Page 66 of Bad Wolf's Nanny

It unraveled something in Dane every time.

This baby,hisbaby, hadn’t asked for any of this. He hadn’t asked to be dropped off by a stranger and handed to a man who didn’t know the first thing about fatherhood. He hadn’t asked to become a flashpoint in whatever the hell was happening between Dane and Lola.

And yet, here he was.

Happy.

Safe.

Loved.

Somehow, against all odds, Dane had kept him fed and warm and whole.

Because of Lola.

The thought hit harder than expected.

She’d stepped in without hesitation, nervous and awkward and so clearly terrified of doing it wrong, but she’d done it. She’d done it all. With charts and labels and those damn carefully timed bottles, with bedtime songs sung under her breath when she thought no one was listening, with the way she whispered‘there you go, sweetheart’whenever Sam cried like comfort was just something she instinctively knew how to offer.

Dane could hold a border. He could win a fight. But Lola?

She could build something.

And he missed her. Badly.

He missed the way her nose wrinkled when she concentrated. The way her mouth opened and shut like she was debating a hundred comebacks when he teased her. The way she looked first at Sam, then at him, like she was afraid to trust either of them but trying anyway.

He’d wrecked it. And he didn’t even know how.

Well.Thatwas a lie.

He’d panicked.

He’d done what he always did when something got too close to the places inside him he’d locked up tight: he pushed it away.

Because what if he couldn’t be what she needed?

What if she was like everyone else and saw him for what he was raised to be—a weapon?

He looked down at Sam, whose lashes were fluttering against his cheeks as he dozed off. Dane ran a hand gently across the baby’s back.

“You’re gonna be better than me,” he murmured, “smarter. Kinder. Probably more coordinated, too.”

Sam made a small, pleased grunt.

Dane chuckled, quiet and low.

“You’re not supposed to agree, you traitor.”

They sat like that for a while, the sound of Sam’s breathing slowly evening out, the gentle creak of the recliner filling the silence.

Outside, the night deepened. Somewhere on the northern ridge, patrols were switching shifts, his men were circling back, and the scent of Red Teeth still lingered like a curse on the wind.

But here, in this little room, everything was still.

Peaceful.

And yet his chest ached.