Page 52 of The Alpha's Broken Oath

“Goddess! You both scared me.”

Ash and Adrian are wearing matching superhero PJs, the ones that Deacon bought for them and sneaked into our closets.

He’s been buying us clothes and putting them where we can see them.

I can’t even begin to state the shock and embarrassment I felt when I found new pairs of panties, jeans, and t-shirts for me folded in one side of the closet.

It was the thought of Deacon ordering new panties for me in the middle of the night that nearly haunted me to death—unless he went out to buy them for me. Though that would be impossible. He hasn’t left the apartment since my boys and I started living here.

“Sorry, Mommy,” Adrian apologizes. “We didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Uncle Deacon’s preparing our favorite pancakes! He said he could make them in the shape of any animal we want, Mommy!” Ash squeals.

Goddess. Why is Deacon making this hard for me?

“Did he?” I ask in humor, and behind it is a little pain from the thought of telling them today’s our last day here and it’s time to go home.

My wolf doesn’t want to go… and me? I want to say I hate it here, but I don’t, and it’s because of Deacon.

“Mumm. Do you want to make pancakes with us?” Adrian asks.

Since the incident at the pool three days ago, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I don’t think I can trust my body and my wolf to be near Deacon again.

“Please, Mommy. Uncle Deacon promised they would be delicious!”

Of course, Deacon did. He’s the kind of man who adores perfection more than anyone I know.

Knowing there’s no way I’m winning over pancakes, I give my babies a small smile, “How about you give Mommy a few minutes to freshen up and come downstairs?”

“Okay, Mommy.”

They both skip their way out of the room.

I've been their mother for six years, and I've never seen them this happy, not even when I indulge them with ice cream before dinner.

I take a quick bath, reach into the closet and put on some of the clothes Deacon bought for me before making my way downstairs.

“A wolf!” Ash’s voice greets me all the way from upstairs.

I almost falter in my steps, trying to decipher if Deacon is telling my boys about our werewolf form. Telling them they are werewolves when they are barely eight is the wrong way to go.

“A wolf is even better. It’s strong, just like you. What about you, Adrian? What are we thinking? In what animal shape do you want your pancake? A wolf? A lion? A cheetah?” Deacon’s deep voice follows next, and it’s nothing but a calm tremor that seizes my heart from where I'm standing, especially when I realize they are talking about pancakes.

I want to hear more of his voice.

“I want a wolf-shaped pancake, too, Uncle Deacon. It’s strong, and it howls at the moon when it feels all alone.”

Before Deacon can reply to Adrian’s comment, I enter the kitchen, my eyes racking over the man who has an apron on his body but is shirtless underneath that apron.

His jeans hung low, and even though that apron is hiding his abs, there’s no denying I can see the deep V lines disappearing into his jeans and leading to…

He shouldn’t be this hot. Not with an apron that’s embroidered with the words “Mama Can Cook” and certainly not with flour patches on different sides of his face.

“Winter. Good morning. Pancakes?” Deacon asks, whisk full of wet flour in hand.

His hair, which is usually combed into some corporate hairstyle, is shaggy right now and falls on his forehead. I’ve never been a sucker for hair, but I’d definitely want my hands running inside Deacon’s hair right about now.

Goddess, I’m fighting a losing battle, aren’t I?

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