Luca's POV
"Ready to know?" the doctor asks, ultrasound wand on my stomach.
Rian grips my hand tightly. "Yes. Please."
We've waited four months for this moment. Finally finding out if we're having a boy or girl.
The monitor shows our baby—active, healthy, perfect.
"Everything looks great," the doctor says. "And congratulations... you're having a son."
Silence. Then Rian's crushing me in a hug, crying.
"A son," he breathes. "We're having a son."
"A boy," I repeat, tears streaming down my face. "Our little boy."
The drive home is quiet—both of us processing. A son. We're having a son.
"You okay?" I ask Rian.
"Perfect. Just—" He wipes his eyes. "A son, Luca. We're having a son."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's everything." He pulls over, cupping my face. "Thank you. For our son. For our family."
"Thank you for being excited." I kiss him softly. "For wanting this with me."
That evening, we tell the pack. The celebration is massive—everyone thrilled for their future Alpha.
"A boy!" Sara hugs me carefully. "He's going to be so loved."
"Already is," I say, hand on my stomach.
Rian's beside me constantly, hand joining mine on my bump. "Our son," he keeps saying. "Our little boy."
That night, alone in our room, he's extra emotional. His hands map my body reverently.
"What are you thinking?" I ask.
"That I'm the luckiest Alpha alive. Beautiful mate, baby boy on the way, perfect life." He kisses my stomach. "Hi, son. I'm your dad. Can't wait to meet you."
The baby kicks—first time I've felt it. I gasp, grabbing Rian's hand, placing it where the kick was.
"Did you feel—" Another kick, right under his palm.
Rian's expression transforms—wonder, joy, overwhelming love. "He kicked. Our son kicked."
"He knows his daddy's voice."
Rian's crying again, face pressed to my stomach. "I love you so much already, little one. So much."
Watching him like this—vulnerable, emotional, perfect—I fall in love all over again.
"You're going to be an amazing father," I whisper.
"We're going to be amazing parents." He looks up, eyes shining. "Together."
"Together," I agree.
He moves up, kissing me deeply. "Make love to me?" I request. "Celebrate our son?"
"Gladly."
He's extra careful, worshipful, showing me with his body how much this means. Each touch celebrates our son, our family, our love.
"A boy," he murmurs as we move together. "Our beautiful boy."
"Our son," I gasp. "Our everything."
When we finish, both emotional and satisfied, he holds me close.
"Name ideas?" he asks.
"Too early. Let's meet him first."
"Fair." He kisses my stomach. "But we're calling him 'little one' until then."
"Perfect."
We fall asleep planning—nursery colors, future moments, all the love we'll give our son.