Page 24 of Night’s Bride (Ragoru Origins #3)

Six years later

Emily groaned, her hand going across her bulging stomach as she narrowed her eyes on the mischievous little monster grinning at her from where he pretended to hide behind his father’s bulk.

“Dral, don’t make me come over there and shake those cinnamon twist cookies out of you,” she threatened. “Who told you that you could eat them? Those cookies were for our New Year’s feast, not for you to gobble up, you little fiend.”

“It wasn’t just me,” he protested with a little giggle. “Daddy Nash also ate some.”

The male in question, having been betrayed by his own offspring, flattened his ears as he turned a look of shock to Emily. “I would never?—”

“Wait,” she commanded, holding her hand up as she squinted at her mate. “Is that cinnamon on your muzzle?”

Vikt and Vrel stumbled to an immediate halt as they entered the room, identical looks of guilt crossing their faces as her eyes shifted to them and widened at the evidence of the sweet powder that she used on her special sugar bomb cookies coating not just their muzzles but the fur of their chests.

She gaped at them as she recalled the missing sugar bombs from the day before that she assumed were just a miscount. “All four of you… traitors!”

“Now, rya,” Vikt cajoled, his four hands lifting to her in a silent entreaty. “It is not that we are betraying you. Your cookies are simply too difficult to resist. And you like to hide them,” he pointed out in what he obviously thought was spectacular reasoning. “So we were obligated to eat some of them to tide us over to the feast.”

Emily shook a finger at them in exasperation. “You three are supposed to be setting an example for that one,” she said, gesturing to their rog. “You wish to raise an entire den full of cookie thieves at this rate!”

“But you enjoy making cookies,” Vrel interjected with a sweet smile. “And you love it especially because we are always happy to help—particularly Nash,” he added, to which her big mate nodded in agreement. “We are only thinking of you to give you a reason to make more and so that you know we appreciate them.”

She stared at her mates and choked on her laughter. The whole lot of them were devious and naughty as rogs themselves when they wanted to be. Even after six years together, they never failed to keep her on her toes and laughing. Even little Dral, who was the spitting image of Nash despite his nearly black fur thanks to her own coloring she liked to imagine, was just as precious and precocious. Life was never boring, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Despite the incident with the huntsman years earlier, and the rising threat from the citadels that eventually forced Evelyn to shut down communication with them, life was peaceful in the northlands. Trish had gone from a nervous, unhappy woman to a strong voice within the community as well as an accomplished huntress and surprisingly… a blacksmith. A trade that she had apparently picked up out of pure curiosity in her youth. They had also become close friends as the woman ended up settling within a den dug out not too far from their own territory so that the house could be available for one of the newer brides.

Having a friend within reasonable walking distance did much for Emily’s mental health, and Vrel had formed a close friendship with Grund, who had, under the tutelage of one of the newer residents in the clan, discovered a passion for gardening. Vrel came out of his shell more with the offered friendship and Vikt spent more time with other hunters without guilt. And then there was Nash, sweet Nash who was content to stay at home and baby her and their offspring even as he dutifully guarded them. And if he enjoyed swapping stories and theories with Hazhel, it was all the better.

In truth, Vikt was right all those years ago. Life in the clan was good.

Her laughter shifted to groan when the rog inside of her suddenly pressed downward, her hand flattening against her belly as her belly cramped in a familiar way that had her gasping as fluid splattered to the floor, soaking her underwear. She knew exactly what it was but still stared down at it for a long moment as her offspring made a gagging noise.

“Ewww, Mama peed.”

“It is not pee,” she corrected absently, and then her eyes rose to meet the startled gaze of her mates. “It’s time.”

Vrel nodded and quickly picked Dral up, carting the little one to Trish’s house where her friend would be eagerly awaiting news as her other mates sprang into action. And that was how they greeted the New Year, thanks to a pregnancy late in the season, with a fat little female with midnight black fur who squealed loudly in a celebration of life.

And Emily fell in love all over again. With her home, her mates, and the new little one who would brighten their lives with even more joy and chaos.

“Happy New Year, little Deva,” she whispered and pressed a kiss to the rog’s flat, wet little nose.