“You’re not going to be the last of the European Werewolves anymore.”

  (Small Fry Chapter 3)

However, the other symptom the pregnancy produced, was difficulty with getting out bed in the mornings.  I guess I shouldn’t complain, since I wasn’t experiencing morning sickness like other women in my condition.  But I felt exceptionally sleepy and sluggish.

BANG!  BANG!  BANG!

Huh?

BAM!  BAM!  BAM!

What was this, déjà vu?  Sleepily, I raised my head and looked about, to find Declan was missing from his side of the bed.   His digital alarm clock read as 9.13 AM, so that’s why.  I had slept in again.

BANG!  RRRIIIIIIPP!  BAM!

What the hell was going on here?  I stumbled out of bed in my negligee and meandered over to the doorway of the second bedroom.  I found Declan pulling apart our two single beds.  He was sitting on the wooden floor, with his tool kit open as he was unscrewing the wooden bed frames.  The mattresses had been taken off and were now leaning against the wall.

“G’morning sunshine!”  He sung.  “Man, after 273 years, your bed hair still cracks me up!  But at least I’ve gotten you out of those cartoon cow pajamas.”

“You’re full of it.” I said back.  “I still wear them, when it’s in the dead of winter and it’s minus thirty degrees.”

“That’s my B.”  He chuckled at my early morning language.  “Your coffee awaits, my lady.”

I slid down the doorframe to land on my ass before I reached over to pick up the cup, which sat beside his.

“Mmm.” I closed my eyes, as I savoured my first sip.

“You know with this pregnancy, you’re going to have to start drinking de-caff soon.”  He warned.

“Blasphemy!”  I almost choked on my drink.

“That’s what I hear pregnant women drink.”

“Yeah, but they’re just humans and I’m a Werewolf, so it’s allowed.”

“Let’s ask Ki the next time he’s over, shall we?”  He taunted.

“Do you want to wear this coffee?”  I threatened.

“Man, I love my wife’s biting mood in a morning.”  He laughed to himself.  “Maybe if Marcus had come across you first thing, he wouldn’t have been so quick to try to steal you.”

He was referring to nearly two centuries ago, when I was abducted by the few remaining European Werewolves left.  It was the occasion when Declan murdered his treacherous, man-eating breed and made himself the last of his kind.  That was until of course, he knocked me up.

I turned silent as I watched him pull apart the bed frame.  He unscrewed the end board, before moving up to undo the bed head.  He was wearing a pair of old jeans and his favourite blue-chequered, flannel shirt, but his supernatural muscles bulged underneath.  Once the bed frame was completely undone, he moved to our second single bed to disassemble it.

Then I sung teasingly, “You’re not going to be the last of the European Werewolves anymore.  So how do you feel about that, Mr. Sabre?” 

“I am still gonna be the last though, Mrs. Sabre.”  He corrected as he worked.  “Our daughters are gonna be half-breeds, which is fine with me.”

“Half-breeds?”  I screwed up my face.  “I don’t like that term.”

“And why not?”

“I don’t know, it just doesn’t sound right.”

“Then what are you gonna call our daughters?”

“Special.”

 

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For 273 years my appearance never altered unless I did it deliberately to look older...

(Small Fry Chapter 3)

 

20^th December 2363

The pregnancy was life altering because everything around me, let alone inside me, changed.  

It changed the tribe’s previous views of me, as it changed my husband’s.  Not only was Declan watching closely but so too were the pack.  Everyone seemed fascinated, as they observed my shape shift, with some closer than others.

I had left behind a vision, a beautiful but barren creature whom people had put on a kind of pedestal; somewhat like a painting on the wall.  Like the two-dimensional art, I had always looked the same.  But now, everyone instantly noticed my changes, because they made me more life-like.

For 273 years my appearance never altered, unless I did it deliberately to look older with my changing academic identities.  And of course, this was excluding the change I went through, when I expanded to hunt on a full moon.  Otherwise, my breasts, abdomen, hips or bottom, always looked the same.  I kept this form for nearly three centuries, which was a broad-shouldered, athletic figure thanks to my Lokoti Werewolf physique. 

On this note, my appetite never differed, except for larger meals during the bitterly cold Alaskan winter.  However, after the first week of pregnancy, my husband instantly noticed the change in my eating.  I started to steal an extra piece of garlic bread, or a second bread roll with dinner, or even an extra piece of toast with breakfast.  My meals were increasing and after the first three weeks, I started to snack more. 

Declan would come into kitchen with an attack of the munchies and to his surprise, he would find me there.  I didn’t use to snack, instead I was quite happy with three meals a day.  But my cravings were starting up, like dipping celery sticks into a jar of peanut butter.

“You want a sandwich?  I can make you a sandwich.”  He offered, as he looked on pleasantly surprised.

I shook my head, “I don’t want a sandwich, I want celery sticks with peanut butter.” 

The next afternoon, he found me doing something similar but with carrot sticks and cream cheese. 

After a couple of days of this, Declan walked out of the kitchen carrying two plates.  On one were his sandwiches and on the other, were neatly cut up celery and carrot sticks.  He even put on the side, two small dipping bowls of peanut butter and cream cheese.

“Oh, Declan!”  My face lit up.

“Food is my department, remember?”  He kissed the top of my head.  “I can’t have your cravings putting me out of business.”

As was typical for pregnant women to crave odd things, I started to dip my celery sticks into Nutella as well as peanut butter.  Declan openly stared as I munched away.

“You’re not gonna start eating sardines and ice cream together, are you?”  He shook his head in disbelief.

“Shut up.”  I giggled.

Also, I noticed that he began to slowly build up the size of my meals.  If one night I craved more mashed potato, the following night I saw my serving had doubled or even tripled.  Then he watched closely as I polished off everything on my plate. 

 

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