Pregnant With Alpha’s Genius Twins

#Chapter 235 – The Forest’s Parting Gift

We get to work, then, all of us. The boys gather firewood while I check our supplies in the tent. They went untouched by wildlife by some continued magic with which the forest blessed us. I gather some dried meats and granola bars to supplement the forest’s gifts and head back to the fire circle where Victor is coaxing a tentative flame to life.

I sit down comfortably next to him, watching him work.

“After this,” I consider aloud. “I wonder if we’ll to never camp again, or if we’ll want to go camping every weekend. We’re either going to be totally burned out or obsessed.”

Victor glances at me and then towards our sons, each stumbling towards us with their arms full of dry branches. “I think with those two, we’re going to tend towards obsessed.”

“Yes, but I am the Luna now,” I say, setting my shoulders and sitting up primly. “And I may decide that I am an indoor sort of girl –“

Victor laughs, sitting back and looking towards the newly-kindled fire. “But you’re outnumbered,” he says.

I look at my boys and narrow my eyes. “Alvin can be persuaded. I can feel it. Then it will be fifty-fifty, and swing vote goes to the Luna.”

Victor gives me a grin as the boys drop the firewood next to us. “Now you’re just making up rules.”

“Yes,” I say, raising my chin. “And you must follow them all blindly, as is my Luna right.”

“I want to make up the next rule!” Alvin shouts, setting us off on a new conversational bender that turns into a game where each of us makes up a rule in turn that everyone has to follow. We’re almost collapsed in laughter a few hours later, tied up in knots between Ian’s rule that everyone has to talk like a monster and Alvin’s that everyone has to sing their sentences to the tune of their favorite pop song.

We pass a sweet evening this way, Victor and I curled against each other while our children gambol before the fire, playing and laughing and shouting at each other and us in turn. We all eat our fill from our supplies, no longer worried about making them last, and from the little forest fruit bundle which seems to continue replenishing itself no matter what we take.

I think I eat about five tiny apricots, each sweet and tangy and full of juice. “How did the forest even make these,” I murmur to Victor, biting into my sixth. “They won’t even be in season until May.”

“Maybe the forest has a magical greenhouse,” he mumbles sleepily against my hair, not really caring if he makes sense. “And the ghosts tend it as a hobby.”

about the last time I had an apricot. It was a while ago. At one point apricots were my favorite

I watched reruns of The Nanny on my little TV. Apricots had been

I freeze, looking down at the half-eaten apricot, pressing my other hand

asks, his peeking one eye open to look

to my mouth, grateful for this final gift the forest has given us.

we get home,” Victor sighs, laying down on the forest floor and

murmur, raking my hands through his hair.

us up some blankets, covering us gently as we stare at the fire. Just as I begin to drift off to the sound of my sweet sons whispering to each other, a few motes of magic make themselves visible

Victor’s chest, my twin boys cuddled up on either side of us. And in this moment, I know myself

I wake up quite stiff after my night on the forest

life, who each blink awake next to me. “I’ve had enough of the forest. I need to go home, where there are mattresses, and indoor plumbing, and wifi. And celebrity gossip websites.

back, sighing contentedly. “Not

is because your bones are made of rubber,” I say, tickling his belly so that he giggles and curls up like a bug. “But I am aged, and delicate, and my bones are made of twigs. I need to

mama,” Alvin agrees, rubbing his eyes and looking up at me supportively.

I murmur, pulling him into my lap and placing a kiss on the crest

“It’s them against us,

getting to his feet. “If we’re going to go, though, let’s try to get home in time for

we left it. It’s a little dirtier than I remembered, but it’s certainly a familiar piece of home that fills my

they reach it and suddenly Beta Stephen is standing at the entrance, his red hair messier than

steps. They wrap their arms around his legs in greeting, but Stephen doesn’t take

seriously, working hard to keep his face serious

a quick hand through his hair, straightening it. “Sir, how did you hold up?” He glances quickly over us and then

and begins again, offering a hand to Victor. “What I mean, sir, is