Page 118 of Sing Sweet Nightingale

“Sleep well, my sweet Nightingale. I promise to be here when you wake. Always.”

Epilogue - Lottie

Six years later

“What do you two think you’re doing?”

I stare across the living room at the twins, who have decided to begin undressing five minutes before dinner is ready.

“Nothing,” they chime in unison. Savannah’s—or Savvy as we call her—voice is higher pitched and less convincing than her brother Sawyer’s.

We were shocked when the doctor told us we would be having fraternal twins, but we couldn’t have been happier when we learned it would be a boy and a girl. Little did we know how much work it would be raising two babies simultaneously. But we love it, except right now, as I frown down at the two little hellions, narrowing my gaze at them.

I’d like to believe I’ve perfected the mom glare, but it doesn’t seem to work most of the time. For example, now that they've been caught, they continue to remove articles of clothing faster.

“I told you, no shifting in the house. Especially right before dinner.”

They ignore me, as children often do. They’ve managed to make it all the way down to their underwear before they stop and reconsider.

“Put your clothes back on right now,” I command, pointing my finger at them in what I hope conveys my seriousness.

I don’t have alpha power like my husband, but I do have my siren song. Over the years, I’ve worked on it enough to perfect it, and now I can use it at will, unlike before, when it would just appear during emotional moments. I try not to use it on the kids, though. Forcing them to behave doesn’t teach them proper manners. They need to learn for themselves.

If I’ve learned anything from my mother, it’s that you can’t force your kids to behave the way you want. It only hurts them in the long run. For a while I considered not telling my mother about the twins. I may have also contemplated using fairy dust on her to make her forget about me, but Hunter explained it doesn’t work like that, unfortunately.

In the end, he convinced me to introduce them to her. But I had stipulations. One of them was that my mother could never know about Snowberry and could never come here under any circumstances. I don’t want her to know where I or they live ever. So, she’s only seen them the handful of times we’ve traveled to her new mansion in Malibu.

My mother retained a good portion of the royalties from my merchandise, allowing her to continue living her life of luxury. I, of course, still receive a percentage of the royalties; I’m not completely inept. I use most of that money to pay for music lessons and instruments for kids in town who might not otherwise be able to. Donating to the music and theater program at the high school and some to the library as well.

It may have taken me a few years, but I’ve moved past my anger toward my mother for everything she’s done to me. There’s no way I can ever forgive her or forget, but I can move on. And that’s what I’m doing—with my family, my music shop, and my self-produced music made in the custom recordingstudio Hunter built for me. I have everything I could ever want or need right here.

My mischievous twins look at each other, Savvy’s black braid whipping around her little body with the sharp movement. Sawyer waiting for her to make the ultimate decision as usual. She’s definitely the leader of their two-person pack, always the ringleader and head mischief maker.

When I see her sly little grin and hear her muffled giggle, I know they’ve decided not to abide by my rule.

In a flurry of fur, my not so little any more babies shift into their wolf forms. After their first shift at three years old, they haven’t been able to do it enough. It’s one of their favorite things to do, especially when they aren’t supposed to. They’re much faster at shifting than most at their age, being able to change in a handful of seconds with little pain. Probably because they do it so much. They and their father love to run in the forest behind our house nearly every other day.

Fynn was right when he told Hunter that us being mates, even though I’m mostly human, would allow for our children to be full shifters and not half-breeds. We’re still not sure if a child of ours can be a siren, but if we have more, I suppose we’ll find out then. I’m just happy the twins are shifters. They love it so much, and I would hate for them never to have experienced the joy they do every time they ignore me and shift whenever they want.

Their furry little bodies jump and bound, running in circles around the couch and coffee table, their fluffy tails wagging nonstop. Thankfully, I quickly learned not to place anything breakable at tail level.

Savvy’s fur is jet black, just like her father's, but Sawyer has a lighter complexion. His fur a golden tan with a mixture of dark brown to match his golden blonde hair, just like mine.

They bark and chase each other, nipping and yipping, playing like any other wolf pups would. Their noises draw Hunter into the house from his woodworking in the garage.

“What’s going on in here?” he asks, grinning. “I didn’t know we were having playtime. Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

Of course, my husband instantly goes along with their antics. He loves playing with the twins in any form. He’s a great father, and the kids adore him just as much as I do.

Hunter pulls his shirt off over his head and tosses it on the couch, giving me an eyeful of his broad chest. A spark of desire ignites at the sight. I can’t help it; I find my mate extremely attractive, and no matter how many years it’s been, the sight of him always stokes the fire of lust in me.

Hunter’s gaze darts to mine, his nostrils flaring.

“That playtimewill be later, Nightingale. Right now, it’s wolf pup time.”

Just as quickly as our daughter and son, Hunter shifts to his wolf form and is wrestling around with the twins on the living room floor. They bump into tables and jump over the back of the couch, yipping in delight at one another.

Laughing, I stride over to the threesome and try to grab Sawyer. He’s always the easiest to catch first, succumbing to my hold easily. Sawyer lets me embrace him as we both stumble to the floor. He sits in my lap, snuggling his snout against my cheek. I love the soft sweetness of my son; I never want the harsh world to take it from him. Thankfully, he has his hardheaded, determined sister to protect him.

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