Chapter 111

Iris

With a flourish, Arthur turns the handle and pushes the door open, flicking on the light.

“Ta-da!” he announces, stepping aside so we can see.

My breath catches as I take in the scene. The room that was once a simple guest bedroom has been completely transformed. Every inch of it screams ‘Miles.’

The walls are painted a soft blue with white clouds, and elaborate dinosaur decals are plastered across them. A bookshelf shaped like a shark holds a whole host of new books and toys. In the corner sits a small desk with colored pencils and drawing paper already laid out.

But the centerpiece is the bed—a bright red race car complete with wheels and headlights.

“Wow!” Miles shouts, rushing into the room and whirling around in circles to take it all in. “A race car bed! Just like I always wanted!”

My heart swells watching Miles explore every corner, touching everything. He climbs into the race car bed, making vrooming noises as he pretends to drive.

“When did you do all this?” I ask Arthur, turning to look at him. I can barely breathe, I’m so stunned—and touched.

Arthur shrugs, but I can see the pride in his eyes. “I’ve been working on it for a few weeks. Had to sneak around a bit to get it done without you noticing.”

Miles is now examining the bookshelf, pulling out what looks like an encyclopedia on dinosaurs. He gasps as he flips it open to a large spread on pterodactyls. “Look, Mommy! This book has pictures and everything!”

I step further into the room, taking in all the thoughtful details. There’s a nightlight shaped like a crescent moon, a toy chest painted with stars, and even a small tent in the corner for reading or playing pretend. Everything is perfect. Everything is exactly what Miles loves.

I should be happy. And I am, truly. But that happiness is edged with another feeling, one that’s far more bitter.

Guilt.

Here’s Arthur, creating this magical space for our son, putting so much thought and care into every detail. And what am I doing? Keeping massive secrets from him. Lying about who I really am just to appease someone I hardly even know.

“Do you like it?” Arthur asks softly, coming up behind me. He wraps his arms around my waist from behind and rests his chin on top of my head.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The backs of my eyes are pricking with hot tears and I fear I might burst out sobbing if I say a word.

“Daddy, can I sleep here tonight?” Miles asks, bouncing on the race car bed.

“Of course, buddy. This is your room now. Whenever you visit, or…” His arms tighten slightly around my waist. “Or if you and your mom move back in someday.”

Moving in. The thought fills me with joy, but also more guilt. This is all I ever wanted—to live together, a happy family, our child completely spoiled rotten by a doting father. And to think that it’s finally within my reach is surreal. But it’s yet another bitter reminder that I’m keeping huge secrets from the man of my dreams.

As Miles returns to excitedly exploring his new room, Arthur glances at me. “You sure you’re okay?” he whispers.

I hesitate, biting my lip. I should tell him. Fuck it.

I turn in his arms, pressing my palms gently against his chest. I take a deep breath, preparing myself.

“Arthur, I—”

Thud.

“Ooowwww!”

Arthur and I both whirl around to see that Miles has fallen, so excited that he tripped over the rug and bumped his knee on the bedside table. Arthur rushes over, scooping him up and scolding him lightly for not paying attention.

I sigh.

Tomorrow. It’ll be better to tell him tomorrow. For now, we’ll just focus on… this.

We spend the next half hour getting Miles settled, reading him a bedtime story in his new room. He’s so excited he can barely keep his eyes open, fighting sleep until the very end. When he finally drifts off, clutching a stuffed t-rex to his chest, Arthur and I slip out quietly.

In the hallway, I turn to Arthur and wrap my arms around his neck. “Thank you,” I whisper. “This means so much.”

He pulls me close, his hands warm on my lower back. “Anything for our family.”

The word ‘family’ makes my chest ache. I rise on my tiptoes and kiss him. Arthur responds immediately, deepening the kiss as he walks me backward toward his bedroom. Our bedroom.

I almost consider telling him again, but once inside, I decide to focus on the present moment. On Arthur. On us. I step back and slowly unbutton my blouse, revealing the lacy black bra I put on this morning. Arthur’s eyes darken as they trace the delicate pattern against my skin.

“You’re killing me,” he murmurs, reaching for me.

I let him pull me close again, his mouth hot against my neck. His hands slide down to cup my ass, and he groans when he discovers that I’m wearing matching lacy panties under my skirt.

“Goddess, Iris,” he breathes against my skin.

He pushes me down onto the bed, following me down. His mouth travels from my neck to my collarbone, then lower to the swell of my breasts above the lace. I arch into him, my fingers threading through his hair.

Arthur’s hands are everywhere—sliding up my thighs, pushing my skirt higher, tracing the edge of my panties. When his fingers slip beneath the lace, I gasp, my hips lifting off the bed.

“So wet already,” he murmurs, his fingers exploring my opening.

I reach for his belt, fumbling with the buckle in my eagerness. Arthur helps me, shucking off his pants and boxers in one smooth motion. His shirt follows, and then he’s gloriously naked above me.

We join with a desperation that surprises me. Maybe it’s the lingering tension from earlier, or maybe it’s my guilt manifesting as an intense need. Either way, I lose myself in the sensation of Arthur’s body against mine, in the familiar rhythm we find together.

For a while, I forget everything else. Forget Caleb. Forget the secrets. Forget that I’m apparently a werewolf. There’s only Arthur and me, moving together, chasing that peak of pleasure.

But just as we’re finding our rhythm, something feels... off. A wetness that’s different from arousal. A cramping sensation low in my belly.

“Arthur, wait,” I gasp, pushing at his broad shoulders.

He stops immediately, pulling back to look at me with concern. “What’s wrong?”

I shift slightly and feel it—the unmistakable sensation of my period starting. “Shit,” I mutter, mortified.

Arthur follows my gaze down to where we’re joined and sees the blood on his sheets. “Oh,” he says simply.

I’m not sure why, but I half-expect him to be disgusted, to pull away in horror. Instead, he carefully withdraws and helps me sit up.

“I’m so sorry,” I babble, my face burning with embarrassment. “I didn’t realize—I thought I had another week—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Arthur cuts me off, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “These things happen.”

He grabs some tissues from the nightstand and helps me clean up, then strips the sheets off the bed.

“I’ll throw these in the wash,” he says, bundling up the stained sheets. “You want to take a shower?”

I nod, still mortified. While I’m in the bathroom, I hear him moving around, putting fresh sheets on the bed. When I emerge, wrapped in a towel, he hands me a pair of his clean boxers and one of his t-shirts.

“These should be more comfortable,” he says with a gentle smile.

I change quickly, grateful for his thoughtfulness. The boxers are soft and loose, much better than my ruined lacy panties. When I climb back into bed, Arthur pulls me close, spooning me from behind.

“I’m really sorry,” I whisper again.

“Stop apologizing,” he murmurs against my hair. “It’s natural. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

His kindness makes the guilt surge up again like bile in my throat. Here he is again, being the perfect partner, the perfect father, handling everything with such grace. And I’m lying to him. Keeping this massive secret about who I really am.

I want to tell him. I really do.

But just as I’m opening my mouth to finally say the words, I look over and find that Arthur is fast asleep.