Pregnant With Alpha’s Genius Twins

Chapter 12

#Chapter 12 – Couples Counseling

I breathe deeply through my nose as rage takes over the terror in my body. Emily. Frickin. James. God, I thought I was finally finished with her drama – but apparently, she’s still out to ruin my life.

Six months ago, I was having a totally normal therapy session with Emily’s boyfriend Keith, a Beta. He asked me for my professional opinion on some…spots, which had mysteriously appeared on his p***s. I told him that hat was outside of my jurisdiction as a counselor and told him to seek medical attention.

But then Keith started crying, saying that if he came down with an STD like moonpox they weren’t going to let him continue in his job. I bit my lip then, because he’s right – moonpox is very contagious, especially amongst Betas in a small pack who tend to share gear and clothing.

However, it’s super rare. “It’s probably fine, Keith – you’re probably panicking over nothing.”

“I think I’ve got it, Evelyn,”

“Keith,” I said, putting out a hand and trying to soothe him. “Moonpox has a very distinctive silver ring around any…sores. You’re definitely going to be able to tell.”

“Please, Evelyn, just tell me what you see.” He was sobbing, in a full panic.

“Keith, I can’t –“ but before I knew it, he was pulling at his belt and shoving his jeans down to his knees.

I flinched back covered my eyes. “God, Keith! Put that away – I’m not a doc-“

“Please, Evelyn!” He wrenched my hand away from my face. Before I could squeeze my eyes shut, I caught a glimpse and did a double take.

“Ohhhh no, Keith” I said, unable to tear my eyes away from the gross sight before me. All over his sizeable member were red spots, oozing pus, with distinctive silver rings around them.

Suddenly, the street door banged open and Emily was there. I knew all about her, of course, from Keith’s horror stories from about his girlfriend.

“I knew it,” she seethed, her nails beginning to sharpen into claws. “I KNEW you’d be here with this w***e!”

“You gave me moonpox, Emily! YOU’RE the f*****g w***e!” Keith, with his jeans still around his knees, began to go into full transformation. I jumped out of my chair and was across the room in a moment, seeking safety. This is part of what Keith came to talk to me about – controlling his temper when Emily sets him off.

Emily ignored him. “You,” she said, narrowing her eyes at me. “I knew he found some hooker to suck him of,” she snarls, “I just didn’t think she’d be so ugly.”

“Are you SERIOUS?!” I shouted back at her. “I’m trying to HELP him! To help your relationship!” Copyright Nôv/el/Dra/ma.Org.

“Big help you are!” she shouted, her own body starting to snap and reshape as she, too, began the transformation into a wolf. “You ruined my relationship, I am going to ruin your life,” she snapped, her words morphing into a howl as she and Keith chased each other into the night.

“f**k,” I shouted, throwing my notebook across the room and burying my face in my hands. This was going to be the start to a whole world of trouble, I knew.

And I wasn’t wrong.

Tyesha puts and arm around me and squeezes my shoulder. “Look, Alpha Lexington fully acquitted you of any charges in that situation with Keith, and everyone knows Emily is crazy. This is just her lashing

out.”

“I know,” I say, shaking my head. “But it’s the crazy I’m worried about, Ty. I’ve got kids to think about, and she’s unhinged.”

“I’ll help you clean this up,” says Ty, gesturing towards the car, “but first…actually, that call with the celebrity is scheduled for 5:00. Which is in like…five minutes.” She grimaces at me. “Do you mind if we complete that first?”

“No,” I say, sighing with a shrug. “Let’s get it done.”

“Great!” she says, dashing for her car. “Let me get my equipment!”

“Equipment?” I say, confused. “What do I need beyond a phone!?”

She waggles her eyebrows and gives me a thumbs up. “Wait till you see!”

“Oh my god,” I say, sipping on my now-cold up of coffee as Tyesha hooks wires to a series of metal boxes and computers. “All of this…for a phone call?”

“This guy is top notch,” she says, smiling at me. Ty is a total tech geek, she lives for this stuff. “He wants total anonymity and is willing to pay to ensure that it happens.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever.” I turn my attention back to the pile of non-disclosure agreements that Ty is having me sign. I don’t read them through as I add signature after signature – I trust her.

“Okay,” says Ty, flipping a switch. A green light turns on. “The client has asked for a short pre- processing meeting in advance to make sure that you’re a good fit.”

“All of this stuff,” she waves a hand over the electronic mess, “ensure that you can’t trace him, and that both of your voices will be disguised. Anonymity goes both ways.” I shrug, not really worried. I can do

my job sounding like me, or like a robot.

I finish the dregs of my coffee and sit down. Tyesha uses an old rotary phone that she brought with her to dial a number.

I hear the person click onto the line. “Sir? This is Tyesha Taylor, calling with your confirmed counseling appointment. All is set up here on our end.” I hear a long pause from the client, and then a mumbled reply.

“Yes,” Tyesha says, turning to look at me. “Your counselor has agreed to a five-minute pre-counseling interview to confirm you are a good fit. Are you ready?” When he buzzes a confirmation, she hands the phone to me and skirts out the door, giving us privacy.

I put the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

“Hello,” the person responds, his voice gruff and muffled by the technology. He sounds bizarre – like some kind of monster speaking to me from far-away lands. “Thank you for agreeing to speak with me.”

“I am happy to help,” I say, “What is it you’d like to talk about with a counselor?”

“Ah, my romantic relationship,” he responds. I hear a kind of rough grumble and a high-pitched noise in the background. “Um, pardon,” he says, and I hear a muffled shuffling and some more grumbles before his voice comes back. “I apologize. I had an unexpected turn of events today. My…children are here, when they weren’t scheduled to be. I apologize if they affect this call.”

“That’s fine,” I say, encouraging. “Children are a blessing, but I definitely understand how they can be distracting, especially” I laugh at little, “when they’re unexpected.”

“Are you a parent?” He asks, his voice sharp.

“I am,” I say, and then I fall silent, letting him take control of the conversation. With new clients, especially Alphas, it’s best to let them take the lead. And I can already tell, this guy is an Alpha.

“Under what…” he hesitates a moment, picking his words. “Under what circumstances would a woman be…unwilling? To have a child?”

“Well,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “There are lots of reasons. Some have to do with a personal or s****l disharmony between couples, if a woman suspects that they wouldn’t be good co-parents, or if it would ruin their existing relationship.”

“Or,” I continue. “There could be communication problems, or she could not be ready for kids, or she may not want to be a mother at all. Women are complicated and unique – the reasons aren’t the same for everyone.”

The client is silent on the other end of the line. I wait, but he seems to be thinking.

“Are you and your partner…” I probe, “trying? To have a child?”

“I thought that we were,” he grumbles, and even through the voice distortion I can sense his temper rising. “But apparently, we are not on the same page.”

“Are there…fertility issues? Or is this personal?”

He laughs, low and with a hint of anger to it, and suddenly I feel ice climb up my spine. The laugh is… familiar. “That’s a little bit personal,” he says, taking back control. “Before we go there, let me make sure you’re qualified to address the problem.”

“Sure, I understand,” I say. However, I have to keep him talking. It couldn’t be… “What can I tell you about me?”

“How long have you been performing couples counseling? What are your success rates?”

I tell him more about my experience, my years of helping couples come together, about the successful families which I have coached through hard times. After every answer, the client fires back with more questions, probing, ensuring that there are no weaknesses to my skills.

With every word he utters, though, every clipped question, every authoritative demand, I am surer and surer until – suddenly – even through the distortion I hear an uncanny sound.

A siren wail, and then the three sharp beeps of a toy horn – a sound I’d know in my sleep because it’s woken me up at least twelve times since Christmas. Ian’s horrible firetruck toy, which he took to Victor’s house this morning.

The celebrity on the other line? I know it in my bones. It’s Victor.