Page 47 of Blackmailing Belle (The Lost Girls #4)

THE BEAST OF BOSTON

If you had told me I would lose my entire pack only to make a new one, I would have called you crazy. But here I am, outside the hospital, pacing like a caged animal, every instinct screaming at me to be inside that room.

My mate. My wife. My Isabelle. She’s in there, doing the impossible. And I—an apex predator, a beast who has torn through enemies, ruled over shifters, and faced down death itself—am completely, utterly powerless.

I flex my hands, my claws itching to break free. It’s unnatural to be kept from her, but apparently, I was ‘too much.’

Which is bullshit .

I mean I broke a couple pieces of hospital furniture, so what? I’ll pay for the damage.

And that thing I said to the doctor could barely even be considered a threat.

That’s just me being supportive and attentive .

And I was completely justified in growling at that nurse.

But apparently, threatening to shift and "take over if they couldn’t do their jobs faster" was where the staff drew the line.

Mrs. P was the one who ultimately came in to drag me out. Said I’d done enough hovering, and that Belle didn’t need me snarling through her contractions.

Which. Fine.

But I’ve spent hours outside this room, every second stretching unbearably long.

And then—the door swings open.

Mrs. P’s eyes are bright with excitement.

"It’s time."

Everything in me stills.

Time.

I move before I can think, flying past her and Basil toward Isabelle’s room.

The scent of my wife—her sweat, her pain, her strength—hits me like a punch.

She’s tired. My beautiful, impossible woman is utterly spent, her dark hair wild against the pillow. But when she sees me, her lips curve into a weak, breathless smile.

And then I hear it.

The tiniest, angriest little wail.

My chest caves in.

Isabelle laughs—hoarse, exhausted—but I’ve never heard anything so goddamn beautiful.

“Dominic,” she whispers. “Come meet our son.”

I stumble forward, my legs not working right, my heart hammering.

And then— he’s there.

A bundle of warmth. A scent that is somehow both hers and mine. A heartbeat that already owns me.

I reach out, my hands massive compared to his tiny body .

Mine.

His eyes crack open—deep, wild green. Just like mine.

I swallow hard, looking at Belle. “I should have been here.”

She gives me a knowing look, fingers threading weakly through mine. “You are now.”

And just like that, I am forgiven.

I bow my head, pressing my lips to her knuckles, then to the soft, downy crown of my son’s head.

I may always be the Beast of Boston, but I’ll never be a beast to them. My family. My pack. My everything.

Click Here for a bonus epilogue featuring Rap and a Lost Girl problem