3. Maia
3
MAIA
“ L una Wolfe, this is the woman I told you about. Maia Blake and her daughter Phoebe,” Patrick introduces. “And, Maia, this is Julie Wolfe. She’s our pack’s luna and will help you figure things out with Phoebe.”
My legs are shaking as I clutch Phoebe’s car seat closer to me, praying that we get invited into the house soon because my teeth are starting to chatter.
My car is parked a few feet away, just off her driveway, and we’re standing on the small pavement outside her front door. Most of her front garden is grass, with beautiful flowers despite the fading winter, and I can only imagine how well-tended and pretty it’ll be in the summer.
“Maia, why don’t you come inside?” Luna Wolfe says, opening her door wider, with a warm smile. She’s a gorgeous woman, with short, dark brown hair, and a peaceful sort of vibe around her. I thought I’d be put off by her being a wolf, but she has the sort of aura that draws you in and makes you feel welcome.
Even if I am slightly nervous.
She’s wearing a pale pink summer dress, despite it being the beginning of March and quite cold outside. There’s a small tattoo of a grey wolf on her right forearm, and her ears are pierced once, with a small diamond—or diamanté—stud in them.
She’s elegant and so poised. Despite her warmth, there seems to be an assessing look in her eyes.
“I can only imagine how badly you’re struggling,” Julie Wolfe continues, keeping that sweet smile in place. “Your daughter is gorgeous. How old is she?”
“Five days old,” I whisper, and she tuts at Patrick, who hangs his head in shame. It seems she’s not here to blame me for not knowing about all of this… at least not yet.
“Shame on you, Pat. We could’ve gone to her to save dragging them out in this weather,” Julie says with a sigh.
“Shame on me?” he gasps, but I don’t hear the reply as we’re taken inside the house, and he was clearly not invited in. I hold Phoebe’s car seat close to myself to avoid banging her into their things. This time not at the risk of disturbing my daughter’s sleep but because everything in the passageway looks so expensive I’m terrified to damage anything.
Her living room looks like a showroom, but instead of cheap decorations, hers looks real, expensive, and old. The walls are painted a sage green, and there are lots of gorgeous plants that give off a natural edge to the environment. I can’t identify their kinds properly but wish I could since they smell so nice.
“Get yourself comfy,” Julie says, gesturing to the large, grey fabric sofa on one side of the room. There are two matching arm chairs, which I think recline.
She watches with an assessing eye as I get myself settled, and I tuck Phoebe in close to me.
“Like Patrick said, I’m Julie, and the man who has just come down to lecture Patrick is one of my husbands, George. We’re the only ones home today.” There’s a keen interest as she looks down at Phoebe, and it unsettles me. “Is the little one comfortable in there? Do you want me to get a Moses’s basket out for her?”
She moves from topic to topic so quickly but somehow does it with an air of grace that makes it seem normal.
“I’ll get her out, but she’ll just nap with me,” I say, completely overwhelmed. No matter how nice she seems, my nerves are rattled, and I think it’s going to take me a long while to truly process my new reality. “Thank you, though.”
“I’ll go make us something to drink, then. Tea? Coffee?”
“Um, a glass of water would be amazing,” I say, and she smiles before leaving.
I can’t hear her husband at the door, although it’s still open based on the bitter breeze, which is concerning. Is he telling Patrick off for how he handled things?
Can he do that as alpha?
How will he do that as alpha?
Julie returns by the time I’ve got Phoebe settled on my chest, and she places the glass of water on the coffee table in front of me. She doesn’t use a coaster despite how antique the table seems.
“I remember when mine were that little,” she says, sitting on the arm of the chair next to me, with a distant look in her eyes. Even perched on the edge of a sofa, she’s very graceful—almost regal, even. It’s a trait I don’t possess.
“How many do you have?” I run my hands over Phoebe’s dark hair.
“Six,” she says, and I gape at her, my eyes widening. Six? I’m barely managing with this one. She laughs, and it’s such a genuine, twinkling sound. “I’ve got a set of twins, and a set of quads. My boys are the light of my life, so strong.”
My mouth drops open at this point, and her light laugh is all I can hear. She gets up from the sofa and pulls down some of the photos from the fireplace. It’s an array of her children through the years, and they’re absolutely adorable.
In the baby photos, they’re tiny, the four little boys—I’m guessing based on the light blue baby grows they’re wearing—are maybe a month or so older than Phoebe, but the toddler girls are around three or four with big cheesy grins on their faces.
In every photo, they’re identical—both the twin girls and the quadruplet boys. Even in the later photos when they’re graduating school—college, I’m guessing—they’re still carbon copies of one another.
It’s crazy, and maybe just a little supernatural.
“They’re all still identical,” I say, and she nods. “Wow. Super mum. I’m struggling with just one, I’m in awe that you managed with six under five all at the same time.”
“I had a lot of help, but that’s what we are built for,” she says, as George, I’m guessing, comes into the room.
He’s a very big man, in both height and his frame. I’m not sure how much is fat, considering I can see the outlines of his bulging arms under his tight shirt. His thighs are thick, and I have no doubt he could bench press me—without the use of his werewolf strength.
His light caramel hair is windswept, and there’s a slight frown on his pale, chapped lips. His eyes are an icy blue, and they seem to have the same assessing look that his wife’s do. He’s got the same hair colour as the quadruplet boys do, compared to the twin girls with the bright blonde.
Like Luna Wolfe, he’s dressed for summer in a thin T-shirt and some shorts, despite the chilly air. Their home isn’t overly warm, I feel a bite to my skin. Is that a wolf power? Should I be more careful when dressing Phoebe so she doesn’t overheat?
The standard rule of thumb is they need an extra layer compared to us, but is that different for wolves? Is there a guide to learn these things, or is it like when you have a human baby and just learn on the job?
I can’t believe I’ve got to categorise babies into human and… not human.
“Now, I know that this is a lot for you to handle,” Julie says, and I bite back the urge to snap at her. What does she know about this situation and my abilities to handle it? “We’re more than happy to answer any questions that you have, but we’ve got some to ask you that take priority.”
“Okay.” Of course, they do.
“We’ve got some documentation you can have, too, to read up on our world. I can only imagine how overwhelming this is in your current state of mind, and we want to help in any way we can,” George says, sitting down on the armchair that Julie is perched upon.
I nod slowly, glancing down at Phoebe. She’s nestled between my boobs, a tiny smile on her face.
Gas, it’s probably gas.
But she’s so unbothered, whereas my world has completely shifted. And I didn’t mean that for the pun.
“Where is Phoebe’s dad?” Julie asks, going straight in for the hard question. “Patrick claimed he was...”
“Um, he is dead.” I don’t know why this couple sets me on edge so badly, but their questions are really frustrating me.
“I’m so sorry,” Julie says, her face paling ever so slightly. She eyes her husband, a wary look in her eyes, but he’s focusing on me.
“Thank you. We weren’t together very long, and clearly, I wasn’t trusted with all of this,” I say softly. You know, if a three-year relationship and an engagement wasn’t that long.
I thought we were preparing for a life together.
It seems only I was doing that.
“What pack was he from?” George asks almost too eagerly.
My goal is to give them as little information as possible whilst trying to appear cooperative. These people are dangerous. I have no idea of their skills or abilities, and I need to try and protect Phoebe the best I can.
I have a tight smile on my face. “I have no idea.”
“Where did he grow up?” George asks.
“I have no idea.” I shrug when he huffs .
“What was his full legal name?” George is trying to remain composed as he peppers me with questions, but I don’t know the answers to most of them.
Ryan had a terrible childhood, and I never, ever wanted to push him to share things he wasn’t able to share. We built a life around the memories we shared together because all that mattered was the life we were creating.
The past was where it belonged—in the past—and we were happy.
Until he was ripped away from me.
“Ryan Tartan is what I knew him by,” I say, a small smile gracing my lips. But the werewolves both frown, clearly not recognising his name. “But he was estranged from his family, so I’m not positive if that’s his family surname or not. He… he had a bad relationship with his parents and moved away so that he could avoid them.”
George nods, but I can sense his unhappiness with this. “And she’s definitely his baby?”
“Yes.” I sigh, the tiredness overtaking me, but that’s better than anger. How dare he insinuate I’m lying. What would his fake claim do? He had no life insurance, there’s no child benefit to claim… I shake my head, wanting to move past this inquisition. “Look, I called the police?—”
“We know, and thankfully, our people handled that. We’ve got men in place to handle any of our more… supernatural cases,” George says a little abruptly. His demeanour is putting me on edge, and I’m very close to leaving, their help be damned. “We can help you with your daughter, Maia, but you need to be honest with us.”
“She’s only five days old,” I whisper, taking in the gorgeous black hair she has and her tiny button nose. “She shifted into a freaking wolf. My mind is blown at the idea that this is real. But trust me, I want to ensure my child thrives and has the full life she should’ve. Sadly, Ryan is dead, so he can’t help us with this part. But I am not lying to you—surely, any secrets he had would’ve died with him.”
“You’d think,” George murmurs, frowning at my baby—I hope—because otherwise it’s my boobs he’s giving such a dirty look.
“I can only imagine how hard this is for you, and nobody doubts your desire to protect her,” Julie says. There’s a forced calm about her, as if she’s trying to appeal to me to understand their position. But how can I understand a world I don’t know anything about? “Unlike George, I wasn’t born a wolf. I knew before having my children, of course, and we made the decision that I’d turn?—”
“Turn?” I gasp, clutching Phoebe closer to me. She chose to turn into a werewolf? “Is that a common occurrence in your world?”
The front door opens, and I hear two—maybe—men joking around as one teases the other for embarrassing himself at the bar. I tense, and Julie’s face pales.
“Fucking shit,” George snaps, jumping up to his feet. “I’ll go kick them out.”
But before he can even move, the footsteps come racing into the room. The two men—identical twins—zone in on me, causing my heart rate to beat erratically. A cold sweat appears on my forehead, and I freeze in place.
They’re big, scary, and have an aura that warns me to back away.
Their hair is the same light caramel that George’s is, their eyes a bright hazel. They’re probably a couple years older than me, with facial hair that’s a couple shades darker than their hair. It looks good against their honey skin tone.
One of the men is wearing a suit without a jacket. The white shirt is tight against his body, the top button undone, with the sleeves rolled up to show off his forearms. The other is wearing a thin black, long-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of joggers. The first looks like he’s just untucked himself after a long day, whereas the other is holding himself together so tensely.
Their faces are identical, but it’s clear they’re very different personality wise. They both sniff the air, and I swear their pupils dilate as their bodies shudder.
“Mate,” they hiss in identical tones.
My eyes widen as one of them advances towards me, and I swear, with how loud my heart is pounding, they’re all going to hear me. I cringe into the sofa, holding Phoebe tight to my chest to try and stop him from taking her. Is this because she’s a wolf? Are they just going to take her from me?
My grip is as tight as it can be without hurting my daughter.
He crouches down in front of me, sniffing deeply, before tilting his head in confusion. A crease appears in his forehead, his button nose wrinkling. “Baby.”
“Ben, step back,” Julie says. Her tone seems unconcerned, but her lips are pressed firmly together as she watches him.
“Mate,” he repeats, his eyes a bright blue—fuck, weren’t they hazel just before?—as he leans in closer to peer at my little girl.
“Me?” I whisper, and he grins a toothy smile and nods. Dimples appear on both cheeks, barely hidden by the scruff of his beard.
“What’s your baby called?” he asks, still seeming confused about her existence.
“Phoebe.”
His eyes widen at my answer, and there’s an almost wistful look as he glances at her, before the confusion fills his face once more. “She’s a wolf.”
Is he okay? His brother is in the corner, his bright green eyes focused on us but has yet to say a word as he hovers so close to the door. I can’t tell if he wants to run away or if he’s just overwhelmed, but his reaction is more wary than practically sitting on my lap.
This one in front of me, well, he seems a bit strange .
“That’s what we’re discussing, Ben,” George says with a small frown. “Although we never expected your connection to Maia.”
“I don’t understand what you mean by a connection,” I say, eyeing both brothers before raising an eyebrow.
“May I sit?” Ben asks, motioning to the open sofa next to me. I nod slowly when nobody else moves. He gets comfortable, making sure to face me, and gives me a warm smile. “A mate is short for soulmate, and you’re mine— ours. ”
“I’m not sure I believe in those.”
Ben chuckles, the sound so lovely as it vibrates through me. “I promise you, darling, they’re very real.”
I don’t believe him, but the tone of his voice, the honeyed layer he adds to it, has me wanting to trust every word that comes out of his mouth as if it were a law.
“Do you want to come and sit down, Seb, love?” Julie says, and I’m presuming she’s talking to the other man in the room. He just stays in the corner and doesn’t respond. She lets out a huff and turns back to me. “Do you want to go somewhere private to—” Two identical growls cut her off, and she sighs. “Boys, we’ve got a lot to discuss, and you’re not needed here for that. I understand you have a… connection, but?—”
“Like what?” Ben demands with a bite to his tone. “What do you need from my mate?”
“Benjamin Wolfe,” George snarls, spitting out each syllable of the name, “you do not talk to your mother in that tone.”
He’s emitting an aura that has me cowering away, my body recognising that there’s a dangerous predator in the room. There’s a tight pressure in my chest that physically hurts, but it doesn’t stop me from cuddling Phoebe in closer. She’s still asleep, not too concerned about what’s happening around her.
Can she feel their wolves? Can she feel the anger from the alpha werewolf? Does it hurt her like it does me?
“That is enough, Dad,” Seb snaps, and I jump. George nods once and that icky feeling disappears at the same moment George’s anger does.
That’s freaky.
“Wait, Mother? Dad?” I ask, and Julie nods. “The quadruplets?”
“Yes,” she says, smiling proudly. “Christopher and Alexander should be here soon, I’m guessing. My boys are very close together.”
George snorts, rubbing the back of his neck. “I should probably call the others home then, too.”
“Yes,” Julie says, nodding. “It’s going to get a little crowded in here, honey. Do you want?—”
“Bleeding,” Seb growls from the corner, and we all freeze. My head snaps over to him, as Ben takes a deep inhale. “Mate. Hurt.”
“She’s not hurt,” Julie says, glancing at me apologetically. “I’m so sorry about this.” She shakes her head. “If only Patrick had elaborated, we could’ve done this at your home and avoided all of this mess.”
Her words unsettle me for an unknown reason, and like I’ve had to do many times tonight, I bite back my frustration.
“Bleeding,” Seb repeats, his one word growl giving me weird feelings inside. Is he concerned about me? Disgusted?
Intrigued? Werewolves don’t like blood the same way vampires do… right?
“She’s just had a baby, you idiots,” Julie snaps. “Kitchen. Now.”
“I don’t understand,” Ben says, and I can feel myself blushing as he leans in, past what is considered acceptable when breaching a stranger’s boundaries. “What’s the precious angel got to do with my mate being injured?” He turns to me when Julie’s mouth just opens and closes. I’m pretty sure my face is the exact same way. “Do you want to lie down? I’m going to get the doctor to come over and check you over. We’ll not leave you to bleed out, darling. ”
He gives his parents the dirtiest look, as if they were planning on doing that.
“Oh, no, you don’t need to do that,” I say, shaking my head profusely. Seb lets out a ridiculously loud growl that startles Phoebe from her sleep. She bursts into tears, and that sets both Ben and Seb off even further with their concern.
Ben growls at Seb, who is even more vicious than his brother. I ignore them the best I can, my priority is on calming Phoebe.
“Shh,” I soothe, standing up and starting to rock Phoebe back and forth. Ben watches in fascination, no longer growling at his brother. Seb inches closer, a curious expression on his face.
Strangely enough, even with their tall frames, I don’t feel nervous. They seem to be the same height, which isn’t all that surprising considering everything else is identical, which puts them both about a head or two taller than my five foot six inches self.
Julie heads through to the kitchen where her husband is, leaving me with the two completely strange men, and that only increases my anxiety. Phoebe settles almost instantly, her icy grey eyes peering up at me.
“Can I… can I touch her?” Seb asks, inching even closer. I raise an eyebrow, and he closes in on himself. Guilt immediately wracks my body, and I nod slowly.
“Um, I’ve not yet let anyone but me hold her,” I say, and a sad look overtakes him. “But if you sit, I’ll show you how to do it.”
He immediately moves to the armchair, and I watch as he gets comfortable. My heart is pounding as I move forward, preparing to hand over my baby. Is this how every new mum feels?
“Just rest your arms like that,” I say before gently placing her into the nook of his elbow. He beams down at my daughter, and for some stupid reason, tears well up in my eyes .
“You’re making her cry,” Ben snarls, glaring at Seb. “It’s okay, baby. I’ll make him give you back our angel before I beat him up.”
“Whoa, what?” I gasp, stepping closer to Phoebe. Our angel? Beat him up? “I think?—”
Phoebe turns into Seb’s arm, rooting for a boob. I smile, the weird moment with Ben passing as I watch her.
“She’s being weird,” Ben says, and Seb freezes as if he’s scared to move just in case it’ll upset her.
“She’s hungry,” I say gently, stepping closer. “Let me take her back so that I can feed her.”
“I can,” Seb offers—more like demands.
“No, you really can’t,” I say, giggling at the offended look on his face. “I breastfeed, Seb.”
“You breastfeed?”
I gesture to my boobs, and his eyes lock onto them. A slow smile appears on his face, and I roll my eyes. I step forward, gently taking Phoebe from him. My tiny human does the cutest newborn scrunch before trying her best to locate my boobs. Whether it’s normal for newborns to scent the milk this well or if it’s just a werewolf trait, it’s very cute.
I settle on the sofa and undo the snap on my nursing bra. I feed my nipple through the specially designed nursing top and latch Phoebe. With a relieved sigh—engorgement is no joke—I let my eyes flutter closed.
“What the fuck?” Ben whispers, edging closer to me. His pitch has risen again. “She’s feeding from you.”
“I know,” I say, opening my eyes to give him the weird look.
“But she’s a wolf.”
“I know that, too,” I say quietly.
“And you’re a human.”
“Again, I know that.”
Ben tilts his head, looking at his brother, who shrugs before turning back to me. “I didn’t know it was possible. All our human women turn before carrying a baby. ”
“I see,” I say, although I most definitely do not. “Well, Phoebe has nearly regained her birth weight and is doing really well, so I think we’re managing just fine even with my… deficiency.”
“It’s not your fault,” Ben says, patting my arm sympathetically. Arrogant prick. I was being sarcastic.
“So perfect,” Seb says, and I’m unsure if he means me or Phoebe. “Sit there?” He points at the spot right near me.
“Um, sure,” I reply, and he moves faster than I’ve ever seen someone move. He perches on the arm of my chair, watching my daughter feed with a fascination that should be seen as creepy but is somehow sweet.
“Would you like a drink?” Ben asks, looking up from his phone. “You need to stay hydrated while breastfeeding.”
“I’ve got a glass of water on the table and some juice in the nappy bag,” I say, but he shakes his head, mumbling under his breath about hydration fruits and his mate deserving the best as he walks away.
“She’s so tiny,” Seb whispers in awe. He checks around, maybe seeing if we’re alone, before giving me a tentative smile. “I’ve never liked babies. But I already love her.”
“She’s my baby,” I say with a raised eyebrow. He doesn’t acknowledge my words at all.
“Can we talk about the blood now?” he asks, and I groan. “What?”
“Can you just not point it out?” He shakes his head, ignoring my exasperation. It seems Seb’s the type to ignore what he doesn’t like hearing. “Women bleed after giving birth. A shit tonne. It’s normal, and I’m fine.”
“This embarrasses you.”
“That a random, hot guy I’ve just met is asking about my postpartum bleeding? Yep. It’s very embarrassing.”
He laughs, tucking my hair behind my ear as Phoebe starts to drift off to sleep. I’m a big fan of contact napping when I can get away with it, but it’s a lot harder to do as a single parent. Being here, with people around and no chores to do, well, I’m not going to give it up.
“She shifted earlier,” he says, and whilst it should be a question, it’s not.
“Yeah.”
“I can only imagine how scary that was for you.”
“Terrifying, more like,” I whisper. “I called the police, frantic, because I thought she was stolen and some cruel person replaced her with a wolf.”
Seb growls, and Phoebe lets out some kind of adorable gargle. I lean forward, kissing her head, but it’s clear Seb’s reaction hasn’t upset her or even woke her.
“It’s insane that she can shift at this age,” I add, and he smiles.
“Normally, werewolf babies have werewolf mothers,” he says with a shrug. “She can shift and tend to her baby’s needs that way. The form doesn’t matter because the parent can adapt to whatever their babe needs.”
“So, you’re saying I’m not suited to be her mum.” Another non-question question.
“I’m saying that she needs more than just you right now,” he says softly. His hazel eyes are gorgeous, and up close, I can see the bright green flecks in them. His eyes change colour faster than his mood. “But luckily, now, she has that.”
“I don’t understand.”
He smiles, and I return it hesitantly. “We’ll explain it soon. Just give us some time to come to terms with it.” He blinks, and the intensity is gone. “The house is going to be very full with people in a few minutes.”
“I’m very overwhelmed,” I reveal, and I glance down at Phoebe. She’s still latched, doing the occasional suckle in her sleep. I’m not very willing to move her.
“My other brothers—Alex and Topher—are about to arrive. My sisters will be here along with my dads shortly.”
Christopher and Alexander. Topher and Alex .
“Is that, um, common in wolves?” I whisper, trying to not be rude, and he raises an eyebrow. “ Multiple parents?”
“Multiples are quite common in male wolves, and those with the sibling bond tend to form a harem, focusing around their mate,” he says, shrugging. “It’s the norm for us.”
“I see.” But once again, I don’t.
Phoebe unlatches, and Seb’s eyes zone in on my nipple. Men and boobs, I swear.
“Do you want me to take her?” he asks, and I can sense him itching to actually do it.
“You and Ben both called me mate earlier, and I’m guessing you don’t mean it in the friendship kind of way when you explained about soulmates,” I say instead of answering him, and he sighs and shakes his head. I get Phoebe settled on my chest before fixing my top. It’s a nipple, and it’s for feeding my baby. I won’t be ashamed about it hanging loose whilst I get her sorted. “Do you want to elaborate on that?”
“Once we’re all here, we can. It’s Topher’s job as the first born,” he says, and I nod. Because, sure, that makes sense. “Were you alone when you gave birth?”
“Yes.”
He lets out a massive growl that sends tingles through me. “I hate that. Mum said… she said that Phoebe’s biological dad is dead.”
“Yes.” When did Julie say that to him? I’ve been in the room since the moment they’ve arrived, and not once has she mentioned anything like that.
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” I reply quietly.
The door opens, and there’s a lot of commotion as others come into the house. I don’t know if this is Alex and Topher, or the dads, or who, but they’re loud as they slam the door into the wall and bicker between themselves. The words are too distorted to make much out of, but they seem frustrated.
“Shut the fuck up, idiots. Phoebe is sleeping,” Ben snarls seconds before he enters the living room with a glass of green juice in his hands.
“She can sleep through anything,” I reassure him, but he doesn’t care. He hands me the smoothie that he’s made, and it looks both disgusting and refreshing at the same time. “Um, thank you.”
“I made a big jug of it for you. You can take it home with you,” he says, beaming at me.
“Thank you.” Is it drugged?
“It’s hydrating and will help with your supply.”
I nod slowly, so confused, and a little grateful. “What’s going on out there?”
“Oh, Toph and Alex have arrived. There was some trouble with my sister’s car, so my dads have had to give them a hand. Topher and Alex are coming in to see you, though, once they’ve been briefed on you,” Ben says, not looking up from his phone. Briefed on me? “Do you have a good diet? You’re quite slim, but you do have a bit of pudge around your mid?—”
My jaw drops. “I have a five day old baby ,” I hiss. His eyes widen, and he drops his phone in his lap at my anger.
“Why are you mad at me?” There’s hurt in his tone, as if I’m the asshole here. As if he didn’t just call me pudgy .
“Surely, you’re not that obtuse?” I demand, being careful not to jostle Phoebe as I sit up and glare at him.
“You hurt our mate,” Seb snarls, giving his brother a dirty look. “Apologise. Now.”
“I don’t need you to defend me,” I counter, giving Seb a dirty look now. I turn back to Ben, raising an eyebrow. “You insulted my body?—”
“I did not ,” Ben argues, shaking his head. “You’re beautiful, and your body is perfect. Your tits are huge, your hips are naturally wide, ready to birth?—”
“Please, shut him up,” I say, turning away from Ben as the anger increases. I can’t even dignify that with a response.
I’m positive this isn’t really happening .
“Come through here, darlings,” Julie says, leading another two men through to the living room. They’re identical to the two in front of me, but the difference is their attitude. Ben is excitable and tactless, and Seb’s quiet but obsessed with Phoebe.
Weird, but mostly positive.
These two are not. The first man seems angry, and the second seems disinterested.
“This is her,” the second one says, scrunching his nose up as he looks me up and down. “She’s definitely ours.”
He’s dressed similarly to Ben, down to the expensive loafers. But where Ben is relaxed and dishevelled—in a sexy, messy way—this man is most definitely not. His suit jacket is buttoned up, there’s not a single mark on him, and I swear his hair has recently been combed.
“Hm,” the first man says, raising an eyebrow. Just like the other unknown brother, he’s in a full suit, but the expression on his face is extremely stern and unwelcoming, rather than full of disgust.
Neither of them seem nice. Assholes, for sure, but the way they’re looking at me—and by extension my daughter— as if we’re scum on the bottom of the shoe, pisses me off.
“I’m definitely not yours. Not only am I not property to be owned, I wouldn’t be yours even if you paid for me,” I say, shaking my head as I rise to my feet. I don’t like being the shortest one here, and I hate it even more when I’m sat down giving them a clear advantage. “I’m here for one reason only. So, can we please make a plan to support my daughter so that I can take her home?”
“You’re not going back to your home,” the first man says with a firm tone of voice.
I’m not sure if that’s his natural tone or if that’s just the way he’s going to talk to me, but it sends my body into a frenzied state. My veins are burning, my throat stinging, and if I wasn’t clutching Phoebe, I’d probably think about swinging for him .
I settle for sneering his way instead.
“You’ll be moving in with us. No mate of mine will live unprotected and alone.” He eyes my child, and there’s a brief moment of something before it disappears. “And no child of this pack will ever be endangered.”
“How dare you—” I start, glaring at him.
“She’s a little easy to anger,” Ben whispers, avoiding looking at me as he addresses his brother. “Careful, Topher, or she’ll shout at you next.”
So dickhead number one is Topher—Christopher—meaning the other is Alexander. Lovely. At least now I can direct my insults to the correct man.
My blood pressure is surely rising as I stand here dealing with these idiotic men.
Julie’s lips are tilted up in amusement, but her hazel eyes are wary as she takes us all in.
“I think before we discuss anything for the future,” Julie says gently, “we need to discuss the past. Your daughter is a rogue wolf, Maia, and we need to start identifying her lineage and fast, in case her rightful birth pack comes knocking.”
“And her birth pack is the one Ryan belonged to?” I ask. She nods, and I shiver. “Then tell me what you need to know because that’s never happening.”
Ryan’s parents were abusive and cruel, and he ran away as a teenager. There is not a single chance that I’ll be allowing Phoebe to fall into their hands.
But I get the feeling there’s something about these Wolfes—the mate bond they claim exists aside—that I can’t trust. They’re helpful, almost too helpful, and it all feels entirely too neat for me.
Werewolves exist, and my daughter is one of them, so I need to figure out how we can exist in this world so she can have the stable upbringing she deserves.
But I won’t be a naive fool about this.
Not with her future resting on it.