Elena’s POV
"That’s right. But don’t worry about it. I noticed he had a mark on his neck when I saw him last. He’s found his mate since then." I replied.
"I caught that too." Damien nodded.
We pulled into a small diner for breakfast, settling into a corner booth where we could talk without being overheard.
The stares followed everywhere. Everyone in this pack knew my face from Marcus’s massive search operation when I disappeared. Their confused expressions told the whole story - they couldn’t understand why I was back, why I looked so different, so polished, and why I was sitting with an Alpha who clearly wasn’t Marcus.
The attention didn’t bother anymore. I’d mastered the art of ignoring this pack’s judgnt years ago. They’d always treated like an outsider anyway.
Damien shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny. I reached across the table and touched his hand.
"Just ignore them. I learned to block them out a long ti ago." I said quietly.
After we finished eating, we drove back to the packhouse. Our timing was perfect.
Skye arrived with the children thirty minutes later.
Caleb sprinted toward the mont he spotted on the front porch, while Skye carefully transferred baby Briar into Damien’s waiting arms.
"She had to rent a bigger vehicle for all their stuff," Skye explained, gesturing toward the loaded SUV. "Car seats, strollers, portable cribs, diaper bags - traveling with kids requires an entire moving operation."
We gathered everything and headed inside. Marcus stood in the living room, his intense gaze tracking our every movent, but I guided the children straight upstairs without acknowledging him.
The nurse had finished with mom, so I entered her room alone first.
"Mom, there’s sothing important I need to discuss with you." I began.
"What’s wrong, sweetheart?" Her voice carried imdiate concern.
"I haven’t ntioned this before because I didn’t want to bring them into this situation. But I realized you should have the chance to et your grandchildren."
Her eyes widened in shock. "What are you saying?"
Damien appeared in the doorway, carrying both children.
"et Caleb and baby Briar." I said softly.
"Oh my heavens. They’re absolutely beautiful." Mom’s voice trembled with emotion.
Caleb pressed closer to my side, his small hand gripping mine tightly. The sight of mom’s weakened state clearly frightened him.
"It’s okay, sweetheart. This is your grandmother." I said, settling into the chair beside her bed and pulling Caleb onto my lap.
"My grandmother?" His curious eyes studied her face.
"Yes. She’s my mother." I explained gently.
"So you lived here with mommy when she was little?" Caleb asked.
"I certainly did. Your mommy and I have always been very close." Mom smiled despite her exhaustion.
"How co I never t you before now?" His innocent question made my chest tighten.
"Because I couldn’t leave this place, and your mommy couldn’t return here." Mom’s answer was careful but honest.
"But why not?" Caleb looked between us, searching for understanding.
"It’s very complicated, baby. When you’re older, I’ll explain everything properly. Right now, you wouldn’t understand all of it." I brushed his hair back from his forehead.
He accepted this with a solemn nod.
"Briar is your mirror image. I pray she inherits your fighting spirit too." Mom observed, watching Damien cradle the baby.
Damien chuckled. "She’s already showing signs of it."
"I wasn’t that difficult as a child." I protested.
"Oh, you absolutely were." Mom’s laugh was weak but genuine.
I caught her studying Caleb’s features, then glancing aningfully at Damien. My stomach dropped.
"Please don’t." I whispered.
"Marcus’s going to piece it together." Her warning was barely audible.
"I won’t allow that to happen." My response was firm.
"I’m listed as his legal father on his birth certificate. I’ve been prepared to be his dad from day one." Damien’s quiet declaration made my heart swell.
"You really found yourself a good man." Mom smiled at .
I looked up at Damien, feeling the familiar warmth spread through my chest.
"You don’t have to convince of that." I said.
We brought the children downstairs to the dining room for lunch. As I entered the kitchen, Marcus’s hand shot out and grabbed my arm, yanking to a halt.
"How old is that boy?" His demand was sharp, his grip borderline painful.
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