Page 117 of Knot Your Baby

I laugh, recognizing my humor in him. “Is that so?”

“Daddy says you’re the best at everything,” he adds.

“Mommyisthe best,” Poppy chimes in, looking at Zane as she settles into my lap despite her wet swimsuit. “Daddy said so.”

Zane coughs, looking suspiciously like he’s hiding a laugh. “I might have mentioned that once or twice.”

“Or daily,” Thorne adds dryly.

I smile at Zane and then Thorne.

Daisy toddles over, falling into my arms with a contented sigh. “Mommy warm,” she murmurs, pressing her cheek against my chest.

“Too warm,” Miller says, kneeling beside me. He places his hand on my forehead again, his brow furrowing. “Your temperature is still climbing. I should have brought the thermometer.”

“How far away is it?” Thorne asks.

“Not long.”

“More babies?” His gaze pierces mine.

I nod, unable to deny it any longer. “I think I’d like to have another baby. A little brother for Stone, before he gets too old to enjoy one.”

Stone’s eyes pop open wide. “A brother? Can I teach him to swim?”

“We can’t guarantee a boy.” I push his dark hair from his eyes.

“A baby?” Poppy adds eagerly.

“Baby,” Daisy says simply, patting my stomach with her small hand.

The alphas exchange another look, this one charged with a distinct intensity. I smell the subtle shift in their scents and see the way their pupils dilate.

“Your scent is spiking,” Thorne says, his voice rougher than usual. “Like super strong. Like that night.” He smiles. He knows the difference now.

“Like it is during every heat,” Zane adds, his eyes darkening.

Miller takes my pulse, his touch professional, but his eyes are anything but. “We need to get you back to your grandmother’s. Now.”

We pack up quickly; the alphas moving with the efficiency of men on a mission. The children, sensing the urgency but not understanding it, follow along without complaint.

By the time we reach my grandmother’s home, I’m feverish. The slick between my thighs has soaked through my sundress as I sat in the car, and each brush of fabric against my skin feels like torture. I need to get away. I need to shower.

“I think we should head back to the States,” Thorne says as we enter the cool interior of the house. “Before you’re too far gone to travel.”

I shake my head, panic rising. “No, the flight is hours long. I can’t—I won’t be able to—”

“Ah, the heat comes,” my grandmother says in her thick French accent, appearing in the doorway. Her eyes, so like my mother’s but crinkle at the sides. “The children can stay with me and Camille in the main house.”

Before I can respond, she takes my hand and leads me through the garden, toward a small stone cottage nestled among flowering bushes. The alphas follow silently; the children are left in the care of my grandmother’s housekeeper.

“You stay here.”

I glance around. The cottage is small, but perfect. There’s a small kitchen and another room, which is dominated by a large, round bed. A window with a solid French shutter keeps the room dark. A built-in cupboard with slatted doors lines another wall. My grandma opens it to reveal stacks of blankets of different fabrics, pillows, and cushions.

“This is where your mother was conceived,” she tells me, her voice matter of fact as she pulls out blankets and rests them on my cheek. “This one.”

I nod as she rummages through different fabrics before she turns to my alphas. “Shirts. She needs your scents.”

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