Page 157 of Knotted By my Pack

I look at all three of them, these men who would kill and bleed and burn for me without thinking. My Alphas.

“I know,” I whisper, brushing Elias’s fingers against my stomach. “I never doubted that.”

EPILOGUE

NOAH

Irun every stop sign between my office and the house.

The call came from Julian. Just a breathless “now,” and I was already halfway in the truck before he hung up. My palms stick to the wheel. I’m sweating through my shirt, but I don’t ease up on the gas.

The gravel road leading to the house flies under me, familiar turns whipping by. I can already hear the screaming from inside.

She’s doing it.

Cora. Our Omega. Our mate. She’s giving birth.

When I burst through the door, the first thing I see is Grace—calm, composed, barefoot in leggings and a tank top, her long braid pulled over one shoulder. She nods once when she sees me. No panic, no chaos.

Just steady, practiced strength. The kind only a mother can hold. She already had her own son four months ago and is more than experienced to deal with this.

“She’s in the tub,” she says.

I kick off my boots and take the stairs three at a time. The scent hits me first. Sweat, blood, salt, milk. Cora. She’s everywhere. My chest tightens. Not with fear. With something deeper. Reverence.

The bathroom door is cracked open. Julian sits behind her in the tub, soaked, shirtless, supporting her back. Elias is crouched at her side, murmuring something low between her moans. His hand cradles her belly. His eyes are red.

“Noah,” she cries out when she sees me. Her face is flushed, curls sticking to her cheeks, body slick and trembling with effort.

I drop to my knees beside the tub, brushing her temple with my lips. “I’m here. You’re doing perfect, baby. You’re almost there.”

She grips my forearm, her strength shocking. Then another contraction hits. Her whole body tenses, thighs pushing against the rim of the tub. Julian tightens his hold, whispering encouragement.

Elias checks between her legs, nodding. “The first one’s crowning.”

I glance at the open window, the sea breeze brushing through sheer curtains.

I think of the day we made our vows—rented a boat from Thorne, the lighthouse keeper with the rusted anchor tattoo on his neck, and who happens to be one of Grace’s husbands.

Took her out past the breakers, the wind whipping her veil against her face as she laughed and promised herself to us.

Now here she is. Bringing our children into the world.

Cora cries out again. Her body arches. Elias’s hands are there to catch the first baby, slippery and red and squalling.

“It’s a girl,” he breathes.

Cora sobs.

I press kisses across her shoulder as Grace steps in, wrapping the baby in a soft towel, checking her, cooing softly. Julian leans forward, arms around Cora, his forehead against hers.

“One more, love. You’ve got one more.”

Another contraction builds. She bites down on her lip, breathing hard. Her nails dig into my wrist as she pushes again.

Minutes pass in slow, wet heat. Then another cry fills the air.

“A boy,” Elias says, catching him just as the second wave breaks.