Page 42 of Altius (The Scent of Victory #2)

A taller woman with light brown skin and short, curly hair trailed behind them, with the other toddler perched on her hip. Audra exuded subtle alpha confidence as she made quick work of the introductions.

“Hey, Rory.” A slender young woman peered into the room from the front hall. She had Renee’s delicate bone structure, skin the same shade as Audra’s, and a glorious head of burgundy braids. By process of elimination, she could only be Jenna.

She gave us all a wary once-over as she adjusted her glasses, then said, “You left the dogs outside.”

“Dogs?” Rory turned around, wearing a play tiara and gaudy plastic clip-on earrings. He blinked, then shot up. “Oh, the dogs!”

Jenna took advantage of his noisy exit to vanish. I’m sure there were numerous cozy hiding spots throughout the house—perfect for avoiding a bunch of interlopers like us.

I glanced at Morgan. Her serene smile almost passed for genuine if not for the tightness around her eyes. She probably wanted to hide from all the noise, too.

Somehow, I found myself as a third wheel caught between Owen and Dante. They were engrossed in a very technical discussion about how Dante’s audiology practice used various Redwing devices to treat patients.

After two thwarted attempts to squeeze past them, Morgan came to my rescue, handing me a beer and guiding me back to Joaquin’s side.

“Holly’s a graphic designer,” she said. “She’s curious about your work with the football team. You okay sitting next to her at lunch?”

After taking a long sip of my drink, I nodded with enthusiasm.

“Sounds perfect.”

“There he is.” A wave of sandalwood and the creamy nuttiness of tonka bean hit me as Ethan sauntered into the room, chest first, heading straight for Wyatt.

He was the tallest of the Van Daal siblings, maybe six feet or so, about even with Owen, with brown skin and green eyes. Bigger than I’d expected, but nothing that could rival Wyatt’s physique.

From how Owen and Wyatt talked about him, I expected his presence to be more…overwhelming. His dominance had nothing on Owen—or Audra, for that matter.

Morgan’s head tilted back, neck tensing as Ethan approached.

Trying to be as discreet as possible, I ran my ring finger along the underside of her wrist, giving her what little comfort I could.

“Hey, man.” Wyatt extended his hand with a smile, letting Ethan’s display of dominance go unanswered. “Good to see you.”

Thankfully, Wyatt was pumped full of scent blockers, or we’d probably be drowning in boxwood fumes, betraying all the hard feelings between them.

“You shoot hoops? My guys are playing downstairs.” Ethan motioned over his shoulder toward the basement door in the foyer.

“Sure,” Wyatt said, gamely following along. “But I take the winner in arm wrestling.”

“You’re on.”

As soon as they left the room, Morgan exhaled. Cold fingers briefly tangled with my own before pulling away.

Martijn appeared in the kitchen doorway. His smile was so broad that his round cheeks almost obscured his sparkling green eyes.

“Now then,” he said, holding up a fresh apron. “I don’t suppose one of you would be willing to help me make oliebollen dough before we eat? It needs to rest for an hour or so.”

Oliebollen? The delicious-looking fried Dutch doughnut things from Kelsey’s cookbook?

“Oh, me, me!” I raised my hand and hurried over to take the apron, as if anyone would fight me for it.

Well, anyone except the twins, who echoed my motion, dancing in happy twirls by the Christmas tree. “Me, me!”

Joaquin laughed, a pleased thrum echoing through our bond.

As I followed Martijn into the kitchen, the dogs raced into the room.

Rory followed half a step later, holding a small mountain of presents. “Look who I found!”

Jacobi swept in behind him, arms outstretched. “The prodigal son has returned.”

Kelsey rolled her eyes and headed toward the dining room with a massive stack of plates. “Idiot.”

“Jacobi!” Martijn rushed to embrace him.

The other Van Daal parents soon joined, folding their bonus son into an affectionate tangle of laughter and hugs, welcoming him back to his home-away-from-home.

And I had to check my envy once more.

***

Lunch was nothing short of delicious, cheerful chaos.

The dining room was gigantic, with two matching custom-built square tables and ample seating. No wonder the Van Daals could host holiday parties for dozens of people with ease.

Holly and I discussed marketing strategies and design trends between bites of roast chicken and mashed potatoes.

Joaquin sat on my other side, asking Keon whether the floorboards were original and how much work they had to do to retrofit the place with central air.

To my surprise, Owen was engaged in a spirited conversation with one of Audra’s male pack members, who was feeding Liv with practiced ease. He had dark skin and a noble profile, the strapping sort of alpha my biological parents probably hoped I’d grow into.

Was his name Quinton or Quentin? I couldn’t remember.

I’d almost grasped the names and professions of Audra’s pack members when Ethan’s boisterous crew arrived from the basement, and my mind blanked out.

This must be how Morgan felt when meeting new people.

She sat across the table beside Dante, refereeing Jacobi’s non-stop chatter as he pestered Wyatt and Cal with questions.

Ethan chimed in from time to time to take a dig at Wyatt.

“Oh, give it a rest,” Rory said, pointing his fork at his older brother. “You’re never going to beat him.”

Ethan’s pack protested, but Rory wasn’t having it.

“He’s better at basketball than you lot combined,” Rory said, stabbing at his chicken. “And his biceps have biceps. You’re lucky he didn’t dislocate your shoulders during arm wrestling.”

“Oh?” Keon perked up, leaning forward to give Wyatt a critical glance. “I get first dibs after lunch.”

“You’re on.” Color suffused Wyatt’s face—a fuller, healthier-looking face. Spending more time with Morgan was good for him.

“Keon,” Renee gently chided from the far end of the table.

“What? I’m not some weak old man.”

Dante nodded in agreement. “That’s right. We’re in our prime.” He shot a wink at Renee. “And after Wyatt whoops his ass, I’ll prove it myself.”

The fatherly show of machismo only encouraged Ethan to pick on Wyatt even more. It continued until Morgan shot a sharp look at Ethan over the tops of her glasses.

“Here,” she said, passing him the basket of rolls. “Put your mouth to better use.”

Rory guffawed. Ethan’s pack cackled. Audra’s laughter was more restrained. Even Kelsey indulged in a subtle giggle.

But Jenna remained quiet, observing the table with a gaze that felt too mature for her twenty-one years.

As the meal continued, I noticed she never looked at Morgan. It was as if her elder sister didn’t exist.

I realized that Wyatt’s warning was serious. Jenna and Morgan didn’t have issues—they had issues .

Martijn offered us seconds, thirds, and fourths.

Cal, the willing glutton, always accepted a fresh scoop of green beans or another roll, earning more brownie points from his prospective father-in-law with each bite.

Then Cece accidentally dropped her drink.

It tipped off the edge of her highchair and bounced across the polished oak floors. The lid popped off, splattering milk everywhere.

She froze, chubby hand futilely reaching for her cup, and burst into tears.

I tensed.

Owen’s mouth tightened into a grim line. Pallor reclaimed Wyatt’s features.

Waiting for the anger and blame. The raised voices. For the joyous bubble to burst.

But it didn’t happen.

Audra and Quinton—at least, I think it was Quinton—reassured their daughter while multiple bodies moved in unison to fix the problem. Holly darted for the paper towels. Ethan picked up the fallen cup, and Martijn quickly procured a fresh drink.

The conversation didn’t falter. No one gave Cece a dirty glance or blamed her.

It was just…normal. Accepted. A simple mistake, not a day-ruining catastrophe.

“See, it’s okay,” Morgan cooed across the table at her niece, despite her gaze traveling between Owen, Wyatt, and me.

Joaquin’s hand settled on my thigh. He gave it a reassuring squeeze, reminding me once more that my past didn’t dictate my future.

“Come on,” Kelsey said, tapping me on the shoulder as she walked past. “We’re on fryer duty.”

As Martijn guided me through the finer points of making oliebollen, Morgan sidled up, carrying a stack of dirty plates.

“How’s he doing, Papa?” she asked.

“An absolute natural!” Martijn exclaimed.

Only then did I realize his scent signature was the delicious apple cinnamon aroma permeating the kitchen.

Morgan shifted the plates to wipe an errant bit of powdered sugar off my cheek. “I knew he would be.”

She offered a quiet smile of reassurance, beautiful without realizing it, and equally oblivious that she’d given me the greatest gift today.

Hope.

Not only for myself, but also for what our pack might eventually become with enough time and care.

If only I could bottle this fleeting sense of belonging and keep it safe in my pocket. To hold in my palm like a talisman during anxious moments, proof that today had been real.

Morgan’s family was more wonderful than I’d imagined. And maybe someday…this could also be my family.

Our family.