Cronan is angry. Angry that after years of waiting, he's mated to the one wolf he never wanted.
Fen is stuck. Stuck in a state of purgatory that he doesn't know how to escape from.
After learning of his mate's crimes, Cronan never expected to see h...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I'd grown to love celebrations over the years. Holidays, birthdays, or just random surprises—there was something infectious about the atmosphere that never failed to make my day. However, if you asked me what my favorite part of it all was, it'd be seeing the way my family lit up. I'd never get tired of seeing how their eyes lit up with joy, and today, Dean's birthday, wouldn't be the exception.
"Do we have everything set up outside?" I asked Cronan who was sitting, eating a parfait, watching while I ran around like a madman.
He lifted a brow, lazily scooping another bite into his mouth. "Define everything."
I stopped mid-step, shooting him a look. "Define do you want to get kicked out of this party before it starts?"
Cronan snorted, completely unbothered. "Relax, Fen. The tables are set, the food's covered, the kids are in the backyard pretending to be dragons, and the cake is still in one piece. I'd say we're ahead of schedule."
I narrowed my eyes but couldn't help the grin tugging at my lips. "Alright, alright. Just making sure. It's his first birthday with us and I want it to be perfect."
Cronan smiled and I knew he wanted the same. It'd been roughly six months since we adopted Dean and today was his ninth birthday. He was technically the oldest of our children but he was also the newest to our family—and that made this day feel extra important.
I remember the first time he walked through our front door. He hadn't said much. He barely looked up, clutching a beat-up backpack like it was the only thing keeping him upright. The walls he had around him were taller than any I'd ever seen on a kid his age. But now? Now he was outside in a paper crown, sword-fighting with Abel, who we'd gone out of our way to pick up for the weekend after witnessing how well the two boys got along, and a few other kids from his class, letting out exaggerated war cries between fits of laughter.
"He's come a long way," Cronan said like he was reading my mind.
"Yeah," I murmured. "He really has."
And maybe part of me was still worried—worried that somewhere in the back of his mind, he was waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under him. That this happiness, this stability, was temporary. But I hoped today would be another brick in the foundation we were building beneath his feet. One that said: You're safe. You're loved. You belong here.
"The party will be perfect," Cronan said with enough conviction for the both of us just as Shea, our youngest and only biological child, waddled toward him.
I watched as my mate abandoned his parfait and picked the one-year-old he claimed was an identical copy of myself off the floor enthusiastically and smiled. He hoisted Shea into his arms with practiced ease, planting a loud, exaggerated kiss on the baby's cheek that made him giggle and squirm. Shea tucked his face into Cronan's shoulder, clutching his shirt with tiny hands, completely content.
