Page 52 of Mating Mia
"Better than a fairytale," Liam corrects me, leaning down to press a kiss to my forehead, then one to Ash's tiny head. He straightens up, looking around at my three alphas with new appreciation in his eyes. "Thank you. For protecting my daughter. For bringing her home. For helping her find her mother."
“Don’t thank us. It’s our duty as alphas,” says Kane.
Liam studies him for a moment, then looks at Finn and Jace in turn. He nods in acceptance of respect from one alpha toanother. “I couldn’t have chosen better mates for my daughter. Even if I’d had a thousand years to look.”
fourteen
. . .
Six Months Later
Mia
Atiny hand slaps against the stone floor, the soft patter of determined baby palms echoing through our cave. I crack one eye open to see Ash’s diaper-clad bottom disappearing around the curved wall, his chubby legs pumping with surprising speed for a six-month-old. So much for my peaceful morning sleep.
My son has other plans- namely, escaping our sleeping area in pursuit of his beloved grandmother.
“Ash,” I whisper, carefully extracting myself from the tangle of warm blankets and Kane's heavy arm. "Get back here, you little munchkin.”
I glance at the three sleeping forms surrounding our nest of blankets and pillows.
Kane's massive body is closest to me, his face relaxed in sleep, making him look younger and almost vulnerable. Finn lies on his back nearby, one arm flung over his eyes, while Jace is curled on his side. The sight of them sleeping so peacefullyfills me with love, especially Kane, who spent most of the night walking with a fussy Ash.
I slide from our nest, my bare feet touching the cool floor as I hurry after my determined baby. The cave system behind the waterfall has become our second home over the past six months. It was a network of surprisingly spacious chambers connected by smooth-walled passages that my mother had transformed into a cozy sanctuary over the years she spent in hiding.
Our main sleeping chamber is lined with thick rugs and draped with colorful fabrics that soften the stone walls. Solar-powered lanterns provide gentle illumination, casting warm light across the surprisingly homey space.
I round the corner just in time to see Ash's bottom wiggling as he crawls with impressive speed toward the passage that leads to my parents’ chamber.
“Oh no, you don’t,” I murmur, quickening my pace. The sound of my footsteps alerts him to my pursuit, and he looks back over his shoulder, his hazel eyes sparkling with mischief. He squeals and redoubles his efforts, tiny hands and knees working in perfect coordination.
For a baby who couldn't even roll over consistently six months ago, Ash has developed alarmingly effective mobility. The pediatrician says he’s advanced for his age, something Kane proudly attributes to his "superior alpha genetics." I blame it on the stubborn determination he clearly inherited from all sides of his family tree.
"Ash," I call softly, trying not to wake everyone as I close the distance between us. "Come back to mama."
Behind me, I hear the rustle of blankets and Kane's deep voice. "Need help?"
I turn to see him sitting up, his dark hair mussed from sleep, eyes alert despite the early hour. Even half-asleep, he's ready to step in to protect and assist.
“I’ve got it,” I assure him, waving him back down. “You were up with him half the night. Get some more sleep.”
He looks ready to argue, but suddenly yawns. With a reluctant nod, he sinks back into our nest, though his eyes remain open, watching me with that intense protectiveness that used to intimidate me but now feels like safety.
I turn back to my chase, finding Ash has made impressive progress down the passageway. He’s been obsessed with his grandmother since the moment we reunited six months ago, developing the kind of bond that makes my heart ache with joy. All those years I grew up without her love, and now my son basks in it daily—crawling to her at every opportunity, choosing her lap over anyone else's, falling asleep against her chest while she sings lullabies.
I finally catch up to him just as he reaches the junction that leads to my parents' chamber. Swooping down, I scoop him into my arms, his warm, solid weight familiar and precious against my chest.
"Gotcha," I whisper triumphantly, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
“There he is,” my father exclaims, suddenly striding toward us with his arms outstretched.
Ash practically launches himself from my hold, his little body leaning forward so eagerly that I have to tighten my grip to keep him from tumbling to the floor. My father reaches us and gently takes him from my arms, lifting him high above his head before bringing him down for a kiss on his round cheek.
"Plotting your escape again, were you?" he asks Ash, who responds with delighted babbling. "Coming to find your grandma and grandpa?"
My mother joins us, her fingers automatically reaching to smooth Ash's wild hair.
"He's getting so fast," she observes, pride evident in her voice. "Soon we'll need to put bells on him."
