Fergus trotted to the door and barked once, the sharp, demanding bark that meant he had protected his omega and was now owed compensation.
"Motivational rations," Gregor said. "I'll handle it."
"I'm sure you will," I said. "You've created a mercenary."
"I've created an asset with clear incentive structures."
"That's the same thing."
"It is not."
I looked at the three of them.
Artem with his phone already back in his hand, Ivan grinning like he was still mentally rehearsing what he'd wanted to do to Finn's balls, Gregor scooping up Fergus with the gravity of a man retrieving state secrets.
Somewhere upstairs, Mac was probably awake by now, wondering why his milk was late and why the house smelled faintly of adrenaline and victory.
"Come on," I said. "I want to see our son."
29
Maeve
The hardest part aboutoutrunning a nightmare isn't the running. It's figuring out what to do with your hands once you stop.
For the first few days after Finn left, I kept waiting for the collapse. I'd read about it in the pregnancy books Artem had highlighted. The emotional crash after the adrenaline receded, the postpartum hormone dip meeting the trauma aftermath in what the literature called "an omega drop.”
But the collapse didn't come.
At three months old, Mac discovered that if he produced a specific high-pitched shriek, Gregor would materialize within thirty seconds. He was testing this hypothesis with the rigor of a research scientist.
"He's playing you," I said, watching from the kitchen island as Mac let out a tiny, experimental squawk from his bouncy chair.
Gregor appeared in the doorway twelve seconds later. "He requires assistance."
"He requires entertainment. You’re a very large, very accommodating jungle gym."
Gregor scooped Mac up with the gentleness that still caught me off guard. The way those scarred hands could dismantle a weapon and then hold a baby like he was handling something sacred. Mac immediately grabbed his collar and tried to eat it.
"Manipulation," Gregor said.
"He's three months old."
"Early aptitude." He adjusted his grip. "I’m concerned."
"You look proud."
"I am proud. And concerned. Both are possible."
Mac shrieked again, delighted by the success of his experiment. Gregor's face softened by approximately one millimeter, which in Gregor expressions was the equivalent of another man weeping openly.
Fergus, not to be excluded from any hierarchy of affection, pawed at Gregor's boot until he was scooped up too. For one absurd moment, the deadliest enforcer in the Bratva stood in my kitchen holding a baby in one arm and a Yorkshire terrier in the other, both of them staring at him with the absolute ownership of creatures who had never once been told no.
I kissed him on the cheek, then Mac on the head, and went to call Presley.
The video call connected and Presley's face filled the screen, backlit by the familiar chaos of the cottage her alphas built her in their garden. The fairy lights, a stack of books on the counter, Mr. Barney's tail flicking past the camera.
"You look different again," she said immediately.
