The sterile scent of antiseptic clung to the air, faint but persistent, curling in Alex's nostrils. A soft beeping from the nearby heart monitor formed a steady rhythm, a quiet lullaby that had accompanied him through the previous night. For the first time in weeks—maybe longer—he'd slept without nightmares. Without sweat-soaked sheets or memories clawing at his mind. The clinic was calm, a stark contrast to the chaos inside him.
Dr. Addison had been in and out all day yesterday, monitoring his vitals, adjusting IV drips, reviewing scans, and occasionally just sitting beside him in contemplative silence. At night, the nurses took over, a rotating team with warm smiles and clinical efficiency. Dr. Addison remained on-call, always ready, should anything take a sudden turn.
It was the first time Alex had felt remotely safe since coming home.
He was sipping lukewarm water, cradled in a pale blue mug, when Dr. Addison returned the next morning. Her dark curls were pulled into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, and her coat was wrinkled, like she hadn't slept. But her eyes were alert and kind as she stepped into the room holding a folder pressed tight against her chest.
Alex's stomach knotted.
She closed the door softly and took the chair beside his bed.
"Alex," she began, her tone measured, cautious. "The blood work came back. You're… almost six weeks pregnant."
Silence clamped over the room. For a beat, Alex just stared at her.
He had known. Or maybe not known, but suspected—something deep in his bones had whispered the possibility. But to hear it aloud, with medical certainty, made it real. Tangible.
"Oh," he said, the single syllable barely audible. "So it's true."
She nodded. "Yes."
His hand drifted automatically to his abdomen. He didn't press—just hovered. It didn't feel real. Not yet.
Dr. Addison drew in a breath. "Your hormone panel is... complicated. Your secondary gender markers are unstable. The suppressants you've been on for years have created a kind of endocrine latency—your body's natural cycles were being suppressed. Now that you've stopped taking them, we're seeing a delayed cascade of hormonal activity. Estrogen, progesterone, beta-hCG and your pheromonal markers—they're all over the place. Your body is trying to recalibrate and support the fetus, but it's...struggling."
"So… I might lose the baby?" Alex asked, voice hollow.
"That's one possibility," she said, gently. "But there's also a chance you won't. The alpha bite... it's stopped bleeding, which is a good sign. Your body is already beginning to metabolize and integrate the alpha's pheromones—those are critical for pregnancy in omegas. If a bond is fully established, it could stabilize your hormone levels and stimulate uterine development."
Alex blinked slowly, trying to parse the clinical words. A bond. Pheromones. Pregnancy.
"I didn't even think I could get pregnant," he whispered. "The pills—"
"Suppressants don't guarantee infertility," Addison said softly. "They suppress heats and reproductive readiness, but they don't erase it. There is still a less than 1% chance that you might get pregnant. "
He stared at the floor. "So I just… got unlucky."
Her voice was calm, steady. "Or lucky. Depends how you look at it. Also, secondary gender suppressants are very tricky and work differently from one person to another. In your case, you stopped taking them just for a day and your omega body is fighting to recover its natural rhythm. But, we can't be too trusting. Yet. "
Alex didn't reply.
Dr.Addison let a few moments pass before speaking again. "I want to run a transabdominal ultrasound. It will give us a clearer picture of uterine condition, amniotic sac formation, and fetal development."
He nodded vaguely. "Okay."
"Come with me, then," she said, rising to her feet.
The short walk down the corridor felt surreal. He felt like he was floating outside his own body, watching his limbs move without input. The clinic was too bright, the floor too white, the scent of antiseptic too sharp. Everything felt... sterile. As if the world were trying to clean itself of him.
The OB-GYN suite was tucked at the end of the hall, quiet and softly lit. The technician—Dr. Lara Williams—was a small woman with fiery red curls and deep-set green eyes. She greeted Alex warmly, motioning to the padded table and dimming the overhead lights.
"You're about six weeks, so we might even be able to hear a heartbeat," she said cheerily as she applied a generous layer of cold gel across his lower abdomen. "Sorry, this will feel a little chilly."
Alex barely flinched.
The machine whirred softly, screen flickering to life. Dr. Williams angled the probe with practiced ease, her gaze narrowing as she zeroed in on the right spot.
"There you are," she murmured, then looked at him. "Would you like to see?"
He hesitated—then nodded.
And there it was. A flicker on the screen. A tiny rhythmic pulse.
"That's the heartbeat," she said, a touch reverent. "Strong and steady. That little bean is fighting."
Alex's breath caught. He hadn't expected to feel anything. But the sound—fast and clear, like a drum deep underwater—cracked something inside him. The presence on the screen wasn't theoretical anymore. It was real.
Dr. Williams pointed to a dot on the monitor. "This is your embryo. The uterine lining is thinner than we'd like, but the fetal sac is properly implanted, and there's good vascular response. Given the circumstances, that's a miracle."
Alex didn't speak. His eyes stayed on the screen.
"Don't worry," she added. "There are pheromone therapies that can stimulate endometrial growth and encourage a more robust uterine environment. Normally, we'd use synthetic alpha pheromone patches, but in your case—"
"You mean the bond," Alex murmured. "The alpha pheromones."
Dr. Williams nodded. "Yes. If the bond continues to stabilize, your own body will begin adapting, and you may not need synthetic treatments. Bonded pregnancies tend to have significantly higher success rates due to the constant presence of alpha hormonal influence."
He nodded faintly, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He hadn't realized he'd started crying.
**************************************************************************************
Dr. Addison was waiting in her office when they returned. She gestured for him to sit, and he did—quietly, gingerly, like any sudden movement might shatter something.
"So," she began, folding her hands over a tablet. "Dr. Williams and I reviewed the ultrasound images and your overall results. And I'm going to be honest with you, Alex. I'm shocked you're doing this well."
"Is that a good thing?"
"Surprisingly, yes," she said with a faint smile. "You've been on suppressants for years, you were bitten under traumatic circumstances, and you experienced acute hormonal shock. Most patients in your position would've miscarried. But somehow, the fetus is still viable and strong. That said, it was close. If you'd waited even a few more days to come in—"
"I would've lost it."
"Most likely, yes."
Alex nodded, slowly. The weight of the information settled over his chest like a wet blanket.
"You mentioned I have a choice," he said softly.
"Yes. And it's still your choice, Alex. Legally, ethically, medically—you are under no obligation to carry this pregnancy to term. Especially given the physical toll, the emotional strain, and the uncertain outcome."
"What are the risks if I keep it?"
Dr. Addison exhaled. "The reality is that prolonged use of secondary gender suppressants can result in latent or delayed physiological side effects. Over time, these medications may cause endocrine disruption, receptor desensitization, and even reproductive organ underdevelopment or atrophy—particularly affecting the endometrium and uterine musculature. Right now, despite evidence of a hypoplastic uterus, the pregnancy is progressing remarkably well. The embryo has implanted securely, and initial hormonal levels—particularly beta-hCG, progesterone, and estrogen—are within a viable range for early gestation. However, this stability is not guaranteed to continue. As you transition into the second trimester, your body will undergo a significant increase in metabolic and hormonal demand. If the uterus is unable to expand adequately or if the endometrial response becomes insufficient, complications such as intrauterine growth restriction, placental insufficiency, or spontaneous miscarriage may occur. In short, the second trimester will be a critical period, and your body's reaction could become unpredictable."
Alex paled.
"And the pheromone treatments?" he asked.
"We considered synthetic therapy, but the risks of overstimulation are too high with your history. Your best chance is the natural bonding—consistent exposure to your alpha's pheromones, ideally through physical proximity or skin contact."
Alex flinched. "What if I don't want to see him?"
Dr. Addison studied him for a long moment.
"That might not be an option, Alex. If you decide to have the baby, you will need to tell your bonded alpha about the pregnancy and about you being an omega. Well, you'll have to tell him about you being an omega anyway, if the bond is completed successfully."
He covered his face with both hands, a tremble wracking his shoulders.
Dr. Addison stood and placed a hand gently on his arm. "You don't have to decide today. I want you to stay here two more days, monitor your vitals, run a few more panels. We'll support whatever choice you make. You're not alone in this. If you don't want to switch clinics, I'll be more than happy to continue being your doctor."
Alex didn't speak for a long time. Then, in a fragile whisper, he said, "I'll keep coming to you for the check-ups. I don't want to go somewhere else."
Her smile was warm. "Then we'll walk this road together."
He thanked her quietly and left the room.
Back in the safety of his room, Alex lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. The sunlight through the blinds cast soft bars of gold across the walls. His hands drifted to his belly again, fingers splayed across skin.
He never thought about children. Not seriously. The pills were supposed to render him sterile, after all. He accepted it as truth, as a price he'd paid for anonymity in a world that was so unwelcoming to male omegas.
Now, everything had shifted.
Alex wasn't sure how to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions coiling inside him. Everything felt blurred at the edges, as if reality itself had taken on the texture of a dream he couldn't quite wake from.
A life created with Damien.
Damien—the very man who had seduced him with a charming smile and veiled words, not out of affection, but out of a calculated desire for revenge. Damien, whose eyes had held both heat and something far colder when he first touched him. A man who had wanted to punish Alex's bloodline through him. Who had coaxed him into vulnerability, only to twist that closeness into a weapon.
And now, that man was the father of his child.
Alex didn't know how Damien would respond to the news. Would he feel remorse? Regret? Unlikely. The more probable scenario was one where Damien viewed the child as a chess piece—another piece in whatever twisted game he was playing against the Mastersons. A child conceived not in love, but amidst manipulation and deception. Would he try to claim the baby to exert control? Use them as leverage to hurt Alex further? Or worse—would he simply discard them, viewing the pregnancy as an inconvenience?
The thought made Alex's stomach twist.
And then there was his own family. The Mastersons with their poison-dipped intentions. Would they see the baby as a scandal? A bargaining chip? A means of solidifying alliances or gaining leverage? It was exactly the kind of thing his parents would do—dressing up exploitation in fine suits and family pride.
He sat up slowly, cradling his abdomen with one hand, as if shielding the small life inside from all of them—from the world itself.
No.
If he chose to carry this child to term, he would not let anyone—not Damien and not the Mastersons sink their claws into them. This baby wouldn't be born into a battlefield. Not if he could help it. They would grow up safe, cherished, and free from the cycle of power plays and generational trauma that had poisoned everything around him for so long.
Even if that meant raising them alone. Even if that meant disappearing completely.
His jaw clenched as he exhaled slowly, grounding himself again.
But the truth remained—he hadn't decided yet. He still didn't know if he was ready to be a parent, let alone under these circumstances. The idea of carrying this child both terrified and humbled him. His heart was a storm of confusion—grief, guilt, fear, and something else too fragile to name.
He closed his eyes and sank back into the pillow, his hand still resting on his abdomen. For now, there were no answers. No decisions. Just silence and the soft, rhythmic beat of his heart. Sleep came easily this time—deep and heavy, pulling him under like the tide.
And in the quiet of the sterile room, Alex dreamed—not of war or betrayal, but of tiny fingers curled around his own. A lullaby of possibility whispered through the fog.