28. Irrational Bastard

As it happened, Aster went into labor the moment they reached the nursery steps.
She doubled over in pain, a whine dragging out from her throat. Kiran thought all his bones would break, tensed so taut. He caught her belly, hands over hers in the same spot, and shouted for the midwife.
Apollo’s Keep was well-staffed all-around, including several midwife Betas. They were constantly around the Omegas, especially pregnant ones, and always prepared to assist in births.
Kiran hated birth days. He hated them because for the next hours and few days after his Omega went into labor, he was a complete hindbrain—completely and utterly irrational with worry for the Omega and his newborn pups.
It was a horrible magnet to be glued to Aster’s side. He’d think, after one hundred years of this shit, he’d be able to get past it and choose not to feel like an overprotective nag. He went through this multiple times a year! Why did the damn instincts never dull?
His world narrowed to Aster panting and groaning as Kiran and the midwife, Aella, his forty-year-old Omega daughter by an Omega male from the Sky pack, buoyed her up the few stairs to the door. “Kiran,” his female moaned.
Godsdamnit, he snarled to himself. He nuzzled her neck to calm her as well as try to sate his stress by rubbing their scents. “I’m here.”
She hummed to signal her thanks, eased by thee simple actions. They got her up, and another midwife had a wheelchair ready. Kiran lowered Aster’s small, bloated body into it himself, snapping his teeth at Aella when she tried to help. She put her hands on her hips and sighed in annoyance.
He didn’t care. He was honed in on Aster’s breathing, on her elevated heart rate, and then—on his two unborn pups’ heartbeats. Strong but fluttering, just as they had been when his ear was pressed up against her belly in the courtyard.
The next emotion he did not shy from: pride. Kiran Cyrus created life once again and he was now two tallies ahead of Selene.
He let Aster hold his hand while Aella rolled her down the hall to the birthing room. And he continued to hold and support her as they paced the large space while she dilated. She keened again and again as the contractions worsened. Usually the whole process was over in about six hours. But Aster was no stranger to the experience.
Kiran had favorite consorts, he wouldn’t lie. There were certain traits—whether it be particularly sexy hips, or a scent, or they were just skilled at fucking—that catered to his great pleasure over others. Aster was one of them because not only did she check all those boxes, but because of her unexpected humor. He was one of the extreme few who may him genuinely laugh. Maybe because she was so good at dirty talk.
Anyway, it all added up to him having—not including these new twins—five pups with her already; twins from the first pregnancy, and triplets from the second. It was a wonder what her small, busty body could handle. He thought stretch marks were arousing.
“Where’s the rest of my brood?” he asked her, massaging the base of her spine. He’d been given a towel to clean himself of blood and a pair of black pants to cover his magnificence.
Aster took it upon herself to clean Kiran herself despite his adamant objection. “Aster, stop,” he’d growled, attempting to pull it out of her hand. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but don’t focus on me.”
She’d deftly avoided him. “No,” she said, and that was that.
Now, she was cursing him out for wrecking her body once again. “Can’t believe I keep coming back to your gold ass,” she said by way of answer.
Kiran’s laugh was husky and authentic. He could almost call her a friend, and he didn’t have friends. “Who can we blame, huh?”
Her hands braced on the armchair, another contraction seizing her body and making her groan. “Just breathe,” he told her, rubbing her back in slow motions. The skin contact calmed them both.
Aster craned her neck to glare at him with a Magnolia’s grassy green eyes—this particular look reminding Kiran of a Venus flytrap, and he was the fly. “You tell me that one more time, and I’m ripping your—”
Another contraction.
“Then tell me where my pups are.”
“Where do you think? They’re only two and five years old. Upstairs, knothead.”
Kiran focused his wolf’s hearing to seek the yips of all his pups on the second floor of the nursery that functioned as a mess of a playground for toddlers. Another swell of pride filled his chest at the abundance of chaos—yes, he’d certainly sired a small army.
“Have I hit the record?” Aster asked, gritting her teeth through more pain.
His pride was pushed aside by more impractical worry. “By fucking me the most or bearing me the most pups?”
“Either or.”
Kiran thought on it. He’d lost track of how many concubines were in his harem over the decades and how full the nursery was. He hadn’t looked at any of the lists in years. “Do you want the truth or bragging rights?”
Aster straightened her spine to bend back a little, stretching. “Somewhere in between.”
“Somewhere in between,” he answered, making her snort. It was probably true. She was one of the Omegas out of males and females that bore him more than one litter, and it wasn’t often that he bedded one multiple times.

Eventually it was time to push, and Aella and her assistants came into the room. Though it was Aster’s third time, apparently it didn’t get any easier. Her scent had been all over the place, it seemed, and with the swirl of new ones, Kiran focused on hers—and she was emanating pure stress.
Kiran innately wanted to shove the Betas aside and shield Aster with his body, but he knew what happened next: three of his lesser Alphas came in to hold him back—two grabbing his arms and shoulders while the third blocked him, ready to dig his heels in if Kiran tried to forge forward. If he Shifted, it would be a disaster.
But he had just enough sense to be driven into the hallway and watch the door close—and lock. He tried to shut out Aster’s drawn-out moans and screams and Aella’s repeated: “Push, Aster, push!”
An hour in, marking three so far, Aster was weeping. “I can’t, I can’t. Kiran…”
His lessers strained every muscle trying to keep him from knocking the door down. He punched his fist through the wall instead. Godsdamnit!
Another lesser came jogging down the hall with a pill and glass of water. Kiran clenched his jaw so tight it hurt. “I’m not taking any damn calming drugs. They work like shit.”
They all knew it did work; thank gods he hadn’t built a tolerance to it. The last birth he endured listening to was only a month ago. It felt like several.
“Dad—”
Kiran shot him a look.
“Alpha,” he corrected, extending the pill and water. “For her sake.”
On the other side of the door, Aster told him, “Just do it, knothead. You refuse and give in every single time. Stop being stubborn.”
In situations like this, his Omega’s command was law. “Fine,” he muttered, and took the drug so he wasn’t such a raging bastard.