Page 115 of Drama Queen

As I scroll through our family chat one-handedly, reading my brothers’ messages, humor bubbles up. They start with innocent inquiries, escalate to impatience and panic, then border on threats—all asking about our mate and baby, pleading for updates on our situation. None of which I would have answered while talking with my mate, and they damn well know it. Now that she’s snug against my chest, lulled to sleep by my purr, I finally respond.

Me:

Our baby and mate are fine. Perfect, actually. She’s an amazing mother to our girl. Our conversation went well, and there’s enough of a bond flowing between us that she senses our truth, somehow understanding. She’s sleeping now… on my chest.

Even though it’s past one in the morning, responses chime in one after another.

Knox:

What. The. Fuck.

Kato:

Take a picture. How does she smell?

Knox:

Will she consider meeting us? Have you asked her?

Kato:

Does she smell like our daughter?

Kato:

What does our daughter smell like?

Kato:

Send us a picture of her, too.

Kato:

Send us a picture of both of them. Preferably snuggling together.

Drix:

Show me what my daughter looks like, Mad.

Hendrix’s final text shatters the remnants of my soul. His heartache echoes through the words on my screen, prompting me to tighten my hold on our mate, locking her against my chest. My purr intensifies, practically vibrating through my mate’s body, bringing a sly grin to my face. She's ours. Finally.

As I cuddle my girl—nothing inappropriate—the picture is sent through the group text, granting them their first glimpse of our sweet baby girl.

It’s true that the beating organ in your chest can change rhythms, because mine's racing at the sight of our pup peacefully asleep in her crib just ten feet away from me. Short of completing the mating bond, this is as close to perfect as it gets.

And my brothers agree.

Knox:

Precious.

Kato:

Our sweet angel.

Kato:

Look at her hair. She’s like a little moonbeam.

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