Page 142 of Storm
I thought taking on a pack meant losing pieces of myself to fit into someone else’s world.
I never imagined it would be like this—me exactly as I am. Unbroken. Unashamed.
They move as one, drawing closer until each of them touches me in some way.
Jonathan’s strong arms. Alexander’s steady hands. Rook’s gaze—solid and sure—anchoring me in place.
Frankie is woven in beside me, his touch light and sweet, grounding me with its quiet warmth.
Fox’s fingers stroke through my hair, slow and soothing.
Reed’s fingers lace through mine, grounding me with a strength that asks for nothing—only to stay.
All of them wrap around me, touch and presence intertwining into something more than comfort.
A cocoon. A sanctuary. A home.
I understand nowwhat it means to belong—not just to a place, but to people who can see every part of you and stay anyway.
I came to them angry and guarded, convinced the world had no place for someone like me.
But in their arms, I found something I never expected.
My place. My pack. My family.
About a yearlater
The house humswith the soft sounds of dusk, low voices, footsteps, the distant clack of training pads out in the yard. I settle onto the back porch just as Frankie finishes fluffing the nest of pillows for me and Fox, fussing like he’s rearranging royalty.
“For comfort,” he insists, even as Fox and I share a look behind his back.
“My omegas deserve the best,” he adds, plopping a final cushion into place with an unnecessary flourish.
Fox raises an eyebrow, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. “We already have it,” he murmurs.
Before I can say a word, Frankie leans down and kisses Fox slow and teasing, then turns and captures my mouth in a sweet, lingering kiss that makes me laugh against his lips.
When he finally pulls back, both of us flushed, he winks and leaves us.
"We definitely need to play with our beta later." Fox chuckles as he rests his head against my shoulder again.
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling as I sink into the softness, Fox curling in beside me, his head on my shoulder, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles over the inside of my arm. His breathing is even, but I know that scent. That heat building just under his skin—because it’s burning me, too.
A heat. Ours.
Of course.
Inside, through the glass doors, I watch Frankie now swaying gently with our daughter cradled in his arms, her tiny fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.
Lumi.
Her name still feels like a prayer in my mouth. Light, soft and strong.
At three months old, she's already getting so big, her tiny body full of baby softness, and that same auburn hair curls over her forehead just like mine.
She’s out cold, cheek pressed to his chest, one sock halfway off. He doesn’t notice the bond glowing faintly between him and Alex, but I feel it. It pulses soft and golden—new but steady. And it makes something in my chest ache with quiet joy.
Elena bustles into view, brushing Frankie’s hair out of his eyes and tucking a blanket around his shoulders, wrapping him and Lumi up. She mouths something about posture, fusses a little more, then kisses Lumi’s head and disappears with a proud little sigh. I adore Elena. I really do. I don’t know what I would do without her.
