Mag-log inJaxon Eight weeks have flown by in the blink of an eye. I can’t believe how much my son has grown in that short period of time. I also can’t believe how much I’ve already missed. Every day he’s doing something new. Something he wasn’t doing when I left the day before. And it guts me that I’m not there to see it.When Skye walked away from me at the same moment I realized I couldn’t live without her, I thought that was the worst thing I’d ever have to face. I was wrong. Because as much as I loved her, still love her, it’s nothing compared to the profound loss I feel every time I have to kiss Benji goodbye.He’s developed his own little personality, full of coos and cries that mean something. He’s even starting to smile. And he has, as I discovered two days ago and have not yet finished processing, a strong preference for Nicolai Woolf's baritone.I was holding him while he cried. Doing everything I've learned in eight weeks of nearly daily visits—the right angle, the right rhythm, the
Nicolai As an Alpha, I’m good at many things. I can run an empire or make a man wish he were never born without breaking a sweat. Still, I’m humble enough to admit when I’m beaten. It just took giving my son a bath to find the one thing that could beat me. .It turns out, Benji has very strong opinions about the bath. They are inconsistent. He has, at various points, been enthusiastic about the bath, devastated by the bath, neutral about the bath, and deeply suspicious of the bath. Tonight he's in the suspicious phase, unsure if he’s about to be swallowed whole by his infant tub or if it’s safe to kick and splash and enjoy himself. Which means he needs to be continuously engaged or he will decide the situation has deteriorated and act accordingly."He's suspicious tonight. Talk to him." It’s the first thing Skye says to me when I walk in the door to see if she needs my help. It’s also the thing I’m least prepared to do after the day I’ve had. "About what?" I ask warily. I talk to B
NicolaiThere's a version of me that other Alphas know.There’s the version of me that delivers threats with the cadence of pleasantries. The version who never needs to raise his voice to end an argument because it’s understood, by anyone who’s listening, that I’ve already won. The version who is always the calmest person in the room, because showing fear is a death sentence.This week alone I handled two such situations that required the Woolf family's particular brand of resolution. The first involved a shipping partner who had developed the impression that our arrangement included a renegotiation option I had not offered. Dimitri handled the preliminary conversation. I appeared at the end of it to reinforce our stance on the matter. The partner revised his position immediately and permanently."Did you have to say it like that?" Dimitri asked after."Like what?" I raised my eyebrow, feigning ignorance. "Like you were commenting on the weather." He grumbled. “Would it kill you to l
Skye The event I now affectionately refer to as the 3 AM moment occurs on a Tuesday.Benji has been crying for forty minutes. Not the hungry cry. Not the tired cry. Not any of the classifiable cries—just the cry that means the world is overwhelming and I have feelings about this and I need you to know.I have tried everything I know.I'm sitting on the floor of the nursery with my back against the side of the crib, Benji on my chest still crying, because the floor felt necessary and also because I got down here and standing up again felt like too much effort.I am beginning to cry too, which I will not admit is primarily the six-weeks-postpartum hormones that Dr. Chernov warned me about and which I was confident would not significantly affect me because I am a practical person. It is primarily the hormones.It is also 3 AM and Benji has been crying for forty minutes and I can't fix it and there's a specific quality to 3 AM that makes everything feel permanent and final in ways that d
SkyeIt’s been six weeks since Benji was born. At least I think it has. I’m pretty sure. To be honest, time has stopped making sense.But regardless of time or my inability to keep it, here are the things I’ve learned so far:I can spend forty-five minutes on a single feeding—trying to get Benji to latch, repositioning, trying again, succeeding, losing it, trying again—and then look up and discover it's 4 AM and I haven't eaten since yesterday's lunch and somehow the entire day has both lasted forever and not happened at all.Well, that’s not entirely true. Nicolai would never let me go a whole day without eating. But the principle stands. I’ve definitely lost all concept of time or schedule.I mentioned this to Dr. Chernov at the two-week appointment. He just looked at me like I was stating the obvious and said, "Yes. That's newborns." Very helpful.Here is what nobody tells you about loving a baby: It's not soft. It's not the warm, gauzy feeling implied by the imagery. It's sharp. I
Jaxon Eventually, the room quiets of all the chaos that ensues after a delivery. The doctor leaves to return to his bed, most likely. The nurses come and go quietly as they bustle about cleaning up the aftermath. And Skye sleeps. Nicolai steps out—gives me time, which is its own kind of grace I didn't expect from him and probably don't deserve. But I notice it. File it away with everything else I'm learning about who this man actually is.But more importantly, I sit with my son.We have the kind of conversation you can only have when the other party can't talk back yet. When there's no risk of being misunderstood or contradicted or asked to follow through on something specific."I'm going to be better."He doesn't react. Just breathes, small and steady, against my chest."That's not a promise I'm making to get something from your mother. I know it doesn't work that way anymore. I know I don't get credit for intentions." I look at his perfect, sleeping face. "You're not going to grow
SkyeI'm in the main hall, helping Rena organize details for a reception, when a stunning she-wolf arrives at the estate. She sweeps through the entrance like she owns the place. Tall. Beautiful. Sophisticated in a way that makes me acutely aware of my pregnant belly and comfortable, entirely ineleg
SkyeI've been at Woolf estate for weeks now, and I'm starting to feel like I actually belong here. The terrifying part is I'm not sure I want to leave.My days have settled into a comfortable rhythm, the kind I always tried to create for myself at Ironwood but never quite managed. My morning walks
NicolaiI make it to my office before the control snaps completely. Sink into my chair and press my hands to my face. This is torture.Having her here. Under my roof. So close I can see her every day but can't have her. Watching her belly grow with another man's child while knowing I'd raise that bo
NicolaiI walk Jaxon to the door and hand him off to Mikhail so I can stay with Skye. After having Jaxon in my territory, my wolf is practically crawling out of my skin with the need to touch her, scent her, make sure she smells like me and not him. But I need to make absolutely certain Jaxon leave







