The Mystical Attraction of Alpha

Chapter 271

Chapter 271 – A Cry in the Forest

Ella

My breath starts to come short and fast now as I press my hand desperately to my stomach, seeking that connection somewhere within me. But I feel like I’m grasping through empty air, my fingers searching for any touch, any tie, and coming up empty.

“Ella,” Sinclair murmurs, tightening his hands against my back. “Calm down – the doctors say that it’s okay, that he’s still with us –”

“Still with us,” I growl, my teeth clenched as I try to manifest that damn connection, to make it appear even when it stubbornly refuses to present itself. “How can he still be with us if I can’t feel him?”

Sinclair shushes me softly again, a soft rushing sound that despite my desperation – makes me open my eyes and look at him. My fear comes rushing in then, wiping out my anger and frustration. “Dominic, what does it mean?” I ask, my voice trembling. “If the doctor’s say they have a heartbeat – but we can’t feel him?”

“I don’t know, Ella,” he responds, his own voice low with worry and despair. “But we’re going to figure it out, okay? Together?” He pulls his brows together, worried, and nods to me, begging me to see. “Please, just calm down. We’ll think it through.”

I nod quickly, bobbing my head in agreement and forcing my body to relax. Sinclair moves beneath me, folding his legs instead of kneeling, pulling me into his lap and cradling me against his chest. I rest my head against him, making myself breathe slow, deep breaths, letting the warm scent of him root me in my body.

God, how long have I been gone? I have…memories. Memories of being here, of dancing, of being in the clouds and in the trees…of flickering in and out of this place. I push my mind back further and remember, quite suddenly, the last place I was

steps, with Cora, handing her

I handed it to Cora, taking my life with it. I look up into Dominic’s face then and find him there, ready, likewise peacefully

fine. The world is

wanted him so badly for years and years. And in these past few months of happiness with Sinclair, I have let myself imagine a

beautiful future – it’s so horrible I can hardly stand it. I feel myself physically cringing at the idea, curling further into Sinclair’s arms as

idea that it could all be just

eyes snap open at that. I suddenly sit up straighter in Sinclair’s arms. “What?” he asks, curious, a little frightened that something might be

dream,” I murmur, my mind wheeling as I look around at our surroundings. “We’re in a dream.” “Well, yeah,” Sinclair says, as if it’s obvious. But he doesn’t get

my face and doesn’t say anything, letting me continue. “And you’re here,” I insist, starting to get excited

slowly, still not getting

him how much we want him? You brought me back right now you kissed me – can’t we do it with him?” I lose

Sinclair’s lap, ready to get to my feet, to head into the forest, to find my son, but Sinclair quickly pulls me back. “Ella,” he hesitates, “I don’t know if it

I ask, spinning to look at him and

because I’m your mate – I’ve never heard of a mother sharing her dream with her pup, even while pregnant I scoff at him,

the bond between us, for the push and pull, for the fact that we’re sitting in a dream, in the midst of a tragedy, that I’m probably

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