Page 35 of Omega’s Fever (Prime Match #2)

The paramedics arrive then. They check Oliver, check me, praise Penelope for her assistance. But it all washes over me in a blur. All I can focus on is the weight of our son on my chest, the way he’s already rooting around, instinct driving him to nurse.

“We need to transport you both to the hospital,” one of the paramedics says. “Just to be safe. Make sure there’s no tearing, deliver the placenta properly.”

I nod absently, still staring at Oliver.

They’re gentle as they help me onto the stretcher, Oliver still on my chest. Kellen hovers, one hand on me, one on the baby, like he’s afraid we’ll disappear if he lets go.

“I’ll follow in my car,” Penelope says. “After I clean up a bit here.”

“Pen.” I catch her hand. “Thank you. I don’t know what we would have—”

“Shh.” She squeezes gently. “That’s what family does.”

The ride to the hospital is a blur. Oliver nurses like a champ in the ambulance, latching on with an enthusiasm that makes the paramedic laugh. “That’s a good sign. Strong baby.”

“Like his dad,” I murmur, catching Kellen’s eye.

The hospital is anticlimactic after the drama of the home birth. They check us both over, stitch up the small tear I didn’t even feel happening, deliver the placenta without issue. Oliver passes every test with flying colors—APGAR scores perfect, weight a respectable six pounds nine ounces.

“You’re both healthy,” the doctor says. “Though next time, maybe try to make it to the hospital?”

“Next time?” Kellen’s voice is strangled.

I laugh, exhausted and giddy and so full of love I might burst. “Let’s get through this time first.”

They move us to a recovery room eventually. Penelope stops by with her daughter and a change of clothes for both of us from our apartment. “And I called Damon. He’s bringing food from that Thai place you like.”

“You’re an angel,” I tell her.

“Nah.” She grins. “Just experienced.”

She leaves us eventually, and it’s just the three of us. Our little family.

Oliver sleeps in my arms, making tiny snuffling noises. Kellen sits on the bed beside us, one arm around my shoulders, unable to stop touching us both.

“He’s really here,” he says, wonder in his voice.

“He really is.” I lean into him. “Our son.”

“Our son.” He presses a kiss to my temple, then Oliver’s downy head. “I love you both so much it terrifies me.”

“Good terror or bad terror?”

“Good.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I never thought I’d have this. A family. A real home.”

“You deserve it.” I turn to look at him. “You deserve everything good in this world.”

“So do you.” His thumb traces the claiming mark on my neck, still visible after all these months. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For fighting for me. For believing in me. For giving me this.” He gestures at Oliver, at the room, at everything our life has become.

“Kellen—”

“I mean it. You could have had anyone. Prime match or not, you could have walked away. Should have, probably.”

“Never.” The word comes out fierce. “You’re mine. Both of you. Forever.”

Oliver chooses that moment to wake up, face scrunching in preparation for a cry. I shift him, and he latches on immediately, settling back into contentment.

“He’s got your appetite,” I tell Kellen.

“And your stubbornness. Did you see how fast he decided to arrive?”

“That’s determination, not stubbornness.”

“Sure it is.”

We sit in comfortable silence, watching our son eat. The room is quiet except for Oliver’s enthusiastic nursing and the distant sounds of the hospital beyond our door.

He kisses me, soft and sweet.

Oliver finishes nursing and I burp him, marveling at how natural it already feels.

“Do you want to hold him?”

“Oh yes.” Kellen takes Oliver from me, holding him with infinite care.

I watch them together, my alpha and our son. Kellen’s huge hands dwarf Oliver’s entire body. Oliver yawns, tiny fist curling around Kellen’s finger.

“I think he’s got you wrapped already,” I observe.

“Completely.” Kellen doesn’t look away from Oliver’s face. “Did you know they could be this perfect?”

“No,” I admit. “I thought people were exaggerating.”

Oliver sleeps on, blissfully unaware of how completely he’s changed our world.

“Hey, Milo?”

“Mm?”

“Let’s have a dozen more.”

I laugh, soft enough not to wake the baby. “Let me recover from this one first.”

“Fair enough.” He shifts so I can rest more comfortably against him. “But maybe just... two more? Three?”

“We’ll see,” I say, but I’m already imagining it. This apartment full of children. Kellen teaching them to cook, to fight, to be strong. Me teaching them to argue their case, to stand up for what’s right, to never apologize for taking up space in the world.

A family. A real family. Messy and chaotic and perfect.

“Sleep,” Kellen murmurs. “I’ve got you both.”

And he does. My alpha, my protector, my mate. Father of my child. The man who took bullets for me, who would give up his freedom to keep me safe, who loves me with a fierceness that still takes my breath away.

I drift off to sleep surrounded by the two people I love most in the world, feeling safe and cherished and finally, completely home.

Oliver Warren-Hayes. Born November 15th, six pounds nine ounces, with his father’s dark hair and his papa’s stubborn streak.

Perfect in every way.

THE END