Ten Years Later
“Aidan, please stop pulling your sister’s hair,” I plead, my voice strained as I descend the stairs. Aidan, my firstborn, attempts to rip raven locks from his twin sister Aliyah’s scalp.
For nine-year-olds, Aidan’s death glare is already perfected as his black hair falls over his face and emerald eyes shoot daggers at Aliyah. “She called me ugly, Mummy!” he huffs.
I turn my gaze to my daughter, pushing her dark hair behind her ears. “And why do you do that, Aliyah? You know better than to do that.” Her own green eyes narrow at her brother. “He called me fat!”
“I did not-” Aidan begins to argue, and I close my eyes, rubbing my temples as a familiar headache threatens to take hold. I adore my children, but sometimes…
The pattering of tiny feet makes my eyes shoot open. “Liam, Lily, be careful!” I rush after my second set of seven-year-old twins, who have inherited their father’s striking features just like their older siblings.
“And you too,” a deep, British voice murmurs behind me, strong arms wrapping around my swollen, nine-month belly. This little one will be our last; Nickolas had been content to stop after Liam and Lily, but the heavens had other plans.
“Nickolas,” I breathe, melting back against his chest, his scent enveloping me like a soothing balm. “Your kids are stressing me out,” I admit as the maid steps in, gently separating the bickering children and ushering them into the waiting car outside.
“Our kids, little one,” he corrects, placing a soft kiss on my forehead.
“I know. Are you ready?” We’re heading to Eric’s for a family day out. Eric and Lily are doing great with three kids of their own.
“Yeah, let’s go,” he says. I take a step forward, only to halt abruptly as I feel a gush of liquid trickling down my legs.
My eyes widen, meeting Nickolas’s shocked gaze. We weren’t expecting the baby for another week. I can’t believe she’s coming already.
“I’ll get the midwife,” Nickolas says, rushing out the door, but I call him back.
“Help me upstairs first,” I say, grasping his hand. He nods, realizing his mistake. I shake my head, amused that even after two previous births, he still reacts the same way he did the first time.
He lays me on the bed, and for the next few hours, guttural yells tear from my throat as contractions rip through me. My fingers dig into Nickolas’s arm, drawing blood. This baby is proving to be the most challenging yet.
“It’s okay, little one. You’ve got this,” Nickolas soothes, wiping the sweat from my brow, seemingly oblivious to the crimson rivulets dripping from the puncture wounds I’ve inflicted.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, my bottom lip trembling as I stare at the damage I’ve done.
“Hey, hey,” Nickolas cups my face, his eyes soft with love. “It’s okay, my love. See? It’s already healed.” He raises his arm, revealing only faint bloodstains where the wounds once were.
“I love you,” I tell him, tears welling in my eyes, my emotions heightened by the life growing within me.
“I love you too, baby,” he murmurs, brushing a tender kiss across my lips. “Are you ready?” he asks as the midwife emerges from between my legs, signaling it’s time.
I nod, gripping his hand tightly. “Yes.”
With each push, I squeeze Nickolas’s hand, feeling the bones break and mend beneath my grasp. Finally, as I draw in a shuddering breath, a piercing cry fills the room.
Tears stream down my face, the sound of our baby’s first wail hitting me with the same overwhelming emotion as it did with each of our children. I brace myself for another, but it seems she’s our only new arrival.
“Here is your beautiful baby girl,” the midwife announces, placing the tiny, towel-wrapped bundle in my arms.
“Hello, beautiful,” I coo, cradling her against my chest.
“She’s perfect,” Nickolas breathes, gazing at our daughter with pure adoration.
“She has my eyes,” I say, smiling through my tears as I take in the most gorgeous blue eyes I’ve ever seen.
“Let’s see if she’s like her siblings,” Nickolas suggests, biting his finger and offering it to her tiny lips. I hold my breath, silently praying that this little one will take after me. Our other children are all lycans, and my heart yearns for a connection to my own kind.
My heart leaps as she turns away from Nickolas’s blood-tinged finger, and I cry out in joy, “She’s a werewolf!”
“I’m so happy for you, little one,” Nickolas says, kissing my forehead, his smile radiant as he looks upon our daughter.
I quickly expose my breast, offering her breastmilk since she is a werewolf, unlike her other siblings.
“What will you name her?” the midwife asks.
“Holly,” Nickolas and I say in unison, the name we’d chosen for a girl in honor of his mother.
“Welcome to the world, Holly Adams,” the midwife says, smiling down at our perfect creation.
As I watch our daughter in my arms, my mind wanders, reflecting on the incredible journey that has brought me to this moment. I am the Queen of the lycan kingdom, a role I never could have imagined for myself but one I stepped into with surprising ease. Though some council members opposed my ascension, they were overruled by the warriors and the people I had helped. All of them wanted me as their Queen, so the dissenting opinions didn’t matter. Nickolas was overjoyed, knowing he wouldn’t have to fight to make his subjects accept me; I had already won their hearts without even trying.
If someone had told me years ago that I would fall in love with the lycan king, become his Queen, bear his children, and find the greatest happiness of my life with him, I would have called them mad. But here I am, living a life beyond my wildest dreams.
“I love you, you know,” I say, lifting my head and locking gazes with Nickolas.
He stares back at me, his eyes shining with adoration. “I know, and I love you too, little one.” He leans in, capturing my lips in a kiss that steals my breath. As I bask in the warmth of his love and the joy of our family, I am overwhelmed with gratitude for the incredible life we’ve built together. I wouldn’t change a single thing.
The End.