Epilogue 2
Three Months Later
Amos
A cry at three fourteen in the morning pulls me out of sleep but Dominic is already moving.
His side of the bed is warm but empty by the time I've oriented myself in the dark, the Alpha crossing to the bassinet against the far wall.
I track his shape in the gray light from the window as he bends to lift the baby out of the bassinet.
"Hey." He says, his voice low and rough with sleep, softer than I've ever heard him use with anyone else. "Hey, come here. I've got you, Soleil."
The crying drops to a whimper as he settles her against his bare chest. She's two months old and has already learned that Dominic's chest is the fastest route to silence.
His scent wraps around her the way it always does, the sharp edges of it blunted into something that exists only in this room at this hour.
He's been scent-marking her since the day she was born.
She smells like all three of us now, coconut and pine layered under Dominic's leather, her own scent still forming underneath, something sweet and floral that doesn't have a name yet.
I lie in the dark and watch him sway beside the bassinet. His hand covers her entire back, his thumb tracing small circles against her spine.
Niah is asleep on my other side, his face pressed into my shoulder.
The switch to formula two weeks ago was harder on him than the pregnancy.
He's sleeping now because his body finally overrode the guilt, and I can smell it on him even in sleep, the coconut warm and settled instead of the bitter edge it carries when he's spiraling.
The guilt still surfaces. When Dominic takes the three am shift Niah mumbles "I should be doing that" against my shoulder before falling back asleep.
Dominic carries Soleil to the window and stands in the thin light with her against his chest. The swaying has settled into a gentle rock, his weight shifting from foot to foot, his chin resting on top of her head.
She weighs eleven pounds and two ounces as of yesterday's weigh-in because I track these things and someone in this household needs to maintain the data.
Just like I track the fact that Dominic hasn't been sleeping.
The circles under his eyes have deepened over the past two weeks and his responses in meetings have slowed by fractions of a second.
He takes every night feeding and changes every diaper between midnight and six and then he surfaces at dawn already dressed with the baby bathed and a bottle warming up.
"Dom." I sit up in bed, careful not to jostle Niah. "You need to sleep."
"I'm fine." He doesn't turn from the window. Soleil has gone quiet against his chest, her fist curled in the fabric of his shirt.
"You're not fine. You've slept nine hours in the past three days. Your reaction time in yesterday's board call was measurably slower and you called Garrett by the wrong name twice."
"I called her Karen once."
"You called her Karen once and Ms. Garrett once, which is a name construction you've never used in all our years of working with her." I push the blanket back and swing my legs over the side of the bed. "Give me Soleil."
"She just settled."
"She'll settle on me too." I cross the room and stand beside him at the window.
Soleil is asleep against his chest, her mouth slightly open.
"Dom. Give me her so you can get some rest." Some part of me believes Dominic is still trying to make up for the mistakes we made when we first met Mattaniah, like he still has something to prove.
It’s a constant thing, making sure our Omega knows he’s loved and cared for and that all of this is real but sometimes Dominic takes it to the extreme.
His arms tighten, the involuntary reflex softening a second later as he becomes aware of it. "I know." His voice is barely above a whisper. "I know I need to sleep. I just..."
"You just can't stop." I rest my hand on his arm, above where Soleil is curled. "The instinct doesn't have a dimmer switch and nobody is asking you to turn it off. I'm asking you to let me take a shift."
He looks at the baby. And then at me. Through the bond I feel the war between the instinct and the exhaustion, the Alpha drive that says protect, provide, never rest fighting against a body that hasn't had more than three consecutive hours of sleep in two weeks.
"If she wakes up..."
"Then I'll handle it. The formula is measured and the bottle warmer is set. I've been tracking the feeding schedule for eight weeks. I have this, Dom."
He transfers her but his hands don't leave her body until mine are in place, his palm sliding out from under her only after my palm has replaced it.
The bond shifts as she moves between us.
I feel the moment Dominic lets go, the physical release echoed by something deeper, a knot of anxiety and vigilance loosening in his chest that I register in mine.
His scent thins as the smoke pulls back and the leather goes quiet and for the first time in two weeks I feel him reach the edge of actual surrender.
Soleil shifts at the transfer, her mouth working against my chest before she finds a comfortable position and settles. Her fingers fist in my sleep shirt before she completely stills again. "Go to bed." I settle into the nursing chair beside the window. "Sleep. I'll feed her if she needs it."
Dominic stands beside the chair for another ten seconds. His hand rests on my shoulder. I turn my head and press my mouth against his wrist. "Bed, Alpha."
His face scrunches up before he crosses to the bed and slides in beside our Omega. Mattaniah’s hand finds Dominic's chest in the dark and pats twice. "You're here." His voice is blurred with sleep. "Where's Soleil?"
"Amos has her. Go back to sleep."
"Is she okay?"
"She's perfect. She's sleeping on Amos' chest." Dominic's mouth finds Niah's forehead. "Sleep, firefly."
There's a pause. Then Niah's voice comes again, a little smaller. "She was crying earlier."
"She cries, Niah. That's what babies do."
"I didn't hear it." The guilt is already there, the coconut souring at the edges. "I should have heard it."
"You heard it. Your body chose sleep over panic for once and that's a good thing." Dominic pulls him closer. "Our daughter is fed and dry and sleeping on Amos. You are allowed to rest." I catch the irony in his words but he just twists to glare at me, keeping me from saying anything.
"I'm her daddy. I should—"
"You are her parent. You're also our Omega and you need sleep." Dominic's voice drops lower. "Go to sleep or I'll make you."
There's a long breath. Then Niah presses his face into Dominic's chest and his body unclenches. "Fine. But if she cries again—"
"Then Amos will handle it." Dominic meets my gaze again as I just smile and shake my head. He’s not going to give in and no doubt, he’ll be awake tomorrow evening taking care of Soleil while I have to force him to give in. But for now, I’m content to watch my Alpha and Omega rest.
I settle back in one of the chairs and pull Soleil closer to me, our baby girl cooing once before falling asleep as well.
"Your dad Dominic is going to be insufferable when you're older,” I whisper to her.
“He's already decided you're going to run the company.
Niah thinks you should be whatever you want to be.
I think you should wait until you can hold your own head up before we start making career plans. "
My gaze falls back to my mates, this time Mattaniah twisted around to look at me and then our daughter.
“She’s okay,” I whisper. A small smile slips onto his lips as he holds out a hand and I give in, making my way over to them.
He sits up to take her into his arms, Dominic and I holding them both.
“Just for a little bit. All three of you need your sleep.”
Our Omega runs his nose along Soleil’s cheek, humming softly. “Just a little bit. Promise.”