Page 184 of Knotting the Cowboys

"'My beloved pack, if you're reading this, then my past has finally caught up with me. I pray you never have to, that I'm being paranoid, that the shadows I keep seeing are just memories. But I know better. I've always known this day would come.'"

The temperature in the room seems to drop, and I wrap my arms around myself as Maverick continues. "'His name is Marcus Webb. Alpha of the Ironwood Pack out of northern Wyoming. I was given to him when I turned eighteen—not mated, never that, he liked me too much as a victim to make it permanent. For three years, I lived in hell polished to look like heaven.'"

My breath catches at the familiar pattern—young omega, possessive alpha, abuse hidden behind pack dynamics. But Celeste's story carries details that make my blood run cold.

"'He collected omegas,'" Maverick reads, voice hardening. "'Never bonding, just... keeping. Training, he called it. Breaking us into perfect submission. I was his favorite because I took the longest to break. Because I kept fighting even when the others begged me to submit, to make it easier on all of us.'"

"Jesus," Austin breathes, pulling Luna tighter. She stirs but doesn't wake, safe in the circle of his arms while her mother's nightmare unfolds in words.

"'The night I ran, he'd killed one of the others. Sweet Iris who couldn't have been more than nineteen. She'd smiled at a betain town, just smiled, and Marcus—'" Maverick has to stop, jaw working. "Fuck."

"Keep reading," Cole says, though his knuckles are white where he grips his knees. "We need to know."

Maverick nods, finding his place. "'I knew I was next. He'd been escalating with me, angry that I still had what he called 'sparks of defiance.' So I ran. Stole his car, drove until it ran out of gas, then walked until I found another to steal. For six months, I zigzagged across the country, never staying anywhere long enough to leave a trail.'"

"But she stayed here," River says, understanding dawning in his eyes. "She stayed with us for over a year. She let herself stop running."

"'Because of you,'" Maverick continues reading, answering River's observation. "'For the first time since I was eighteen, I found alphas who didn't want to own me. Who saw my strength as something to nurture, not destroy. Who gave me space to heal and choices to make and never once made me feel like I owed you anything for your kindness.'"

I think of my own first weeks here, how they gave me the same gifts—space, choice, kindness without debt. The parallel is so exact it makes my chest ache.

"'Which is why I need you to understand what I'm about to ask,'" Maverick reads. "'I'm pregnant. This child is—was—conceived in violence, but I choose to see her as my victory. Proof that Marcus didn't break the part of me that can love. And I need her to have what I never did—protectors who understand that strength isn't about control.'"

"She never told us about the conception," Austin whispers, horror clear in his eyes. "We knew she was pregnant, but?—"

"She didn't want pity," I say with certainty. "Didn't want you to see the baby as damaged or lesser because of how she came to be."

Maverick nods at my words, then continues. "'I name you all—Cole Montgomery, River Stone, Maverick Cross, and Austin Bishop—as guardians for this child. Not because you're alphas, but because you're good men. Because you've shown me that protection doesn't require possession. Because you understand that sometimes the strongest thing you can do is let someone choose their own path.'"

Luna makes a soft sound in her sleep, tiny fist clutching Austin's shirt. The timing feels deliberate, like even unconscious she knows we're talking about her origin story, the love that brought her to this moment.

"'I know this is a tremendous burden,'" Maverick's voice cracks slightly but he pushes on. "'Four men who never asked for a child, suddenly responsible for an infant. But I've watched you. Cole, who stands guard without making others feel imprisoned. River, who teaches patience and trust to creatures who've known neither. Maverick, who creates safety in practical ways, understanding that security is its own form of care. Austin, who heals with presence and acceptance, never forcing recovery to follow his timeline.'"

"She saw us," River murmurs. "Really saw us."

"'You four became my family,'" Maverick continues, each word landing like a physical weight. "'The pack I chose rather than the one that was forced upon me. And choosing—that's the gift you gave me. The ability to choose. So now I choose you for her. To raise her with the same freedom you gave me. To teach her that her worth isn't tied to her designation or her biology or anyone else's desires.'"

Tears run freely down Austin's face now as he rocks Luna gently. Cole's jaw is granite, but his eyes shine with moisture. River's hands shake where they rest on the scattered photos. And Maverick—Maverick reads like the words are cutting him, each syllable a fresh wound.

"'I'm leaving because I think Marcus has found me. Three weeks ago, I saw a car that looked like one of his pack's vehicles. Last week, someone asked about me at the diner—description matched one of his enforcers. I can't risk bringing that violence to your door. Can't risk him finding out about the baby. So I'll run again, one last time. Draw him away from here, from you, from her.'"

"But she didn't draw him away," Cole says hollowly. "He found her anyway. Three states away, and he still?—"

"'If something happens to me,'" Maverick pushes on, needing to finish, "'know that it's not your fault. You gave me sixteen months of peace. Sixteen months of healing. Sixteen months where I remembered what it felt like to be human instead of prey. That's more than I ever thought I'd have.'"

The letter trembles in Maverick's hands as he reads the final paragraph. "'Tell her about me, but not just the sad parts. Tell her I loved growing things, that the garden flourished under my care. Tell her I sang while I cooked, badly but with enthusiasm. Tell her I was brave enough to choose joy even when fear said I didn't deserve it. Tell her that her mother loved her from the moment she existed, saw her as hope instead of harm. And tell her that in choosing you four as her fathers, I gave her my greatest gift—the chance to grow up surrounded by love that doesn't seek to own.'"

"'All my love, Celeste.'"

The silence that follows is complete, even Luna's breathing seeming to pause in respect for the moment. Then Austin speaks, voice wrecked but determined.

"We won't let her down," he whispers to the letter, to Luna, to Celeste's memory. "Your daughter will know everything you wanted her to know. Will have everything you wanted her to have."

"She'll know her mother was a warrior," Cole adds roughly. "That she survived hell and still chose hope."

"She'll be free," River promises. "To choose her own path, make her own mistakes, become whoever she's meant to be."

"And she'll be protected," Maverick finishes, still holding the letter like it might disappear. "Not owned, not controlled, but protected. From men like Marcus Webb. From anyone who thinks they have the right to cage another person."

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