Page 25 of A Kitten for Alpha Kenny

“Four sisters. One brother,” Kenny clarified.

Grandpa Swale squeed. It was adorable.

She twirled around, hugging the stuffies in her arms, barely containing them all.

“I can’t wait to meet them! We’re gonna have so much fun playing!”

“Not at first, honey. They don’t actually play in the beginning,” Grandpa Swale explained.

“No, but when they do start to play, I’m gonna be ready.” She put them all back in the bag. “I’m going to put these in their room, okay?”

She ran off, not waiting for a response.

The room we’d planned for the baby wasn’t going to be big enough for five, but we’d figure it out. We had space. We had the time—or at least some time.

“She took that well,” Kenny said.

“She’s going to be a really good big sister,” Grandpa Swale beamed.

“She is.” Kenny smirked. “At least until she decides to put tutus on them.”

“Oh, she will do that, and I think I know who will indulge her in buying them.”

“We all have our roles in her life, and mine is Grandpa Swale/tutu supplier extraordinaire.”

I had a feeling those tutus were going to arrive long before the babies did. We were so lucky to have him in our lives, even if it meant tutus for days.

Chapter Seventeen

Kenny

The babies were coming, and it couldn’t be soon enough. We’d been busy as anything preparing for them ever since we learned they were a litter instead of a singleton. Turned out, there were people in our pack with skills that made expanding our home in the short time before the babies were due to arrive possible.

And, the room addition was a gift from the pack itself.

I’d argued that it was not necessary since my salary was excellent, the benefits even better than my old job in the human world, and we could manage ourselves. But Alpha Aspen said it would be a lot better if we didn’t have debt with five more mouths to feed, and he also gave me a raise. Now we were down to the wire with a big, beautiful nursery, enough clothes, diapers, and baby stuff from the shower of the century given us by both packs, jointly, and all we needed were the babies to fill the cribs.

“Mate, where are you?” I usually found him in the living room, sitting on the one chair comfortable enough to support him but firm enough that he could get out of it on his own. We’d decided I would work until his due date or when the babies arrived, whichever came first, but each day when I left was harder than the one before. I peeked in the kitchen and den and downstairs powder room, but no sign of him. “Are you taking a nap?”

I worried about him. He hadn’t been able to fit behind the steering wheel for a couple of weeks, so we took that as a sign that he should go on paternity leave. I had suggested earlier, but he pointed out that we were going to have a whole lot of expenses and, even with the pack’s help, extra couldn’t hurt. My independent omega, always putting others first.

I climbed the stairs, headed for our bedroom, although he hadn’t answered me. If he wasn’t in our bedroom, perhaps the nursery or Madeline’s room. But I didn’t have to go far because when I ducked into our room, I heard his moans from the en suite. “Omega!” I dashed over and tried to open the door. It was stuck. “Omega, open the door. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I am sitting against it.”

“Why? Can’t you get up?”

“I don’t know.” He huffed. “Hang on, I’m trying.”

I tapped my toe, desperate to get in there with him. Had he had the babies? I had to help my omega. Finally, just as I was thinking of going outside, getting a ladder, and climbing in the window, the door swung open to reveal my omega lying on the bathroom floor, his pants around his knees, and his face tense with strain.

“Omega, what are you doing?” This was not the plan!

“I’m having our babies. Feel free to help.”

I reeled back. This was not how my omega behaved. The sarcasm hung thick in the air. But that wasn’t the immediate problem. When I looked closely, I could see the top of a head. “Okay, omega. We’re going to be having a home birth, but let’s not do it on the bathroom floor.” I put an arm under his shoulders and the other under his knees. “We’ll have our babies in our own bed.”

From that moment, they came fast. We’d had plenty of time to plan our in-hospital birth with everything there in case anything went wrong. But that was before this day when all that changed. I carried him to our bed, tapped a message into my phone, and stood between his legs. “I called for the healer.” I hoped they’d come. But it didn’t matter because no sooner did I have that thought than our son, Buddy, was in my hands.

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