Page 116 of Knot Your Baby

It’s strange how life works out. As a doctor, I’ve seen how quickly things can shatter, how one moment can change everything. But I’ve also seen how the body heals, and how wounds close for scars to form, and life continues—if we’re lucky.

Our pack is like that—scarred but healing, once broken but now stronger for it. And Freya is the reason. She’s the center of it all, our omega, our heart, our home.

As the afternoon sun streams through the windows of La Petite Rose, casting an ethereal light across her face, I make a silent promise to protect this happiness, this love, this family we’ve built.

Because some things, once found, are worth fighting for. Worth living for. Worth everything.

And what we have is.

Epilogue Two - Freya

Four years later

Strawberries, lime, and tequilamingle with sea salt as we stroll through the bustling market of Marseille. Stone’s hand is clasped in Thorne’s, while Zane carries Daisy on his shoulders, her tiny hands gripping his hair for balance. Miller walks beside me. Poppy is perched on his shoulders, her wide eyes taking in the colorful stalls and delicious smelling produce.

“Look, Mommy!” Poppy calls, pointing to a display of crystalized flowers. “They’re like the ones on your cakes!”

I smile up at her, my heart swelling. “They are my sweet girl. Maybe we can get some to take home.”

A wave of heat washes over me suddenly, making me stumble slightly. Miller’s hand is immediately at my elbow, steadying me.

“Your temperature is rising,” he murmurs, professional concern mixing with something darker in his eyes. “Let me check.”

He shifts Poppy from his shoulder to his hip and presses his palm to my forehead. The cool touch of his skin against mine makes me shiver despite the heat building inside me.

“Higher than an hour ago,” he says, his voice low enough that only I can hear. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” I insist, though we both know it’s not entirely true. My heat is coming faster than I expected. Four years of being Pack Astor’s omega, and my body still surprises me sometimes.

“We should head back soon,” Miller says, but I shake my head.

“Not yet. The children are having fun.” I gesture to where Stone is handpicking a piece of fruit. His face scrunched in concentration. “Let’s go to the beach first, like we promised.”

Miller gives me a look—part exasperation, part adoration—but nods. “The beach. But then we go back to your grandmother’s. No arguments.”

“Yes, Doctor,” I tease, pressing a quick kiss on his lips.

An hour later, we’re spread out on the golden sand of a small, secluded beach. My grandmother recommended it, knowing we’d appreciate the privacy. The Mediterranean stretches out before us, impossibly blue under the clear sky.

I sit under an enormous umbrella, watching as my alphas each take a child in their arms and run toward the water. Stone is tall for his age, his dark hair is a mirror image of Thorne’s and Zane’s. He squeals with delight as his father lifts him high above the waves.

Zane holds Daisy, her strawberry blonde curls bouncing as he swings her in wide circles, her feet skimming the surface of the water. Her laughter carries across the beach, pure and uninhibited.

Miller is more cautious with Poppy. She’s Daisy’s twin, but less daring. Our girls are now two years old and look up to their big older brother with such adoration they are surely omegas.

Miller holds her securely against his chest, only letting the water lap at her tiny feet. She clutches his shirt with one hand, the other reaching out to touch the foam.

The sight of them—my alphas, my children—fills me with a joy so intense it’s almost painful. This is what happiness looks like—it is certainly what love is built on.

Another wave of heat courses through me, stronger this time. I press my thighs together, feeling the slick beginning to gather.Not yet.I silently plead with my body.Just a few more hours.

The alphas must sense the change in me because they exchange glances before making their way back up the beach. The children are breathless with excitement, their skin glistening with seawater.

“Mommy, did you see?” Stone asks, dropping beside me on the blanket and reaching for a grape. “I went under the waves!”

“I saw, my brave boy,” I say, running my fingers through his wet hair. “You’re getting so good at swimming.”

“Soon I’ll be better than my dads,” he declares, puffing his little chest out, “but probably not as good as you.”

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