Chapter 16 Mai
Chapter sixteen
Mai
After the Goddess vanished, the air carried the aftertaste of magic—sharp and metallic, like ozone after a lightning strike.
Our bedroom was a mess; shattered door, broken dresser, bloodstains from the births and the fights.
Thomas had muttered about it needing to be sterile, so Ryan had carried me and the pups downstairs to the lounge.
Sylvie, Thomas, and Wally had insisted they would fix up our room for us in time for us to sleep there later.
It was now four a.m., and the house was busier than it was during the day.
Ryan had Shifted back, Oakley finally asleep against his chest. But even with our son tucked in his arms, body still humming with battle adrenaline, Ryan prowled the wreckage of the Alpha House.
He circled every doorway, checked each shattered window.
I watched as his hands adjusted the wool blanket around Oakley with a tenderness that didn’t match the feral energy running through him.
“Ryan,” I called softly. “Please sit down before you wear a hole in the floor.”
He ignored me, crouching to peer under the overturned coffee table as if an assassin might be hiding there.
“You already cleared this room,” I pointed out.
“Once isn’t enough.” His jaw flexed. “Protocol says triple sweep.”
I almost laughed. “Since when do you write the protocols? Isn’t that Derek and Carlito’s job?”
“Since I created Operation Stork 2.0.” His thumb stroked Oakley’s downy hair. “Evacuation routes run every six hours. Panic buttons tested every two. Carlito’s team is on rotating patrols, and Wally is under standing orders to keep emergency gin on hand.”
I blinked. “Gin is a safety measure now?”
“For Wally, it is,” he said. “And anyone within five feet of Wally.”
I arched a brow. “I see. Anything else in this brilliant plan?”
“I’m drafting crib-side perimeter defenses. Silent alarms. Motion sensors. Pressure mats. Maybe—”
“A moat?”
“If I had time to install one, yes.”
A laugh burst out of me, bright and unexpected. Victoria stirred in my arms, her tiny nose wrinkling so fiercely my heart ached. I pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Or,” I murmured, “you could sit with me and remember that they’re not a mission. They’re ours.”
A knock banged against the ruined doorframe before Ryan could answer me.
“Delivery!” Wally’s voice rang out. “And by delivery, I mean tea, gin, and contraband.”
Wally walked in carrying four bags, Thomas at his side.
Sofia followed with a cardboard box balanced on her hip, blood still drying at her temple, her curls half-fallen from their braid.
Thomas took Oakley gently from Ryan’s arms, checking his pulse, then listened to his chest with the kind of seriousness most people reserved for bomb wires. Only when he repeated the process with Victoria did he smile.
“Strong. Both of them.”
Wally wiped theatrically at his brow. “And the mother? Pale, yes. Exhausted, yes. Still inconveniently beautiful? Honestly, Mai, it’s rude.”
“Show me the contraband,” I said.
With a flourish, Wally set lemon tarts and gin on the dresser, then revealed the final item with both hands raised. Two beanies—one black, one silver-white. He crowned Victoria with the silver one like she was a newborn queen.
“Ignore any loose stitches. I was knitting under live fire.”
“Knitting under live fire?” Sofia shot Wally a sidelong look. “You were constantly dropping a needle, shrieked every time, and Thomas kept having to lift up the sofa to find it.”
“Details,” Wally sniffed.
Sofia plunked her box onto the dresser. “Clothes. Half the Pack raided their attics for baby things. Don’t ask me how many badly crocheted onesies I had to turn down.”
I caught Ryan’s eye and smiled, suddenly overcome with gratitude for our Pack. No matter what, our kids were going to be loved and cherished, just like all Pack kids were.
Sofia lifted a tiny vest patterned with faded stars. “Most of these are hand-me-downs, but they’re clean.”
Ryan gave the box a suspicious look, as if hidden assassins might leap from between the folded cotton.
I nudged him with my elbow. “Relax. They’re just clothes.”
“Mm,” he said, though his tone was unconvinced.
Jase slipped in next. His shirt was ripped, one arm hanging stiff at his side, and he was definitely favoring his right leg. Dirt streaked his face. Still, his jaw was set in that stubborn line that made him look older than nineteen.
“Zulu and Gamma teams swept the perimeter,” he reported, voice rough but steady. “Carlito had us escort the Forgotten Pack to our borders. They’re heading out of state. Waylen is monitoring them by drone. We’ll know if they turn around.”
Ryan studied him for a moment, then inclined his head. “Good work.”
I glanced at Sofia and saw my own feelings reflected on her face. Jase wasn’t a kid anymore; he had achieved what he always wanted: to be a Three Rivers enforcer, and he was good at his job.
Behind Jase, Amara appeared, blue hair sticking up, jacket torn at the sleeve, dried blood on her cheek. Cameron was right behind her, just as bruised but steadier, and between them was Ben, a sheet of paper clutched protectively in his hands.
Amara’s eyes landed on Jase. “You’re hurt.” The rest of us forgotten, she headed straight for him, eyes scanning and cataloguing his injuries.
Jase had finally realized he was in love with Amara months ago, but I’d been sure she was happy with Cameron. Something about the way she looked at him made me think perhaps I’d been wrong.
“I’m fine,” Jase muttered, but the wince when he tried to adjust his arm gave him away.
“Don’t be so stubborn. I should check you out.”
Cameron’s hand brushed her elbow. “Jase said he was fine. If he needs to be checked out, Thomas can do it.”
Jase’s mouth opened, then snapped shut, his freckles stark against pale skin. Amara crossed her arms and whirled to Cameron, but before she could say anything, Ben ducked between them and held out his sheet of paper to me.
“I made the pups this. So they’ll know who they belong to.”
I took the paper and my eyes widened; it was an intricately drawn family tree—names branching from Ryan and me down to the twins, then out to Jem, Esme, Derek and Sofia, Jase, Sam, Mason and Shya, then out to Wally and Thomas, and Amara and Ben, with the rest of the Pack sprawling wide around the edges.
At the top, he’d scrawled: Your Three Rivers Pack.
My vision blurred. “Ben… It’s beautiful.”
“I wanted them to know who they can count on. Family. Pack. People who won’t ever leave them.”
Amara crouched beside him. “You got that right,” she said quietly. “You know, you have that too? Me, Wally, Thomas… we won’t ever leave you.”
“You can count on this whole Pack, Ben. Because it’s your Pack and that’s what we do,” Ryan said solemnly.
Amara glanced up, tears shining in her eyes, and nodded her thanks to Ryan.
Cameron stepped closer, his hand settling on Amara’s back. I think I was the only one to catch the sharp set of Jase’s mouth, his eyes locked on Cameron’s hand.
Yeah, things were going to get interesting between the three of them.
Oakley stirred in Ryan’s arms, stretching with a tiny grunt before blinking up at his dad.
Derek appeared in the doorway but didn’t step in right away, just stood there, eyes on the twins.
“Don’t lurk,” I told him.
“I’m not lurking,” he said. “I’m guarding the perimeter.”
“Everyone’s guarding the perimeter today,” Sofia muttered, but her eyes softened. “You want to hold them?”
A flash of fear crossed his face, but he only hesitated for a second before coming toward me and, oh so carefully, taking Victoria from me. He held her in his palms and looked hopelessly at Sofia.
“What do I do now?”
Sofia giggled softly. “You don’t do anything. Just hold her.”
He looked so utterly lost, I almost laughed.
The steely Beta who could dismantle an enemy’s intel network without blinking, standing frozen because a bundle of eight pounds had him outmatched.
His gray eyes darted to Sofia like she was the only anchor in the room.
She reached out instinctively, adjusting his big hands so Victoria’s head rested against his chest. Their fingers brushed, and I could hear his heartbeat slow.
As if to seal it, Victoria let out a tiny sigh and curled her fist around the edge of Derek’s finger. His breath caught, his chest rising sharply.
Esme drifted in next, barefoot, her hair wild. She peered at both babies and grinned. “I’m an aunt. I’ve never been an aunt before…”
Her words trailed off as she studied the twins more closely. Her head tilted, like she was listening to something only she could hear.
“Their colors are settling,” she said softly, wonder in her voice.
“Victoria’s got silver threads all through her aura.
Like moonbeams. And Oakley…” She smiled.
“Dark purple, but warm dark. Protective dark.” She looked up at us with that innocent, earnest expression.
“My niece and nephew are going to be very strong. I’ll be sure to teach them all the witchy witch things they’ll need to know. ”
Ryan shot me a look and said, “Oh, hell no.” But I shrugged. As far as I knew, werewolves couldn’t do magic, not unless they had witch blood in them, and they were as full-blooded Shifters as they come.
Jem hovered in the doorway behind Esme and grinned at me. “They’re definitely yours. They look like trouble.”
“Well, then you can be the uncle who always pulls them out of trouble.”
“Room for one more?” Sam stood at the entrance, rain clinging to his hair, dark circles smudged under his eyes.
He looked sheepish, almost boyish, for half a heartbeat—until you noticed the distant look in his eyes that never really went away anymore.
He’d seen things, done things, since joining the Council, and every line on his face told the story.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “Didn’t want to intrude. Just… wanted to meet them.”
“Get in here, Uncle Sam,” Wally announced, sweeping a hand like he was introducing a celebrity.
Sam’s mouth tugged into the faintest grin as he stepped inside.
He carried a small gift bag patterned with tiny stormtroopers.
From it, he pulled two plush toys—brand-new, tags still attached.
A Baby Yoda with ears so big it looked like it could hear the universe, and a Chewbacca almost as tall as the twins themselves.
“I figured it’s never too early to start them on the greatest movie saga ever made.” Sam shifted the toys awkwardly, then glanced at me. “Can I…?” His voice caught, the bravado slipping. “Can I hold them?”
I passed him Victoria while Ryan eased Oakley into his other arm. For a moment, he just stood there, staring down at the twins like they were the first good thing he’d seen in months. He bent his head, breathing them in—their warm milk-and-wolf scent, their skin still new and soft as petals.
A single tear slipped free, carving a line down his cheek.
He didn’t wipe it away. He just bent his head lower, his breath trembling as he whispered something only they could hear.
For that moment, I had the feeling that for Sam, the whole room faded—no Council, no battles, no shadows.
Just a man holding two newborns, trying to anchor himself to something good, something unbroken.
Across the room, Derek hadn’t moved, his eyes never leaving his twin. I knew they hadn’t talked about Derek succumbing to bloodlust and him and Sam trying to kill each other. They needed to sort it out. And soon.
Sam finally looked up. “They’re… perfect.”
When he handed them back, his hands lingered a moment too long, reluctant. Then he straightened, pulling a crooked grin back onto his face.
But I saw through that crooked grin. It was armor, nothing more.
My wolf pressed forward, uneasy, catching the faintest echo of hollowness clinging to him.
Sam needed this—needed the twins, needed us—but he’d never admit why.
I made a silent vow then and there: I would find out.
Whatever the Council had done to him, whatever shadows he carried, we weren’t going to let it hollow him out completely.
Before the moment could sink too deep, Wally fanned himself with a dramatic sigh. “Well, obviously Baby Yoda gets the first babysitting shift. And Chewie can teach them to roar properly since their father,” he gestured at Ryan, “still can’t do it without sounding constipated.”
Ryan glared at Wally. “I do not sound constipated.”
Oakley made a tiny grunt as if refuting what his dad had said.
Everyone laughed, even Sam letting out a soft huff that almost, almost, reached his eyes.
Ryan brushed a kiss across my temple, the tension easing from his shoulders at last. Around us, our Pack carried on fussing, teasing, loving. For a little while, the world of Goddesses and curses and old battles slipped away, replaced by warmth and the fragile miracle of Pack and family.
Later, when the noise and laughter faded and the others drifted out to sleep, the house finally quieted.
Ryan stretched out beside me on the couch, Victoria curled against his chest, Oakley nestled in the crook of my arm.
Their tiny chests rose and fell in unison, breaths soft as the brush of wings.
I smoothed a fingertip over Victoria’s brow.
For just an instant, silver shimmered there, faint as moonlight through clouds.
In my arms, Oakley gave a small gurgle. His eyes were open, too solemn for someone only hours old, fixed on the darkest corner of the room.
I followed his gaze, and it seemed like the shadows there leaned closer, drawn to him.
My chest tightened—then I blinked, and everything looked normal again. Just shadows. Just my imagination.
Ryan’s hand covered mine, where it rested on Victoria’s chest. His voice was low, rough with exhaustion but steady.
“They’re safe,” he said. Then, softer: “You’re safe. And I’m not letting anyone, not Goddesses, not curses, not the HFD, not the whole damn Council, take that from us.”
The words sank into me, warm as his scent, steady as his heartbeat.
Whatever the future held—silver, shadows, the unknown—it could wait. Tonight, we had this.