Chapter 41 Mona #4
He laughs under his breath and shakes his head. “Be safe, take care on the road. Lily and I will come visit next month. And when the little one arrives—” his voice softens, his eyes meeting Mona’s with unexpected tenderness, “—plan on an extended visit. I’ve got a grandchild to spoil.”
She rolls her eyes, but none of us miss the brief spike in her scent, her jasmine floral blooming with joy at the way he fusses over her. “Okay. Kiss Lily for me.”
He finishes his goodbyes, and with a final nod, takes off on foot through the woods, back to the heart of his clan.
I look at Mamá. “Are you ready?”
She smiles tightly, then waves her hand. “As ready as this old woman will ever be.” Her voice shakes, but I don’t press. Because I don’t want her to change her mind. This is the right thing.
Mona squeezes her arm, then waves around the RV. “This thing is the tits. You won’t have to get out at all, there’s a bathroom and a kitchen—you can just stay in here until we get home. Cabin to cabin, doorway service.”
My mother raises one eyebrow. Actually, it raised when Mona said, this thing is the tits, and stayed raised, but she’s too amused by the significantly younger shifter to comment aside from an encouraging smile.
“Well then. Shall we?”
Orion whoops from the front, Grayson taking the captain’s chair beside him. Silas, Mamá, Mona and I all settle in for a game of cards as we begin the over three-thousand-mile journey home.
I’m used to living pragmatically, so this optimism, cautious or otherwise, is new to me.
The feeling never leaves, even when I have to take my mother to the cramped room in the back and talk her down from a panic attack, where I rub her trembling arms in slow circles and have her name five things until her breathing steadies.
Or when we have to pull over outside Flagstaff, the red dirt coating our shoes as we stumble from the RV, where we detoured to visit Andrea, and my mother makes the earth shake—literally, the ground wobbling beneath our feet, pebbles dancing like popcorn kernels—when she feels overwhelmed.
But we’re home just over a week later, and I watch her step outside, Mona’s small hand in hers, and something inside my chest cracks open.
It’s late October, and the maples have already turned vibrant shades of yellow, orange, and red.
Leaves catch the sunlight as they fall, and the earth smells like wood smoke.
It’s fucking stunning. I stand there, unable to move, unable to do anything but breathe it in.
Hilde is waiting for us at the cabin, and she plows right through Mamá’s unease.
Mona must have called her in advance, because they begin talking about herb gardens and Hilde tells her all about her plans expanding the clan’s greenhouse.
My mother’s eyes dart nervously as Hilde chatters about soil pH and planting zones, but where I would normally ease off and give her space, change the subject, Hilde barrels forward with enthusiastic plans for medicinal herbs, oblivious—deliberately, or otherwise—to her tension.
And somehow, it works. She asks my mother direct questions about plants, leaving no room not to answer. And so my mother answers.
It’ll be a learning curve, but I was right. They get along swimmingly.
Orion and Silas volunteer to drive the RV back to the rental place, especially after Mona mentioned overhearing some teenagers at the dining hall before we left town plotting to borrow it.
Though my teenage existence differed from theirs, learning how Gray, Orion, and Silas grew up, I can only imagine the joyride that would involve.
Meanwhile, Grayson and I handle unpacking, waving off both our pregnant mate and my mother.
My mother settles with surprising ease, despite having spent decades alone in her remote cabin. Soon, we’ll build her a place of her own nearby—close enough for family meals, far enough for privacy—but for now, she’ll live with us.
Mona casually suggested I place a silencing spell around her bedroom and the nest. I was a seventy-year-old virgin, but there are certain sounds a man doesn’t want his mother to hear, no matter his age, so I mumble in agreement.
Mamá beckons to me from the porch. “Aurelio, come see. These bushes here are lemon balm. Terribly neglected.” She shoots a chastising glare at Orion and Grayson, and they both wince like misbehaving children. “This will make a nice tea. Good for the baby.”
Mona swallows her groan but turns and plasters a bright smile on her face for my mother, then tucks her arm in the crook of her elbow as they take a turn around the cabin.
She says, “Why don’t you show me, Mamá? I’m the one growing the baby, after all. I should learn these things.”
They wander off to the back of the property. They point at the window boxes, which have died through neglect and colder weather.
Everyone is busy around me. Hilde walks with my mother and mate. Grayson stops to say something to Silas, who dances the RV keys in the air. Orion chuckles, then rushes into the driver’s seat. The wind blows, the leaves fall.
It feels as if my heart could burst.
Bonus Chapter:
Andrea
EIGHT MONTHS LATER
I swing open the door, the cacophony of the bar—clinking glasses, laughter, blaring country music—slams into me.
The growl, low and possessive, slips out of me before I reach her in five deliberate steps across the sticky floor.
She grins that wide, beautiful grin, dimples carving into her flushed cheeks while she refills a beer, handing it over before taking crumpled bills, slipping them into the register and moving on to pour a whiskey.
She knows I’m standing here. She hasn’t looked at me, but her body betrays her—shoulders rolling back just enough to push her tits against her tight shirt, hips swaying a fraction more with each step.
She bites her lower lip, fighting a smile, hands fumbling as she slides the whiskey over, amber liquid sloshing against the rim, and winks at whatever limp asshole tries to flirt with her—some beta wannabe cowboy with whiskey breath and wandering eyes.
The longer I wait, heat pooling between my legs, fanning my heart, the more exaggerated her movements become—bending lower than necessary to grab a bottle, highlighting her pin-up curves, letting her fingertips linger when customers pay.
“Omega,” I bark, the word cutting through the din.
Her hand hesitates mid-pour, knuckles whitening around the neck of the bottle before she recovers.
Those dark eyes flash toward me, defiant beneath her long lashes, but I catch it—that sweet burst of strawberry scent rising from her skin, cutting through the stale beer and sweat.
She gets off on this, my public display of dominance.
Ingrid may have been a delta before we met, but she’s all omega now, soft and yielding where it counts.
And my girl has fucking embraced that shit like she was born for it.
Finally, she catches my eye and holds it, a slow smile spreading across her face. She walks toward me, each step making her thick hips sway beneath that tight denim, dragging her tongue across her bottom lip, leaving it glistening.
She leans against the bar on one elbow. “What can I do for you, alpha?”
I have to bite back my desire, letting my gaze linger on the curve of her neck. “What do you think you’re doing, omega?” I ask, leaning in close enough to feel her heat, to smell her perfume. She can pretend not to be affected by me all she wants. She lies worse than Mona.
She rolls her eyes toward the sky. “Serving cheap beer. Socializing. Making men weep. Take your pick.”
“And where are your mates?”
“Well,” she purrs, “one of them disappeared for an entire week without so much as an explanation.” Then she narrows her eyes and growls at me.
“I told you I had an errand,” I murmur, tugging her closer. “But seeing you like this, four months pregnant, on your feet working, flirting with strangers, makes me wonder if I should’ve tied you to the bed before I left.”
Her eyes narrow to slits. “I’m a grown woman carrying a child, Andrea, not an invalid.”
I gently squeeze her wrist. “But you don’t have to be on your feet all day. Between what Sam and I make, there’s more than enough money for you and Cal to stay home.”
Sam and I established the roles in our pack back in that silo, and things never really changed—protect Ingrid and live.
That was it. Even after we got free—protect Ingrid, survive.
Live. For me, that meant shouldering the weight of our pack’s needs.
It meant security, and food, and even good health, was our responsibility.
He and I are the alphas, and I thought Sam understood that.
But here Ingrid is, behind the bar, on her feet for hours, pregnant.
And I bet Cal was up working a night shift, equally exhausted.
Ingrid… she is my fated mate. My missing piece. She softens my edges, her easy joy lessens my darkness. From the moment our eyes met in that fucking silo, something clicked into place, and I haven’t been the same sense.
But Cal… Cal is different.
He isn’t dominant—not because he’s a beta, but because he just has the chillest energy of anyone I’ve ever met, even more so than Orion.
Where most wolves need to assert themselves constantly, there’s no posturing with him.
When he looks at me, my stomach does this stupid fluttery thing.
I catch myself adjusting my posture, smoothing my hair. It’s ridiculous.
Cal should be at home with Ingrid right now, not letting her work like this. But he’s just as stubborn—won’t accept being looked after either. Two stubborn mates. It’s infuriating.