Page 34
Four years later
Strawberries, lime, and tequila mingle with sea salt as we stroll through the bustling market of Marseille. Stone’s hand is clasped in Thorne’s, while Zane carries Daisy on his shoulders, her tiny hands gripping his hair for balance. Miller walks beside me. Poppy is perched on his shoulders, her wide eyes taking in the colorful stalls and delicious smelling produce.
“Look, Mommy!” Poppy calls, pointing to a display of crystalized flowers. “They’re like the ones on your cakes!”
I smile up at her, my heart swelling. “They are my sweet girl. Maybe we can get some to take home.”
A wave of heat washes over me suddenly, making me stumble slightly. Miller’s hand is immediately at my elbow, steadying me.
“Your temperature is rising,” he murmurs, professional concern mixing with something darker in his eyes. “Let me check.”
He shifts Poppy from his shoulder to his hip and presses his palm to my forehead. The cool touch of his skin against mine makes me shiver despite the heat building inside me.
“Higher than an hour ago,” he says, his voice low enough that only I can hear. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” I insist, though we both know it’s not entirely true. My heat is coming faster than I expected. Four years of being Pack Astor’s omega, and my body still surprises me sometimes.
“We should head back soon,” Miller says, but I shake my head.
“Not yet. The children are having fun.” I gesture to where Stone is handpicking a piece of fruit. His face scrunched in concentration. “Let’s go to the beach first, like we promised.”
Miller gives me a look—part exasperation, part adoration—but nods. “The beach. But then we go back to your grandmother’s. No arguments.”
“Yes, Doctor,” I tease, pressing a quick kiss on his lips.
An hour later, we’re spread out on the golden sand of a small, secluded beach. My grandmother recommended it, knowing we’d appreciate the privacy. The Mediterranean stretches out before us, impossibly blue under the clear sky.
I sit under an enormous umbrella, watching as my alphas each take a child in their arms and run toward the water. Stone is tall for his age, his dark hair is a mirror image of Thorne’s and Zane’s. He squeals with delight as his father lifts him high above the waves.
Zane holds Daisy, her strawberry blonde curls bouncing as he swings her in wide circles, her feet skimming the surface of the water. Her laughter carries across the beach, pure and uninhibited.
Miller is more cautious with Poppy. She’s Daisy’s twin, but less daring. Our girls are now two years old and look up to their big older brother with such adoration they are surely omegas.
Miller holds her securely against his chest, only letting the water lap at her tiny feet. She clutches his shirt with one hand, the other reaching out to touch the foam.
The sight of them—my alphas, my children—fills me with a joy so intense it’s almost painful. This is what happiness looks like—it is certainly what love is built on.
Another wave of heat courses through me, stronger this time. I press my thighs together, feeling the slick beginning to gather. Not yet. I silently plead with my body. Just a few more hours.
The alphas must sense the change in me because they exchange glances before making their way back up the beach. The children are breathless with excitement, their skin glistening with seawater.
“Mommy, did you see?” Stone asks, dropping beside me on the blanket and reaching for a grape. “I went under the waves!”
“I saw, my brave boy,” I say, running my fingers through his wet hair. “You’re getting so good at swimming.”
“Soon I’ll be better than my dads,” he declares, puffing his little chest out, “but probably not as good as you.”
I laugh, recognizing my humor in him. “Is that so?”
“Daddy says you’re the best at everything,” he adds.
“Mommy is the best,” Poppy chimes in, looking at Zane as she settles into my lap despite her wet swimsuit. “Daddy said so.”
Zane coughs, looking suspiciously like he’s hiding a laugh. “I might have mentioned that once or twice.”
“Or daily,” Thorne adds dryly.
I smile at Zane and then Thorne.
Daisy toddles over, falling into my arms with a contented sigh. “Mommy warm,” she murmurs, pressing her cheek against my chest.
“Too warm,” Miller says, kneeling beside me. He places his hand on my forehead again, his brow furrowing. “Your temperature is still climbing. I should have brought the thermometer.”
“How far away is it?” Thorne asks.
“Not long.”
“More babies?” His gaze pierces mine.
I nod, unable to deny it any longer. “I think I’d like to have another baby. A little brother for Stone, before he gets too old to enjoy one.”
Stone’s eyes pop open wide. “A brother? Can I teach him to swim?”
“We can’t guarantee a boy.” I push his dark hair from his eyes.
“A baby?” Poppy adds eagerly.
“Baby,” Daisy says simply, patting my stomach with her small hand.
The alphas exchange another look, this one charged with a distinct intensity. I smell the subtle shift in their scents and see the way their pupils dilate.
“Your scent is spiking,” Thorne says, his voice rougher than usual. “Like super strong. Like that night.” He smiles. He knows the difference now.
“Like it is during every heat,” Zane adds, his eyes darkening.
Miller takes my pulse, his touch professional, but his eyes are anything but. “We need to get you back to your grandmother’s. Now.”
We pack up quickly; the alphas moving with the efficiency of men on a mission. The children, sensing the urgency but not understanding it, follow along without complaint.
By the time we reach my grandmother’s home, I’m feverish. The slick between my thighs has soaked through my sundress as I sat in the car, and each brush of fabric against my skin feels like torture. I need to get away. I need to shower.
“I think we should head back to the States,” Thorne says as we enter the cool interior of the house. “Before you’re too far gone to travel.”
I shake my head, panic rising. “No, the flight is hours long. I can’t—I won’t be able to—”
“Ah, the heat comes,” my grandmother says in her thick French accent, appearing in the doorway. Her eyes, so like my mother’s but crinkle at the sides. “The children can stay with me and Camille in the main house.”
Before I can respond, she takes my hand and leads me through the garden, toward a small stone cottage nestled among flowering bushes. The alphas follow silently; the children are left in the care of my grandmother’s housekeeper.
“You stay here.”
I glance around. The cottage is small, but perfect. There’s a small kitchen and another room, which is dominated by a large, round bed. A window with a solid French shutter keeps the room dark. A built-in cupboard with slatted doors lines another wall. My grandma opens it to reveal stacks of blankets of different fabrics, pillows, and cushions.
“This is where your mother was conceived,” she tells me, her voice matter of fact as she pulls out blankets and rests them on my cheek. “This one.”
I nod as she rummages through different fabrics before she turns to my alphas. “Shirts. She needs your scents.”
Thorne, Zane, and Miller rush off their tops, placing them on the nest.
Grandma gives Zane scars a scan over. “I have a recipe that will stop them feeling so tight.”
Normally, Zane would cover himself back up at that. He just nods.
“And your aunt and uncle were conceived here, too. The Deveraux women have strong heats.” She says as she turns back to the bed, throwing cushions at the head.
I should be embarrassed, but there’s something comforting about her practicality. She understands in a way so few others could.
“Thank you,” I whisper as she finishes making the bed into a nest of sorts.
She cups my cheek. Her palm is cool against my burning skin. “Love is not something to hide, ma chéri. It is something to celebrate.” She glances at the alphas, who hover near the door, their bodies tense with restraint. “And you have much to celebrate.”
With a last nod, she leaves, closing the door behind her. I turn to face my alphas—my mates, my partners, my everything.
“I think,” I say, my voice already husky with need, “we’re about to add to our pack. I just need a little time before I call you.”