Chapter 46
Hudson
Iswear the ceiling above the pack bed has become my closest companion.
I’ve memorized every faint swirl in the plaster, every tiny shadow cast by the chandelier we barely use.
Modified bed rest sounds pleasant in concept – rest, relaxation, being doted on – but in reality, it’s me versus gravity, boredom, and three overprotective alphas who hover like big, sexy storm clouds.
My body feels heavy in a way I didn’t expect.
I’m not even that big yet, not compared to how I’ll look in a few months, but carrying triplets is already pressing on my lungs and lower back.
My belly’s round enough that my favorite pajama pants don’t quite fit, but small enough that Mason insists I shouldn’t feel this tired.
He doesn’t say it to be dismissive; he says it like he’s pleading for the universe to give me a gentler path.
I didn’t hear him come into the room, but suddenly he’s there – fixing the blanket that slipped off my legs, adjusting a pillow behind me like he’s afraid I’ll break.
“You comfortable?” he asks quietly.
“Yes,” I say, even though I’m not.
Mason’s been different since the scare. Softer. Quieter. More careful with me than he is with anyone else on the planet. His bond sits open more often now, like he’s forgotten to bolt the door shut. The waves of guilt, fear, love – it all flows through.
I reach for his hand. “Sit with me.”
His inhale is sharp and slightly shaky. He still thinks he doesn’t deserve that invitation.
But he still sits.
The bed dips under his weight, and I lean into his shoulder. A second later, he wraps one arm around me, his hand splaying protectively across the side of my belly.
The babies shift under his palm, a flutter of movement that feels like sparks under my skin.
He goes still. “Hudson…they’re moving.”
“Pretty sure they’re practicing choreography,” I say, smiling when he huffs a laugh.
He presses his face to my temple. I feel him breathe me in as though trying to draw my scent deep into his lungs.
Desmond appears in the doorway a moment later, holding a mug of peppermint tea. “Time for your hydration,” he announces, sounding far too pleased with himself.
Alex follows behind him, carrying a small plate with crackers, turkey slices, and cheese. “And your protein.”
I groan. “You three are the worst nurses.”
Alex leans down and kisses my forehead. “We read the list of instructions the doctor gave us.”
Desmond lifts the mug. “And highlighted it.”
Mason mutters, “And laminated it.”
I blink. “You laminated my medical instructions?”
Desmond shrugs. “We’re thorough.”
Warmth swells in my chest and settles behind my ribs. They’re trying. They’re trying so hard.
Alex sets the plate aside and sits at my feet. “We want to do something today,” he says, eyes flicking between the three of them.
A quiet electricity crackles in the room.
Mason clears his throat. “If you want it.”
That’s enough to make my heart race. “What is it?”
Desmond sits on the edge of the bed, his knee touching mine. “A ceremony.”
My breath catches.
Alex’s voice softens. “Not the full pack ritual. Not the public one. Just…us. Here. In this room. If you want it.”
Mason’s grip on my hand tightens. “Only if you want it.”
I stare at all three of them – these incredible, infuriating, tenderhearted and hardheaded alphas – and something inside me settles. For the first time since this arrangement began, there isn’t fear clawing at me. No doubts. No uncertainty.
Only reassurance of my future, a future I can’t wait to start.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I want it.”
Desmond’s eyes glisten as he sets the mug aside.
Alex exhales hard, like he’d been holding his breath for hours.
Mason doesn’t speak, merely presses his forehead to mine.
They help me sit upright, rearranging the pillows until I’m supported and comfortable. The pack bed feels enormous with all three of them kneeling in front of me. None of this is ritualized in law or tradition. This is something they invented, something forged between the four of us.
Alex takes my left hand, Desmond my right. Mason kneels closest, positioned between my knees, his eyes locked on mine.
He’s trembling.
Seeing Mason look so scared does something to my heart.
Desmond speaks first. “Pack Anders has always been three hearts bound by choice. Today, we choose to add a fourth, if you’ll have us.”
Alex squeezes my hand. “We want you. Not because you’re carrying our children. Not because of biology. But because you’re ours.”
Mason’s voice is quiet, rough. “And I’m sorry it took fear for me to say it out loud. I almost lost you. I won’t make that mistake again.”
Those stupid tears ache behind my eyes.
Alex leans in, pressing a kiss to the inside of my wrist. “We ask for your trust.”
Desmond kisses the back of my other hand. “We offer ours.”
Mason lifts his hands to the hem of my shirt, eyes asking permission. I nod, and he removes my shirt to reveal the healed bite on my shoulder – his bite.
“Before,” he says softly, “this mark was a mistake made in instinct.” His thumb traces over the faded indentation. “If you allow it…today it becomes a promise.”
My throat closes around a sob.
“I want that,” I breathe. “I want all of you.”
Alex smiles like he’s been waiting years to hear those words.
Desmond bows his head in relief.
Mason leans close until his forehead touches mine. “Then let us mark you. Together.”
My pulse skips.
“Here,” he says, touching the other shoulder.
“And here,” Alex murmurs, touching my throat.
“And here,” Desmond whispers, touching the inside of my wrist.
“I want all three,” I say.
The bond flares, warm, bright, whole, and I feel every ounce of their love.
Mason marks me first.
The bite is gentle, nothing like the frenzied mark during my heat. His teeth press barely enough to break the skin, his lips covering the sting with warmth. Heat flares through the bond, deep, grounding.
Alex marks me next.
He presses his canines to the side of my throat, over my pulse, not piercing too deeply, only enough for my scent to mingle with his. My breath trembles as the world goes soft around the edges.
Finally, Desmond lifts my wrist to his mouth.
His teeth graze my skin, then sink in lightly, reverently, his tongue and lips soothing the mark and starting the healing process. A ripple of comfort blooms through me, sinking into my bones. Finally. I finally carry my beautiful, sweet alpha’s bite.
When they pull back, I’m marked three times, claimed not by accident, not by rut, not by desperation.
They claimed me out of sheer love. For me. For the family we’re building together.
My vision blurs as they climb onto the bed, surrounding me, one behind me, one at my side, one stretched along my legs. Their hands cradle my belly, overlapping, anchoring.
Mason whispers, “Hudson Anders.”
I choke on a soft laugh, tears sliding freely down my cheeks. “Yeah,” I breathe. “Omega Anders.”
Desmond kisses my temple.
Alex kisses my shoulder.
Mason softly presses his lips to my belly.
For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m home.
Completely, irrevocably, beautifully home.