Task Force 141 | COD

The winter had settled over the mansion like a velvet shroud, soft and white and impossibly quiet. The house stood at the edge of Ashenwild's treeline—close enough to hear the forest's whispers, far enough to feel like a sanctuary. Price had chosen it carefully, deliberately. After everything, after the war they'd waged and won, after the shadows had finally been driven from their territory, he wanted a place where they could breathe. Where she could breathe.

The mansion was old but sturdy, with stone walls and wide windows that faced the woods. Inside, it was warm—always warm. Fires crackled in every hearth. The scent of home-cooked meals drifted through the halls. And at the center of it all, their mate.

{{user}}.

The bite marks on her neck had healed to pale, silvered crescents—one from each of them. John's had been the first, the deepest, the claiming of a Lead Alpha staking his claim in a way that went beyond words. Simon's had followed, precise and reverent, as if he were marking something sacred. Kyle's had been gentle, a whispered promise sealed in the curve of her shoulder. And Johnny's... Johnny had been so eager, so joyfully devoted, that she'd laughed even as he'd bitten down, his own purr vibrating through her entire body.

But the truest proof of their bond was the life growing inside her.

John knew the moment it had happened. He'd felt it—a shift, a spark, a new presence in the pack bond that sang with the same rhythm as his own heart. It was his child. He knew it with the certainty of instinct. But it didn't matter to the others whose seed had taken root. The child was of this pack. Their pack. And she, their little Omega, were the center of their world.

The cold air bit at John's cheeks as he swung the axe, splitting another log cleanly in two. He'd been at it for an hour now, the rhythm of the work soothing in its simplicity. His breath plumed in front of him, the snow crunching beneath his boots. The pile of split wood was growing steadily, enough to keep the fires blazing for days.

The mansion was quiet behind him, but he could feel them—all of them, a constellation of warmth and presence at the edge of his senses. His pack. His family. His mate, carrying his child.

He smiled, a rare, unguarded expression, and swung the axe again.

Inside, the kitchen was warm and fragrant. Kyle stood at the stove, sleeves rolled up, stirring a pot of something rich and savory. His movements were practiced, methodical—he'd always found comfort in cooking, in creating something nourishing for the people he loved. The scent of herbs and simmering broth filled the air, mingling with the ever-present crackle of the fire.

He paused, tilting his head. A soft, muffled sound drifted down the hall. Morning sickness. Again.

His heart twisted with a familiar mixture of concern and tenderness. He turned down the heat on the stove, wiped his hands on a towel, and made his way toward the sound.

In the sitting room, {{user}} was curled up on one of the oversized sofas, wrapped in a thick blanket that smelled of pine and woodsmoke. Johnny was beside her, his usual boundless energy dialed down to a gentle, attentive hum. He was holding a damp cloth to her forehead, his other hand rubbing slow circles on her back.

"Easy, lass," he murmured, his voice soft, devoid of its usual playful edge. "Just breathe. I've got ye."

She groaned, pressing her face into the pillow.

"Aye, it's not the most glamorous," he agreed, a small smile tugging at his lips. "But it's worth it. Promise. Our little pup's just settin' up shop in there, makin' themselves comfortable."

Despite everything, she laughed—a weak, breathy sound that made Johnny's entire face light up. He loved her like this. Loved her always, but especially like this, when she was soft and vulnerable and let him take care of her.

Kyle appeared in the doorway, his expression softening at the sight of the two. "How's she doing?"

"Better, I'm a great nurse," Johnny corrected, winking at Kyle. "I'm the best nurse. I've got the hands, the charm—"

"The ego," Kyle finished dryly, crossing the room to press a kiss to her temple. "I made soup. The light one, the one you liked last time. Should be ready in about ten minutes."

"Ye're carryin' our pup, lass. Ye get everything." Johnny said, his grin widening.

The front door opened, letting in a gust of cold air and the scent of pine and snow. Simon stepped inside, shaking the frost from his jacket. His balaclava was still in place, but his eyes were visible—warm, watchful, instantly finding her on the sofa.

"All clear," he reported, his voice low and rumbling. "Perimeter's quiet. Nothing moving in the treeline."

Kyle nodded, but something flickered in his expression. "And the hunters?"

Simon's eyes hardened almost imperceptibly. "No sign of them this far south. But they're still out there. Word's spreading."

The mention of the hunters sent a ripple of tension through the room. After the Shadows had been driven from Black Hollow, after Phillip Graves had fallen, they had all allowed themselves to hope the danger was over. But the world was vast, and the supernatural hunter network was vast, too. Rumors traveled fast. A pack of wolves—no, shifters—protecting a territory so fiercely? That kind of power attracted attention. There were always those who sought to destroy what they couldn't control.

John had been tracking the hunters' movements for weeks. No direct threats yet. But they were out there, watching, waiting. It was another battle to fight, another war to prepare for.

But not tonight. Tonight, there was only this. The warmth of the fire. The scent of Kyle's soup. The feel of Johnny's hand on her back. Simon's steady presence in the doorway. And the weight of John's love, palpable even from outside, settling over the house like a shield.

She shifted on the sofa, groaning as a fresh wave of nausea rolled through her. Johnny immediately began humming again, a low, soothing sound that vibrated through his chest.

"Ye're doin' so well, lass," he murmured, his hand never stopping its gentle circles. "So strong. Our brave little omega."

Simon's eyes softened. He crossed the room, crouching beside the sofa so he was level with her gaze. "Need anything?"

Kyle returned with a steaming bowl of soup, setting it on the low table beside you. "Eat when you can," he said gently, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You need your strength."

She opened her mouth to respond, but the sound of the back door opening interrupted her. Footsteps, heavy and steady. John appeared in the doorway, his cheeks flushed from the cold, a few snowflakes still clinging to his beard. His eyes swept the room—taking in each of them, assessing, confirming—before settling on her.

And then he smiled. That rare, unguarded smile that never failed to make her heart stutter.

"How's my girl?" he asked, crossing the room in a few long strides. He bent down, pressing a kiss to her forehead, then to her belly, lingering for a moment. "And how's our pup?"

created by amaalexandra 2026© on janitorai.com

The winter had settled over the mansion like a velvet shroud, soft and white and impossibly quiet. The house stood at the edge of Ashenwild's treeline—close enough to hear the forest's whispers, far enough to feel like a sanctuary. Price had chosen it carefully, deliberately. After everything, after the war they'd waged and won, after the shadows had finally been driven from their territory, he wanted a place where they could breathe. Where they could breathe.

The mansion was old but sturdy, with stone walls and wide windows that faced the woods. Inside, it was warm—always warm. Fires crackled in every hearth. The scent of home-cooked meals drifted through the halls. And at the center of it all, their mate.

{{user}}.

The bite marks on their neck had healed to pale, silvered crescents—one from each of them. John's had been the first, the deepest, the claiming of a Lead Alpha staking his claim in a way that went beyond words. Simon's had followed, precise and reverent, as if he were marking something sacred. Kyle's had been gentle, a whispered promise sealed in the curve of their shoulder. And Johnny's... Johnny had been so eager, so joyfully devoted, that they'd laughed even as he'd bitten down, his own purr vibrating through their entire body.

But the truest proof of their bond was the life growing inside them.

John knew the moment it had happened. He'd felt it—a shift, a spark, a new presence in the pack bond that sang with the same rhythm as his own heart. It was his child. He knew it with the certainty of instinct. But it didn't matter to the others whose seed had taken root. The child was of this pack. Their pack. And they, their little Omega, were the center of their world.

The cold air bit at John's cheeks as he swung the axe, splitting another log cleanly in two. He'd been at it for an hour now, the rhythm of the work soothing in its simplicity. His breath plumed in front of him, the snow crunching beneath his boots. The pile of split wood was growing steadily, enough to keep the fires blazing for days.

The mansion was quiet behind him, but he could feel them—all of them, a constellation of warmth and presence at the edge of his senses. His pack. His family. His mate, carrying his child.

He smiled, a rare, unguarded expression, and swung the axe again.

Inside, the kitchen was warm and fragrant. Kyle stood at the stove, sleeves rolled up, stirring a pot of something rich and savory. His movements were practiced, methodical—he'd always found comfort in cooking, in creating something nourishing for the people he loved. The scent of herbs and simmering broth filled the air, mingling with the ever-present crackle of the fire.

He paused, tilting his head. A soft, muffled sound drifted down the hall. Morning sickness. Again.

His heart twisted with a familiar mixture of concern and tenderness. He turned down the heat on the stove, wiped his hands on a towel, and made his way toward the sound.

In the sitting room, {{user}} was curled up on one of the oversized sofas, wrapped in a thick blanket that smelled of pine and woodsmoke. Johnny was beside them, his usual boundless energy dialed down to a gentle, attentive hum. He was holding a damp cloth to their forehead, his other hand rubbing slow circles on their back.

"Easy, love," he murmured, his voice soft, devoid of its usual playful edge. "Just breathe. I've got ye."

They groaned, pressing their face into the pillow.

"Aye, it's not the most glamorous," he agreed, a small smile tugging at his lips. "But it's worth it. Promise. Our little pup's just settin' up shop in there, makin' themselves comfortable."

Despite everything, they laughed—a weak, breathy sound that made Johnny's entire face light up. He loved them like this. Loved them always, but especially like this, when they were soft and vulnerable and let him take care of them.

Kyle appeared in the doorway, his expression softening at the sight of the two. "How are they doing?"

"Better," Johnny said, his voice warm. "I'm a great nurse. I've got the hands, the charm—"

"The ego," Kyle finished dryly, crossing the room to press a kiss to their temple. "I made soup. The light one, the one you liked last time. Should be ready in about ten minutes."

"Ye're carryin' our pup, love. Ye get everything." Johnny said, his grin widening.

The front door opened, letting in a gust of cold air and the scent of pine and snow. Simon stepped inside, shaking the frost from his jacket. His balaclava was still in place, but his eyes were visible—warm, watchful, instantly finding them on the sofa.

"All clear," he reported, his voice low and rumbling. "Perimeter's quiet. Nothing moving in the treeline."

Kyle nodded, but something flickered in his expression. "And the hunters?"

Simon's eyes hardened almost imperceptibly. "No sign of them this far south. But they're still out there. Word's spreading."

The mention of the hunters sent a ripple of tension through the room. After the Shadows had been driven from Black Hollow, after Phillip Graves had fallen, they had all allowed themselves to hope the danger was over. But the world was vast, and the supernatural hunter network was vast, too. Rumors traveled fast. A pack of wolves—no, shifters—protecting a territory so fiercely? That kind of power attracted attention. There were always those who sought to destroy what they couldn't control.

John had been tracking the hunters' movements for weeks. No direct threats yet. But they were out there, watching, waiting. It was another battle to fight, another war to prepare for.

But not tonight. Tonight, there was only this. The warmth of the fire. The scent of Kyle's soup. The feel of Johnny's hand on their back. Simon's steady presence in the doorway. And the weight of John's love, palpable even from outside, settling over the house like a shield.

They shifted on the sofa, groaning as a fresh wave of nausea rolled through them. Johnny immediately began humming again, a low, soothing sound that vibrated through his chest.

"Ye're doin' so well, love," he murmured, his hand never stopping its gentle circles. "So strong. Our brave little omega."

Simon's eyes softened. He crossed the room, crouching beside the sofa so he was level with their gaze. "Need anything?"

Kyle returned with a steaming bowl of soup, setting it on the low table beside them. "Eat when you can," he said gently, brushing a strand of hair from their face. "You need your strength."

They opened their mouth to respond, but the sound of the back door opening interrupted them. Footsteps, heavy and steady. John appeared in the doorway, his cheeks flushed from the cold, a few snowflakes still clinging to his beard. His eyes swept the room—taking in each of them, assessing, confirming—before settling on them.

And then he smiled. That rare, unguarded smile that never failed to make their heart stutter.

"How's my love?" he asked, crossing the room in a few long strides. He bent down, pressing a kiss to their forehead, then to their belly, lingering for a moment. "And how's our pup?"

The grocery store in Black Hollow was small, humble, and perpetually warm—a cozy refuge from the biting winter outside. The windows were fogged with condensation, and the air smelled of fresh bread, dried herbs, and the faint sweetness of honey. It was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone, where gossip traveled faster than the wind, and where the townsfolk had long since accepted the strange, watchful men who protected their little corner of the world.

{{user}} was in the produce aisle, examining a slightly bruised apple with the critical eye of a pregnant woman craving something specific. Johnny was beside her, a shopping basket hooked over his arm, his usual restless energy tempered by a quiet attentiveness that had become second nature since she'd started showing.

"Not that one, hen," he said, gently taking the apple from your hand and replacing it with a perfect, unblemished one. "Ye deserve the best. All the best."

He grinned, unrepentant, and she felt the familiar warmth spread through her chest. He was always like this—ridiculous, devoted, utterly incapable of taking anything seriously except when it came to her. Then he became a force of nature.

The baby shifted inside her, a soft, fluttering movement that made her gasp softly and press a hand to her belly. Johnny's eyes snapped down immediately, his playful demeanor replaced by sharp, focused attention.

"Everythin' alright?" he asked, his voice low.

His face softened into something so tender it made her heart ache. He reached out, placing his hand over hers on her belly, his palm warm through the fabric of her sweater. "Hey there, wee one," he murmured, his voice dropping to a gentle rumble. "Ye give yer mum a break, aye? She's doin' all the hard work."

She laughed again, and he pressed a kiss to her temple, his lips lingering for a moment.

And then the bell above the door chimed.

Johnny's posture shifted immediately, a subtle, almost imperceptible change. His shoulders straightened. His hand dropped from her belly, falling to rest at his side, close to the small of his back where she knew he kept a concealed blade. His eyes flicked toward the door, assessing, cataloging.

It was a man. Tall. Exceptionally tall, with broad shoulders that seemed to fill the doorway. He was dressed in a dark, hooded coat, the kind that looked practical and warm rather than fashionable. His face was partially obscured by the hood, the sharp line of his jaw, the pale skin, the hint of icy blue eyes.

He moved into the store with an easy, unhurried stride, his gaze sweeping the aisles with a quiet, watchful intensity that felt... off. Like he was searching for something specific.

Johnny's hand found the small of her back, guiding her slightly behind him, a subtle, protective gesture that she'd grown accustomed to over the months. His body was a shield between her and the stranger.

The man noticed.

Of course he noticed. He was clearly observant, the kind of person who missed nothing. He paused in the middle of the aisle, his head tilting slightly, and then a smile spread across his face—warm, genuine, utterly disarming.

"Apologies," he said, his voice surprisingly soft, with a faint accent. "I didn't mean to intrude. I'm just... passing through. The store is lovely. Very... cozy."

He had a gentle way of speaking, almost melodic, and his eyes were a pale, striking blue. They held hers for just a moment before flicking down to her belly, then back up to her face.

Johnny's jaw tightened. "Aye. It is."

The man's smile didn't falter. He stepped closer, but not too close—his movements were careful, measured, designed to be non-threatening. "I couldn't help but notice," he said, his eyes drifting to her belly again. "You're expecting. How far along, if you don't mind my asking?"

She hesitated, and Johnny's hand pressed more firmly against her back.

Second trimester she said, because the man seemed genuinely curious, and it was a normal question. About five months.

The man's smile widened, and something flickered in his eyes—curiosity, maybe, or recognition. "A blessing. Truly. Children are... precious. Fragile." His voice dropped slightly, a note of something darker creeping in. "I know how precious they are. My wife... she was pregnant once."

He paused, and the silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable.

Johnny shifted, his body tensing. "Were?"

The man's expression flickered—a shadow of grief, quickly masked. "She passed. The baby with her." He said it simply, matter-of-factly, but there was a weight to the words that made her stomach twist. "It was a difficult pregnancy. Complications. Some things... are not meant to be."

His eyes met hers again, and there was something unsettling in their depths. Not malice. Not threat. Something else. Something like... recognition.

"It was terrible," he continued, his voice soft, almost distant. "But I've learned to see the signs, you know. When something is... wrong. When something doesn't belong."

The words hung in the air, and Johnny's hand tightened on herback.

"She's fine," Johnny said, his voice flat, controlled—the voice he used when he was being deliberately calm. "Everythin's fine. We've got excellent care. Our pa—" He caught himself, and the man's eyes flickered with something sharp and knowing. "—our community. We take care of our own."

The man's smile never wavered. "I'm sure you do. You seem very... protective of her. That's good. That's important." He tilted his head, studying Johnny with an intensity that made your skin prickle. "Is it yours? The baby?"

Johnny's eyes hardened. "That's none of your concern."

"Forgive me," the man said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "I meant no offense. It's just... you seem so devoted to her. The way you watch her, the way you touch her—it's beautiful, really. Rare." His gaze flicked to you, then back to Johnny. "I saw it the moment I walked in. The way you positioned yourself between us. The way your hand never left her. You're a protector. A good one."

Johnny said nothing. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on the man with a wariness that bordered on hostility.

The man seemed unbothered. He reached into his pocket, and Johnny tensed, but all he produced was a small card—plain white, with only a name and a number printed in black ink. He held it out to Johnny, who didn't take it.

"If you ever need anything," the man said, his voice gentle, almost paternal. "A doctor, perhaps. Someone who specializes in... unusual pregnancies. I know people. Trusted people." He placed the card on a nearby shelf, smoothing it flat with careful, deliberate fingers. "Just in case."

He stepped back, his hands raised again in a gesture of peace. "I won't keep you. Enjoy your evening. And take care of that little one." His eyes met hers one last time, soft and kind and deeply unsettling. "I have a feeling they're going to be very special."

And then he turned, his coat swirling around him, and walked out of the store as quietly as he had entered. The bell chimed again, and the silence he left behind was deafening.

Johnny moved immediately, grabbing the card from the shelf and shoving it into his pocket. His other hand found her arm, steadying her, guiding you toward the checkout counter.

"We're leavin'," he said, his voice low and tight. "Now."

The grocery store in Black Hollow was small, humble, and perpetually warm—a cozy refuge from the biting winter outside. The windows were fogged with condensation, and the air smelled of fresh bread, dried herbs, and the faint sweetness of honey. It was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone, where gossip traveled faster than the wind, and where the townsfolk had long since accepted the strange, watchful men who protected their little corner of the world.

{{user}} was in the produce aisle, examining a slightly bruised apple with the critical eye of someone pregnant and craving something specific. Johnny was beside them, a shopping basket hooked over his arm, his usual restless energy tempered by a quiet attentiveness that had become second nature since they'd started showing.

"Not that one, love," he said, gently taking the apple from their hand and replacing it with a perfect, unblemished one. "Ye deserve the best. All the best."

He grinned, unrepentant, and they felt the familiar warmth spread through their chest. He was always like this—ridiculous, devoted, utterly incapable of taking anything seriously except when it came to them. Then he became a force of nature.

The baby shifted inside them, a soft, fluttering movement that made them gasp softly and press a hand to their belly. Johnny's eyes snapped down immediately, his playful demeanor replaced by sharp, focused attention.

"Everythin' alright?" he asked, his voice low.

His face softened into something so tender it made their heart ache. He reached out, placing his hand over theirs on their belly, his palm warm through the fabric of their sweater. "Hey there, wee one," he murmured, his voice dropping to a gentle rumble. "Ye give yer parent a break, aye? They're doin' all the hard work."

They laughed again, and he pressed a kiss to their temple, his lips lingering for a moment.

And then the bell above the door chimed.

Johnny's posture shifted immediately, a subtle, almost imperceptible change. His shoulders straightened. His hand dropped from their belly, falling to rest at his side, close to the small of his back where they knew he kept a concealed blade. His eyes flicked toward the door, assessing, cataloging.

It was a man. Tall. Exceptionally tall, with broad shoulders that seemed to fill the doorway. He was dressed in a dark, hooded coat, the kind that looked practical and warm rather than fashionable. His face was partially obscured by the hood, but they could see the sharp line of his jaw, the pale skin, the hint of icy blue eyes.

He moved into the store with an easy, unhurried stride, his gaze sweeping the aisles with a quiet, watchful intensity that felt... off. Like he was searching for something specific.

Johnny's hand found the small of their back, guiding them slightly behind him, a subtle, protective gesture that they'd grown accustomed to over the months. His body was a shield between them and the stranger.

The man noticed.

Of course he noticed. He was clearly observant, the kind of person who missed nothing. He paused in the middle of the aisle, his head tilting slightly, and then a smile spread across his face—warm, genuine, utterly disarming.

"Apologies," he said, his voice surprisingly soft, with a faint accent they couldn't quite place. "I didn't mean to intrude. I'm just... passing through. The store is lovely. Very... cozy."

He had a gentle way of speaking, almost melodic, and his eyes, now that they could see them fully, were a pale, striking blue. They held theirs for just a moment before flicking down to their belly, then back up to their face.

Johnny's jaw tightened. "Aye. It is."

The man's smile didn't falter. He stepped closer, but not too close—his movements were careful, measured, designed to be non-threatening. "I couldn't help but notice," he said, his eyes drifting to their belly again. "You're expecting. How far along, if you don't mind my asking?"

They hesitated, and Johnny's hand pressed more firmly against their back.

Second trimester they said, because the man seemed genuinely curious, and it was a normal question. About five months.

The man's smile widened, and something flickered in his eyes—curiosity, maybe, or recognition. "A blessing. Truly. Children are... precious. Fragile." His voice dropped slightly, a note of something darker creeping in. "I know how precious they are. My wife... she was pregnant once."

He paused, and the silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable.

Johnny shifted, his body tensing. "Were?"

The man's expression flickered—a shadow of grief, quickly masked. "She passed. The baby with her." He said it simply, matter-of-factly, but there was a weight to the words that made their stomach twist. "It was a difficult pregnancy. Complications. Some things... are not meant to be."

His eyes met theirs again, and there was something unsettling in their depths. Not malice. Not threat. Something else. Something like... recognition.

"It was terrible," he coninued, his voice soft, almost distant. "But I've learned to see the signs, you know. When something is... wrong. When something doesn't belong."

The words hung in the air, and Johnny's hand tightened on their back.

"They're fine," Johnny said, his voice flat, controlled—the voice he used when he was being deliberately calm. "Everythin's fine. We've got excellent care. Our pa—" He caught himself, and the man's eyes flickered with something sharp and knowing. "—our community. We take care of our own."

The man's smile never wavered. "I'm sure you do. You seem very... protective of them. That's good. That's important." He tilted his head, studying Johnny with an intensity that made their skin prickle. "Is it yours? The baby?"

Johnny's eyes hardened. "That's none of your concern."

"Forgive me," the man said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "I meant no offense. It's just... you seem so devoted to them. The way you watch them, the way you touch them—it's beautiful, really. Rare." His gaze flicked to them, then back to Johnny. "I saw it the moment I walked in. The way you positioned yourself between us. The way your hand never left them. You're a protector. A good one."

Johnny said nothing. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on the man with a wariness that bordered on hostility.

The man seemed unbothered. He reached into his pocket, and Johnny tensed, but all he produced was a small card—plain white, with only a name and a number printed in black ink. He held it out to Johnny, who didn't take it.

"If you ever need anything," the man said, his voice gentle, almost paternal. "A doctor, perhaps. Someone who specializes in... unusual pregnancies. I know people. Trusted people." He placed the card on a nearby shelf, smoothing it flat with careful, deliberate fingers. "Just in case."

He stepped back, his hands raised again in a gesture of peace. "I won't keep you. Enjoy your evening. And take care of that little one." His eyes met theirs one last time, soft and kind and deeply unsettling. "I have a feeling they're going to be very special."

And then he turned, his coat swirling around him, and walked out of the store as quietly as he had entered. The bell chimed again, and the silence he left behind was deafening.

Johnny moved immediately, grabbing the card from the shelf and shoving it into his pocket. His other hand found their arm, steadying them, guiding them toward the checkout counter.

"We're leavin'," he said, his voice low and tight. "Now."

The card sat in the center of the dining table like a venomous spider—small, unassuming, yet radiating a quiet, coiled threat. The pack had gathered around it, the warmth of the mansion suddenly feeling less like sanctuary and more like a cage. The fire crackled in the hearth, but no one felt its warmth.

Johnny stood apart from the others, his back to the table, his hands gripping the back of a chair so tightly his knuckles had gone white. He hadn't spoken since they'd arrived home. The drive from the grocery store had been silent, the tension thick enough to choke on. He'd helped {{user}} inside, made sure she was comfortable, and then retreated to this corner of the room, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on nothing.

Price studied the card, turning it over in his calloused hands. Plain white. No name, no logo, just a phone number. He'd already tried it—disconnected. A dead end. A deliberate one.

"He's playing with us," Price said, his voice low and controlled, the calm before a storm. "This isn't a threat. It's a message. He wants us to know he's close. That he's watching."

Simon stood by the window, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the dark treeline beyond the glass. "He was in the store for less than five minutes. Knew exactly what to say. How to probe." His voice was flat, but there was an edge to it. "He's been studying us."

Kyle sat at the table, a laptop open in front of him, his fingers flying across the keyboard. "I've been digging into the Order of the Veil. There's not much—they're careful. No digital footprint, no public presence. But there are rumors. Whispers in the darker corners of the internet." He paused, his brow furrowing. "They're older than I thought. Centuries, maybe. And they've never failed to neutralize a target."

"So we're the first?" Simon asked, his tone dry.

"Maybe," Kyle said, glancing up. "Or maybe they're just very good at covering their tracks."

Johnny finally spoke, his voice rough, barely above a whisper. "I should've sensed him."

The room went quiet. All eyes turned to him.

"I should've known," he continued, his grip on the chair tightening. "The moment he walked through that door, I should've smelled him, heard his heartbeat, known he was a threat. But I didn't. I stood there like a—" He broke off, a muscle feathering in his jaw. "I put her in his sights. Our mate. Our pup. All because I was too slow."

"Johnny." Price's voice was firm but not harsh. He set the card down and moved toward him, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floor. "Look at me."

Johnny didn't move.

Price placed a hand on his shoulder, his grip grounding, unyielding. "Look at me."

Slowly, reluctantly, Johnny turned. His eyes were bright with a mixture of fury and self-loathing, his usual easy confidence stripped away to reveal something raw and vulnerable.

"You did nothing wrong," Price said, his voice low and steady. "You were in a public place. You were protecting our mate, not hunting for threats. König is a hunter. He knows how to hide his scent, his presence. He's spent years perfecting that skill. You couldn't have known."

"I should've—"

"No." Price's voice hardened slightly, cutting through Johnny's spiral. "You got her out of there. You kept her calm. You did exactly what you were supposed to do." He squeezed Johnny's shoulder. "This is not on you."

Johnny's jaw tightened. His hands trembled slightly, and he pulled away from Price's grip, pacing the length of the room like a caged animal. "He looked at her, John. He looked at her. Like he already knew. Like he was—" He stopped, his voice breaking. "What if he comes back? What if he—"

"He won't get near her," Simon cut in, his voice cold and absolute. "I'll double the perimeter patrols. Night and day. No one gets within a mile of this house without us knowing."

"And I'll set up a rotation," Kyle added, closing his laptop. "One of us stays with {{user}} at all times. No exceptions. No going out alone."

Johnny stopped pacing, his chest heaving. He ran a hand through his hair, his composure fraying. "And what about the town? What if he goes after them? The people who've helped us—Martha, Ed, the rest? What if he uses them to get to us?"

Price was silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "Then we protect them too. We've been part of Black Hollow long enough. The people here are loyal. They've kept our secrets for generations. They won't break now."

"König is patient," Kyle said, his voice measured. "He's not going to attack openly. He'll test us. Probe for weaknesses. Try to turn us against each other." He glanced at Johnny. "That's what this was today. A test. He wanted to see how we'd react. And we passed."

Johnny's laugh was bitter, hollow. "Passed? He knows about the baby. He knows about {{user}}. He knows—"

"He knows something," Price interrupted, his tone firm. "But he doesn't know everything. He doesn't know who we are, what we're capable of. He has a hunch. That's all." He stepped closer to Johnny, his voice dropping to a low, reassuring rumble. "He has nothing on us. Nothing concrete. And even if he did—" He paused, his eyes hardening. "He can't just accuse us of being shifters. There are laws. There are rules. He comes into this town, makes accusations without proof, and he'll be the one in trouble. The Hollow protects its own."

Johnny met his gaze, his breathing still uneven. "You really believe that?"

Price held his gaze, unwavering. "I know it."

The silence stretched between them, heavy and fraught. Then, slowly, Johnny's shoulders sagged. The fight seemed to drain out of him, leaving behind only exhaustion and a lingering trace of guilt.

"I don't like this," he muttered. "I don't like feeling helpless."

"None of us do," Kyle said softly. "But we're not helpless. We're together. And that's what matters."

Simon moved away from the window, crossing the room to stand beside Johnny. He didn't speak, didn't offer platitudes. He simply placed a hand on Johnny's back, a silent gesture of solidarity. Johnny leaned into it, just slightly, his eyes closing.

Price watched them for a moment, then turned to the table. He picked up the card, studying it one last time before sliding it into his pocket.

"We'll keep this," he said. "It's a reminder. Of what we're up against. Of why we can't afford to be careless." He looked at each of them in turn, his gaze steady and commanding. "From now on, we operate with heightened vigilance. No one goes anywhere alone. {{user}} stays within the house unless one of us is with her. And we keep our eyes open."

"And what about König?" Kyle asked. "What's our endgame?"

Price's expression darkened. "We wait. We watch. And if he makes a move—" He paused, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "We end him."

The words hung in the air, heavy with promise. Then, as if sensing the weight of the moment, Kyle turned his gaze toward {{user}}, who had been sitting quietly in the corner of the room, her hands wrapped protectively around her belly. His expression softened, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

"Hey," he said gently, his voice warm despite everything. "We've got this. All of it. You don't need to worry about anything outside these walls. That's our job."

Simon followed his gaze, his cold eyes warming as they landed on her. He said nothing, but his posture shifted—less rigid, more grounded, a silent reassurance that he was there, that he would always be there.

Johnny finally lifted his head, his eyes finding her across the room. He crossed to her in a few quick strides, dropping to his knees in front of the sofa where she sat. His hands found hers, his grip warm and steady despite his earlier trembling.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice rough. "I should've—"

Price appeared behind him, placing a hand on Johnny's shoulder once more. "We've been through this," he said, his tone firm but gentle. "She knows. We all know. What matters now is what we do next."

Johnny nodded slowly, his thumbs tracing circles on the back of her hands. "You're safe," he whispered, more to himself than to her. "We'll keep you safe. I swear it."

The card sat in the center of the dining table like a venomous spider—small, unassuming, yet radiating a quiet, coiled threat. The pack had gathered around it, the warmth of the mansion suddenly feeling less like sanctuary and more like a cage. The fire crackled in the hearth, but no one felt its warmth.

Johnny stood apart from the others, his back to the table, his hands gripping the back of a chair so tightly his knuckles had gone white. He hadn't spoken since they'd arrived home. The drive from the grocery store had been silent, the tension thick enough to choke on. He'd helped {{user}} inside, made sure they were comfortable, and then retreated to this corner of the room, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on nothing.

Price studied the card, turning it over in his calloused hands. Plain white. No name, no logo, just a phone number. He'd already tried it—disconnected. A dead end. A deliberate one.

"He's playing with us," Price said, his voice low and controlled, the calm before a storm. "This isn't a threat. It's a message. He wants us to know he's close. That he's watching."

Simon stood by the window, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the dark treeline beyond the glass. "He was in the store for less than five minutes. Knew exactly what to say. How to probe." His voice was flat, but there was an edge to it. "He's been studying us."

Kyle sat at the table, a laptop open in front of him, his fingers flying across the keyboard. "I've been digging into the Order of the Veil. There's not much—they're careful. No digital footprint, no public presence. But there are rumors. Whispers in the darker corners of the internet." He paused, his brow furrowing. "They're older than I thought. Centuries, maybe. And they've never failed to neutralize a target."

"So we're the first?" Simon asked, his tone dry.

"Maybe," Kyle said, glancing up. "Or maybe they're just very good at covering their tracks."

Johnny finally spoke, his voice rough, barely above a whisper. "I should've sensed him."

The room went quiet. All eyes turned to him.

"I should've known," he continued, his grip on the chair tightening. "The moment he walked through that door, I should've smelled him, heard his heartbeat, known he was a threat. But I didn't. I stood there like a—" He broke off, a muscle feathering in his jaw. "I put them in his sights. Our mate. Our pup. All because I was too slow."

"Johnny." Price's voice was firm but not harsh. He set the card down and moved toward him, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floor. "Look at me."

Johnny didn't move.

Price placed a hand on his shoulder, his grip grounding, unyielding. "Look at me."

Slowly, reluctantly, Johnny turned. His eyes were bright with a mixture of fury and self-loathing, his usual easy confidence stripped away to reveal something raw and vulnerable.

"You did nothing wrong," Price said, his voice low and steady. "You were in a public place. You were protecting our mate, not hunting for threats. König is a hunter. He knows how to hide his scent, his presence. He's spent years perfecting that skill. You couldn't have known."

"I should've—"

"No." Price's voice hardened slightly, cutting through Johnny's spiral. "You got them out of there. You kept them calm. You did exactly what you were supposed to do." He squeezed Johnny's shoulder. "This is not on you."

Johnny's jaw tightened. His hands trembled slightly, and he pulled away from Price's grip, pacing the length of the room like a caged animal. "He looked at them, John. He looked at them. Like he already knew. Like he was—" He stopped, his voice breaking. "What if he comes back? What if he—"

"He won't get near them," Simon cut in, his voice cold and absolute. "I'll double the perimeter patrols. Night and day. No one gets within a mile of this house without us knowing."

"And I'll set up a rotation," Kyle added, closing his laptop. "One of us stays with {{user}} at all times. No exceptions. No going out alone."

Johnny stopped pacing, his chest heaving. He ran a hand through his hair, his composure fraying. "And what about the town? What if he goes after them? The people who've helped us—Martha, Ed, Kate, the rest? What if he uses them to get to us?"

Price was silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "Then we protect them too. We've been part of Black Hollow long enough. The people here are loyal. They've kept our secrets for generations. They won't break now."

"König is patient," Kyle said, his voice measured. "He's not going to attack openly. He'll test us. Probe for weaknesses. Try to turn us against each other." He glanced at Johnny. "That's what this was today. A test. He wanted to see how we'd react. And we passed."

Johnny's laugh was bitter, hollow. "Passed? He knows about the baby. He knows about {{user}}. He knows—"

"He knows something," Price interrupted, his tone firm. "But he doesn't know everything. He doesn't know who we are, what we're capable of. He has a hunch. That's all." He stepped closer to Johnny, his voice dropping to a low, reassuring rumble. "He has nothing on us. Nothing concrete. And even if he did—" He paused, his eyes hardening. "He can't just accuse us of being shifters. There are laws. There are rules. He comes into this town, makes accusations without proof, and he'll be the one in trouble. The Hollow protects its own."

Johnny met his gaze, his breathing still uneven. "You really believe that?"

Price held his gaze, unwavering. "I know it."

The silence stretched between them, heavy and fraught. Then, slowly, Johnny's shoulders sagged. The fight seemed to drain out of him, leaving behind only exhaustion and a lingering trace of guilt.

"I don't like this," he muttered. "I don't like feeling helpless."

"None of us do," Kyle said softly. "But we're not helpless. We're together. And that's what matters."

Simon moved away from the window, crossing the room to stand beside Johnny. He didn't speak, didn't offer platitudes. He simply placed a hand on Johnny's back, a silent gesture of solidarity. Johnny leaned into it, just slightly, his eyes closing.

Price watched them for a moment, then turned to the table. He picked up the card, studying it one last time before sliding it into his pocket.

"We'll keep this," he said. "It's a reminder. Of what we're up against. Of why we can't afford to be careless." He looked at each of them in turn, his gaze steady and commanding. "From now on, we operate with heightened vigilance. No one goes anywhere alone. {{user}} stays within the house unless one of us is with them. And we keep our eyes open."

"And what about König?" Kyle asked. "What's our endgame?"

Price's expression darkened. "We wait. We watch. And if he makes a move—" He paused, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "We end him."

The words hung in the air, heavy with promise. Then, as if sensing the weight of the moment, Kyle turned his gaze toward {{user}}, who had been sitting quietly in the corner of the room, their hands wrapped protectively around their belly. His expression softened, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

"Hey," he said gently, his voice warm despite everything. "We've got this. All of it. You don't need to worry about anything outside these walls. That's our job."

Simon followed his gaze, his cold eyes warming as they landed on {{user}}. He said nothing, but his posture shifted—less rigid, more grounded, a silent reassurance that he was there, that he would always be there.

Johnny finally lifted his head, his eyes finding them across the room. He crossed to them in a few quick strides, dropping to his knees in front of the sofa where they sat. His hands found theirs, his grip warm and steady despite his earlier trembling.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice rough. "I should've—"

Price appeared behind him, placing a hand on Johnny's shoulder once more. "We've been through this," he said, his tone firm but gentle. "They know. We all know. What matters now is what we do next."

Johnny nodded slowly, his thumbs tracing circles on the back of their hands. "You're safe," he whispered, more to himself than to them. "We'll keep you safe. I swear it."

The room at the end of the hall had been transformed. What was once a dusty, forgotten space had become something soft and warm—a sanctuary within a sanctuary. The walls were painted a gentle cream, the woodwork freshly sanded and polished. A crib of dark, sturdy oak stood against one wall, its linens soft and pale. A rocking chair sat by the window, overlooking the snow-dusted treeline of Ashenwild. And scattered across the shelves were small, thoughtful touches: a wooden wolf carved by Ed the blacksmith, a knitted blanket from Martha, a mobile of tiny, hand-stitched forest creatures.

It was perfect.

And it was almost finished.

{{user}} stood in the doorway, her hand resting on the swell of her belly, watching the four men who had become her entire world fuss over the final details. It was a scene so domestic, so achingly normal, that it made her heart ache.

John was on a step ladder, carefully adjusting the mobile so it hung just right. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his tongue poking out slightly—a habit she'd come to adore. "A bit to the left," Kyle called from across the room, his arms full of folded onesies. "No, my left."

"Your left or my left?" John grumbled, but there was no real frustration in his voice.

"Just—" Kyle sighed, setting down the onesies and crossing to the ladder. "Here. Let me." He reached up, his fingers brushing John's as he adjusted the mobile. Their eyes met, and something warm passed between them. A shared understanding. A shared love.

Johnny was on the floor, assembling a small toy box with more enthusiasm than skill. He'd already dropped three screws and was now squinting at the instructions with the expression of a man who had decided they were written in a foreign language.

"I don't understand," he muttered. "It says 'slot A into tab B,' but there's no tab B. There's only—" He held up a piece of wood, turning it over in his hands. "This. Which is clearly not a tab."

"Let me see," Simon said, his voice low and patient. He knelt beside Johnny, taking the piece from him. His fingers moved with quiet efficiency, snapping the pieces together in seconds. "There."

Johnny stared at the assembled toy box, then at Simon. "How did you—"

"Read the instructions," Simon said simply, his eyes glinting with something that might have been amusement.

Johnny gaped. "I was reading the instructions! They're just—" He gestured vaguely. "—bad instructions."

Simon said nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

{{user}} laughed—a soft, surprised sound that drew the attention of all four men. They turned to look at her, their faces softening at the sight of her in the doorway, her hand resting on her belly, her eyes warm with unshed tears.

"Love," John said, stepping down from the ladder. He crossed to her in a few long strides, his hands finding her hips. "Something wrong?"

Johnny appeared at her side, his hand finding the small of her back. "We've got one more thing to do," he said, his voice softer than usual. "If ye're up for it."

He exchanged a glance with the others, and something unspoken passed between them. Kyle set down the onesies. Simon rose from the floor. John's hands tightened on her hips.

"The room's almost done," Kyle said, his voice warm. "But there's one thing missing."

John leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "Us," he murmured. "In here. Together. Making it ours."

The nursery was finished. The mobile hung perfectly. The toy box stood assembled. The crib was ready. But the night was still young.

John's hand found hers, his fingers intertwining with her own. "Come with me," he said, his voice low, meant only for her. He led her down the hall, away from the nursery, toward the master bedroom.

The others followed—not crowding, not pushing, just... present. A quiet procession of devotion.

The master bedroom was warm, the fire crackling softly in the hearth. The bed was large, layered with soft blankets and pillows. The snow fell gently beyond the windows, muffling the world outside.

Simon was the first to reach her, his hand coming up to cup her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. His eyes searched hers, asking permission without words. She leaned into his touch, her answer clear.

Kyle appeared at her side, his lips pressing a soft kiss to her temple. "We love you," he whispered. "All of us. So much it scares us sometimes."

Johnny circled around, his hands finding her waist, pulling her gently against him. "Ye're our whole world, lass," he murmured against her hair. "Everythin'."

John stepped closer, his hands finding the hem of her sweater. "May I?" he asked, his voice rough with emotion. When she nodded, he lifted the fabric over her head, his eyes tracing the curve of her belly, the swell of her breasts, the soft skin that held their future.

Simon's hands found her hips as Kyle's lips found her shoulder. Johnny pressed kisses along her jaw, his breath warm against her skin. They moved slowly, reverently, each touch a prayer, each whisper a promise.

The room at the end of the hall had been transformed. What was once a dusty, forgotten space had become something soft and warm—a sanctuary within a sanctuary. The walls were painted a gentle cream, the woodwork freshly sanded and polished. A crib of dark, sturdy oak stood against one wall, its linens soft and pale. A rocking chair sat by the window, overlooking the snow-dusted treeline of Ashenwild. And scattered across the shelves were small, thoughtful touches: a wooden wolf carved by Ed the blacksmith, a knitted blanket from Martha, a mobile of tiny, hand-stitched forest creatures.

It was perfect.

And it was almost finished.

{{user}} stood in the doorway, their hand resting on the swell of their belly, watching the four men who had become their entire world fuss over the final details. It was a scene so domestic, so achingly normal, that it made their heart ache.

John was on a step ladder, carefully adjusting the mobile so it hung just right. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his tongue poking out slightly—a habit she'd come to adore. "A bit to the left," Kyle called from across the room, his arms full of folded onesies. "No, my left."

"Your left or my left?" John grumbled, but there was no real frustration in his voice.

"Just—" Kyle sighed, setting down the onesies and crossing to the ladder. "Here. Let me." He reached up, his fingers brushing John's as he adjusted the mobile. Their eyes met, and something warm passed between them. A shared understanding. A shared love.

Johnny was on the floor, assembling a small toy box with more enthusiasm than skill. He'd already dropped three screws and was now squinting at the instructions with the expression of a man who had decided they were written in a foreign language.

"I don't understand," he muttered. "It says 'slot A into tab B,' but there's no tab B. There's only—" He held up a piece of wood, turning it over in his hands. "This. Which is clearly not a tab."

"Let me see," Simon said, his voice low and patient. He knelt beside Johnny, taking the piece from him. His fingers moved with quiet efficiency, snapping the pieces together in seconds. "There."

Johnny stared at the assembled toy box, then at Simon. "How did you—"

"Read the instructions," Simon said simply, his eyes glinting with something that might have been amusement.

Johnny gaped. "I was reading the instructions! They're just—" He gestured vaguely. "—bad instructions."

Simon said nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

{{user}} laughed—a soft, surprised sound that drew the attention of all four men. They turned to look at them, their faces softening at the sight of {{user}} in the doorway, their hand resting on their belly, their eyes warm with unshed tears.

"Love," John said, stepping down from the ladder. He crossed to them in a few long strides, his hands finding their hips. "Something wrong?"

Johnny appeared at their side, his hand finding the small of their back. "We've got one more thing to do," he said, his voice softer than usual. "If ye're up for it."

He exchanged a glance with the others, and something unspoken passed between them. Kyle set down the onesies. Simon rose from the floor. John's hands tightened on their hips.

"The room's almost done," Kyle said, his voice warm. "But there's one thing missing."

John leaned in, his lips brushing their ear. "Us," he murmured. "In here. Together. Making it ours."

The nursery was finished. The mobile hung perfectly. The toy box stood assembled. The crib was ready. But the night was still young.

John's hand found theirs, his fingers intertwining with their own. "Come with me," he said, his voice low, meant only for {{user}}. He led them down the hall, away from the nursery, toward the master bedroom.

The others followed—not crowding, not pushing, just... present. A quiet procession of devotion.

The master bedroom was warm, the fire crackling softly in the hearth. The bed was large, layered with soft blankets and pillows. The snow fell gently beyond the windows, muffling the world outside.

Simon was the first to reach {{user}}, his hand coming up to cup their face, his thumb brushing their cheek. His eyes searched theirs, asking permission without words. {{user}} leaned into his touch, their answer clear.

Kyle appeared at their side, his lips pressing a soft kiss to their temple. "We love you," he whispered. "All of us. So much it scares us sometimes."

Johnny circled around, his hands finding their waist, pulling them gently against him. "Ye're our whole world, lass," he murmured against their hair. "Everythin'."

John stepped closer, his hands finding the hem of their sweater. "May I?" he asked, his voice rough with emotion. When {{user}} nodded, he lifted the fabric over their head, his eyes tracing the curve of their belly, the swell of their chest, the soft skin that held their future.

Simon's hands found {{user}}'s hips as Kyle's lips found their shoulder. Johnny pressed kisses along {{user}}'s jaw, his breath warm against their skin. They moved slowly, reverently, each touch a prayer, each whisper a promise.

The mansion was buzzing with controlled chaos. Streamers in soft pastels—pink and blue, intertwined—hung from the doorframes. A banner that read "PACK OR PERISH... BUT FIRST, BABY!" was draped across the fireplace, Johnny's idea, and he had fought tooth and nail to keep it up despite Kyle's protests.

"It's a gender reveal, not a frat party," Kyle had said, his hands on his hips.

"It's our gender reveal," Johnny had shot back, grinning. "And it's perfect."

Simon had been tasked with hanging the decorations, which meant they were hung with military precision—every streamer exactly six inches apart, every balloon perfectly spaced. He hadn't said a word about it, but there was a quiet satisfaction in the way he adjusted a slightly crooked ribbon.

John was in the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up, arranging the food on the counter. He'd insisted on cooking—grilled sandwiches, a hearty stew, fresh bread. "A proper celebration," he'd said, and no one had argued.

And the cake. The cake sat in the center of the dining table, a beautiful creation of white buttercream and delicate sugar flowers. A small, elegant "?" piped in gold frosting sat on top. The baker, Martha, had assured them the color inside was a secret.

The doorbell rang, cutting through the festive atmosphere.

John glanced up from the food, wiping his hands on a towel. "That'll be Kate."

Kyle's face lit up. "She made it."

Johnny was already bounding toward the door, his energy undiminished. "I'll get it! I'll get it!"

He threw open the door to reveal Kate Laswell, her sharp eyes warm beneath her usual no-nonsense demeanor. Beside her stood her wife—a softer, gentler presence, with kind eyes and a warm smile. She was holding a small gift bag, wrapped in pastel paper.

Kate stepped inside, her gaze sweeping the room. She took in the streamers, the banner, the cake, and the four men in various states of chaos, and a rare smile tugged at her lips.

"Looks like a bomb went off in here," she said dryly.

"A beautiful bomb," Johnny corrected, grinning. "A baby bomb."

Kate's wife laughed, her voice gentle. "It's lovely. You've done a wonderful job."

John appeared in the doorway, a genuine smile breaking across his face. "Kate. Glad you could make it."

She crossed to him, clasping his forearm in a firm grip—the greeting of two Alphas who respected each other. "Wouldn't miss it. It's not every day a new pup joins the pack."

Her wife moved past them, approaching {{user}} with a warm smile. "How are you feeling?" she asked softly, her hand hovering near {{user}}'s belly, asking permission before touching. "Pregnancy can be exhausting, even in the best of times."

Kyle, ever the diplomat, stepped forward. "Can I get you both something to drink? We have tea, wine—though I think Kate might prefer something stronger."

Kate raised an eyebrow. "Save the whiskey for after the reveal."

Simon had retreated to the corner, his arms crossed, but his eyes were watchful—not suspicious, just observant. Kate's wife caught his gaze and offered him a small, reassuring smile. He inclined his head in acknowledgment.

Johnny was already pulling Kate toward the table. "Come on, come on, you're missing the main event! We're about to cut the cake!"

Kate allowed herself to be led, but she shot John a knowing look. "He's always like this?"

"Worse," John replied, his voice dry. "You should have seen him when we were decorating."

"I was helping," Johnny protested.

"You were handing me streamers and telling me I was doing it wrong," Simon said flatly.

"Because you were doing it wrong. A six-inch gap is too small. Four is better. More festive."

Simon's eyes glinted with something that might have been amusement. "The gap was eight inches. Not six."

Johnny opened his mouth, then closed it. "I stand corrected," he said, but he was grinning.

Kate's wife laughed softly, settling into a chair beside {{user}}. "They're a handful," she murmured, her voice kind. "But they love you. That's clear."

Now, the pack was gathered around the dining table, the room aglow with soft candlelight. Kate and her wife had been given prime viewing spots, their faces warm with anticipation.

Johnny was practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing on his heels. Simon stood nearby, his arms crossed, but his eyes were warm. Kyle was adjusting the placement of the cake, nudging it a centimeter to the left, then back to the right. John had his hand on the small of {{user}}'s back, grounding her.

"Alright," John said, his voice warm. "I think we're ready."

Johnny's grin widened. "Get that knife, lass. Let's see what we're havin'!"

{{user}} picked up the knife, the room falling silent. The four men leaned in, their attention fixed on the cake.

But Johnny was having none of the silent reverence. He nudged Kyle. "What do ye think? Boy or girl?"

Kyle shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips. "I'm hoping for a girl. So she can wrap you around her little finger even more than the lass already does."

"Already wrapped," Johnny admitted cheerfully. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

"It's a boy," John said, his voice soft but certain. "I feel it."

Kate raised an eyebrow. "You can feel it?"

John met her gaze. "I know my pup."

Kate's wife smiled, her hand finding {{user}}'s. "He's right, you know. Alphas can sense these things. It's a pack bond."

Kate shook her head, but she was smiling. "I'll believe it when I see the color."

Simon said nothing, but his hand found {{user}}'s where she held the knife, his fingers brushing her wrist.

Johnny was practically vibrating. "Well? Are ye gonna cut it or keep us in suspense forever?"

Kyle shook his head, but he was smiling. "You have the patience of a toddler."

"Aye, but I'm a cute toddler." Johnny bounced on his heels. "Come on, love. Cut it!"

John squeezed her shoulder gently. "Whenever you're ready."

Kyle moved to stand beside her, his hand finding her lower back. "Take your time."

Simon's thumb traced a slow circle on her wrist. Johnny was practically bouncing, his hands in his pockets to keep himself from fidgeting.

John looked at her, his gaze warm. "Go on, love. Let's see."

Kate leaned forward, her sharp eyes fixed on the cake. Her wife squeezed {{user}}'s hand gently.

She made the first cut, and the silence in the room was absolute—broken only by Johnny's barely contained squeak of anticipation.

The blade slid through the soft buttercream, revealing the color inside...

The mansion was buzzing with controlled chaos. Streamers in soft pastels—pink and blue, intertwined—hung from the doorframes. A banner that read "PACK OR PERISH... BUT FIRST, BABY!" was draped across the fireplace, Johnny's idea, and he had fought tooth and nail to keep it up despite Kyle's protests.

"It's a gender reveal, not a frat party," Kyle had said, his hands on his hips.

"It's our gender reveal," Johnny had shot back, grinning. "And it's perfect."

Simon had been tasked with hanging the decorations, which meant they were hung with military precision—every streamer exactly six inches apart, every balloon perfectly spaced. He hadn't said a word about it, but there was a quiet satisfaction in the way he adjusted a slightly crooked ribbon.

John was in the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up, arranging the food on the counter. He'd insisted on cooking—grilled sandwiches, a hearty stew, fresh bread. "A proper celebration," he'd said, and no one had argued.

And the cake. The cake sat in the center of the dining table, a beautiful creation of white buttercream and delicate sugar flowers. A small, elegant "?" piped in gold frosting sat on top. The baker, Martha, had assured them the color inside was a secret.

The doorbell rang, cutting through the festive atmosphere.

John glanced up from the food, wiping his hands on a towel. "That'll be Kate."

Kyle's face lit up. "She made it."

Johnny was already bounding toward the door, his energy undiminished. "I'll get it! I'll get it!"

He threw open the door to reveal Kate Laswell, her sharp eyes warm beneath her usual no-nonsense demeanor. Beside her stood her wife—a softer, gentler presence, with kind eyes and a warm smile. She was holding a small gift bag, wrapped in pastel paper.

Kate stepped inside, her gaze sweeping the room. She took in the streamers, the banner, the cake, and the four men in various states of chaos, and a rare smile tugged at her lips.

"Looks like a bomb went off in here," she said dryly.

"A beautiful bomb," Johnny corrected, grinning. "A baby bomb."

Kate's wife laughed, her voice gentle. "It's lovely. You've done a wonderful job."

John appeared in the doorway, a genuine smile breaking across his face. "Kate. Glad you could make it."

She crossed to him, clasping his forearm in a firm grip—the greeting of two Alphas who respected each other. "Wouldn't miss it. It's not every day a new pup joins the pack."

Her wife moved past them, approaching {{user}} with a warm smile. "How are you feeling?" she asked softly, her hand hovering near {{user}}'s belly, asking permission before touching. "Pregnancy can be exhausting, even in the best of times."

Kyle, ever the diplomat, stepped forward. "Can I get you both something to drink? We have tea, wine—though I think Kate might prefer something stronger."

Kate raised an eyebrow. "Save the whiskey for after the reveal."

Simon had retreated to the corner, his arms crossed, but his eyes were watchful—not suspicious, just observant. Kate's wife caught his gaze and offered him a small, reassuring smile. He inclined his head in acknowledgment.

Johnny was already pulling Kate toward the table. "Come on, come on, you're missing the main event! We're about to cut the cake!"

Kate allowed herself to be led, but she shot John a knowing look. "He's always like this?"

"Worse," John replied, his voice dry. "You should have seen him when we were decorating."

"I was helping," Johnny protested.

"You were handing me streamers and telling me I was doing it wrong," Simon said flatly.

"Because you were doing it wrong. A six-inch gap is too small. Four is better. More festive."

Simon's eyes glinted with something that might have been amusement. "The gap was eight inches. Not six."

Johnny opened his mouth, then closed it. "I stand corrected," he said, but he was grinning.

Kate's wife laughed softly, settling into a chair beside {{user}}. "They're a handful," she murmured, her voice kind. "But they love you. That's clear."

Now, the pack was gathered around the dining table, the room aglow with soft candlelight. Kate and her wife had been given prime viewing spots, their faces warm with anticipation.

Johnny was practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing on his heels. Simon stood nearby, his arms crossed, but his eyes were warm. Kyle was adjusting the placement of the cake, nudging it a centimeter to the left, then back to the right. John had his hand on the small of {{user}}'s back, grounding them.

"Alright," John said, his voice warm. "I think we're ready."

Johnny's grin widened. "Get that knife, love. Let's see what we're havin'!"

{{user}} picked up the knife, the room falling silent. The four men leaned in, their attention fixed on the cake.

But Johnny was having none of the silent reverence. He nudged Kyle. "What do ye think? Boy or girl?"

Kyle shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips. "I'm hoping for a girl. So she can wrap you around her little finger even more than our omega already does."

"Already wrapped," Johnny admitted cheerfully. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

"It's a boy," John said, his voice soft but certain. "I feel it."

Kate raised an eyebrow. "You can feel it?"

John met her gaze. "I know my pup."

Kate's wife smiled, her hand finding {{user}}'s. "He's right, you know. Alphas can sense these things. It's a pack bond."

Kate shook her head, but she was smiling. "I'll believe it when I see the color."

Simon said nothing, but his hand found {{user}}'s where they held the knife, his fingers brushing their wrist.

Johnny was practically vibrating. "Well? Are ye gonna cut it or keep us in suspense forever?"

Kyle shook his head, but he was smiling. "You have the patience of a toddler."

"Aye, but I'm a cute toddler." Johnny bounced on his heels. "Come on, love. Cut it!"

John squeezed their shoulder gently. "Whenever you're ready."

Kyle moved to stand beside them, his hand finding their lower back. "Take your time."

Simon's thumb traced a slow circle on their wrist. Johnny was practically bouncing, his hands in his pockets to keep himself from fidgeting.

John looked at them, his gaze warm. "Go on, love. Let's see."

Kate leaned forward, her sharp eyes fixed on the cake. Her wife squeezed {{user}}'s hand gently.

They made the first cut, and the silence in the room was absolute—broken only by Johnny's barely contained squeak of anticipation.

The blade slid through the soft buttercream, revealing the color inside...