloth changes and fits of crying," I say sullenly. "Rosa said six months."

"Six months?" He questions.

"Of nursing them. After that, they'll start eating other foods but will need breast milk preferably for the first year of their lives."

I recite what Rosa told me earlier when I stopped at her house with questions about my healing. Our conversation led to other subjects like nursing; some days I enjoy nursing, and other days like today, I don't.

I purse my lips and Theo mulls Rosa's information over. I wish I didn't sound or feel so depleted. When it comes to my babies, I want to be a devoted, appreciative, graceful mother... And then I crave to be innocent again, when everything was new and frightening. The constant inner turmoil I hated then seems toxically captivating now. Now I'm just a cow to my sons with a half-healed baby bump and sore breasts.

The back of my hand finds my eyes instinctively, and I look the other way, not wanting Theo to see how quickly I've been broken. What kind of mother breaks down after one week?

I keep my body unnaturally still as my eyes well with tears.

"Celeste," he says, and I feel the bed shift under his weight.

"I just need a minute," I say, not moving my hand. "It'll pass."

There's a pause before the bed moves again, and then there are footsteps followed by a sliding sound. I look and see Theo moving Daniel's crib out of the room. My ears wait for Daniel to start crying, but he doesn't.

When Theo returns without my baby, I ask, "What are you doing?"

"Moving the cribs back into the nursery."

I push off my pillows. "What?"

The cribs have been on either side of our bed since we brought the boys home.

Theo comes to my side of the bed and takes Reid. "They'll be right next door, fed and sleeping. You need some space—time to yourself."

Guilt rises within me first, taking something heavy along with it. I feel lighter, clearer, still guilty, but better. Reid doesn't protest his relocation either, and suddenly my bedroom is as it was. I rest against the headboard and breathe away the remnants of my upset.