The Alphas Sister (Complete)

Epilogue: A Circle Full

Today had been a slog—patrol stretched long, boots caked with mud, the ache of old scars faint under my skin. All I wanted was home—Electra, her wildflower scent, the chaos of our kids. Every minute apart still gnawed at me, mate bond tugging like a live wire.

The cabin rose into view through the pines—log walls weathered to a warm grey, roof patched once after a storm, windows glowing gold against the dusk. Six years strong, it'd held up with barely a creak—new shutters last fall, a porch swing Jaxon loved. I smiled; Dad would've been proud.

Her scent hit me before I reached the door—wildflowers, now mixed with bread and spices—comfort sinking deep. I pushed it open, wood creaking soft, and there she was: Electra at the sink, brown hair tied loose, hands sudsy, her swollen belly stretching her green sweater. "Hey," I said, stepping up behind her—arms circling her stomach, careful but firm—feeling the life we'd made kick beneath my palms.

She leaned back into me, sighing as my lips brushed her neck—tingles sparking where my mark still darkened her skin. "Hey," she murmured, a soft moan slipping out. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too," I said, chin resting on her shoulder—her warmth seeping into me. I rubbed her belly, grinning. "You been good to your mum today, little guy?" Another kick nudged my hand—strong, stubborn.

Electra turned in my arms, green eyes bright despite the tired lines. "He's been fine—only kicked my bladder a couple times." She laughed—light, musical—and I kissed her, soft, tasting flour and her.

I deepened it, growling low. "Can I show you how much I missed you—upstairs?" My hands slid to her hips—tingles flaring, heat stirring.

She pulled back, regret flickering. "Wish we could but Jacob and Isobel are out back." Her pout was adorable, even eight months along.

"Great," I said, grabbing her hand with a playful tug toward the stairs. "They can wrangle the kids while we sneak off."

"Kyan," she said, stern but laughing—slipping free to check the oven. "People are coming in half an hour—I've got food to watch. Go keep them company; you're too distracting here."

"I knew you wanted me," I teased, winking—grinning wider at her flush. "Alright, I'll save him from the tiny terrors." I headed for the back door, cedar island gleaming under strung lights—her touch everywhere in this place.

It swung open to the yard—pine-scented, dusk settling cool. Eva looked up from her sandcastle, blonde curls bouncing—five today, all fire and giggles. "Daddy!" she shrieked, bolting over—sand-dusted dress flapping.

I scooped her up—twirl and hug—her squeal ringing. "Hey, princess. You being good?" Jaxon toddled after—three, dark hair wild, grin splitting his face. "Dad!" he yelled, little legs pumping.

"Hey, big man," I said, snagging him with my other arm—kissing his forehead, sand gritty on my lips. I carried them toward Jacob and Isobel, sprawled by the sandpit—her cradling baby Aaron, him holding a ball ready to give to Jaxon.

I set Eva down—she pouted, arms crossed. "I'm not trouble, Daddy."

"Never," I said, patting her head—grinning as she scampered back. Jaxon squirmed free, diving for the sand.

Jacob stood—taller now, dark hair curling longer—shaking my hand firm. "Good to see you, man." Isobel smiled, rocking Aaron—three months, chubby and drooling. "The kids have been angels," Jacob said, sinking beside Jaxon—helping him pat a lopsided tower.

"They're getting big," Isobel added, gazing at Eva and Jaxon—pride softening her brown eyes. "I can't wait until Aaron's running with them."

"Won't be long," I said, watching Jaxon smear sand on his cheeks—time flying too fast.

The door creaked—Eva's shout cut through. "Blake!" She raced to her cousin—seven, lanky—hugging him quick. "Where's Erin?" she demanded, peering past.

Blake waved, strolling over—dark hair like Cade's, quieter now. "Hi, Uncle Kyan, Uncle Jacob, Aunt Isobel." We chorused hellos; he plopped beside Jaxon—sandcastle duty claimed.

Cade emerged next—Erin (four, and all curls) on his hip, Callie trailing—smiling wide. "Long time no see," he laughed, shaking my hand—grip strong, tension long gone.

"An hour's forever," I shot back, grinning—our bond tighter than ever these years.

Callie waved, heading inside—"Helping Electra!"—while Erin wriggled free, joining the sandpit chaos. Mr. Harris stepped out last—grey hair thinner, stride slower—chuckling. "Kicked from the kitchen again."

"Mr. Harris," I said, shaking his hand—warm from their trip, back for Eva's day. "Where's Mum?" Cade asked, glancing back.

"She wanted to help in the kitchen," he said, settling on a bench—watching the kids with a soft smile. "Loves to cook."

We lounged around the sandpit—laughter, chatter, pine air thick—until Electra's voice called, "Dinner!" We herded inside—table stretched with extra chairs, plates steaming: roast chicken, lamb, mashed potatoes, green beans—her magic. Conversations spun—Jacob's facility thriving, Cade's patrol tales, kids interrupting with sticky hands.

After, dishes cleared—Electra lit five candles on Eva's cake: chocolate, lopsided from her "help." We sang—off-key, loud—placing it before her as she beamed, blonde curls glinting. "Make a wish," Electra said, smiling—her mark catching the light.

Eva scrunched her face—blew hard—candles out. "I think it's already true," she grinned.

"What was it, sweetheart?" I asked—curiosity rippling around the table.

"To have the best family ever," she said—big smile splitting her face.

I scooped her up—hugging her tight—heart swelling as I scanned them: Electra's glow, Jaxon's giggle, Jacob's nod, Cade's smirk, Mr. Harris's pride—Callie, Isobel, the kids. "Me too, princess," I said, voice thick.

Happiness like this—I'd never dreamed it possible.