Chapter 22: Whose Pup

Garrick looked at his daughter from the porch for exactly as long as I let him.

I stood in the doorway with Elin against my shoulder, and I turned her so that he could see her face.

She was asleep, with her mouth working at nothing.

He put his knuckles against his teeth.

"She has his chin," he said, through his hand. "Eli's."

"Yes."

"Thank you."

I said nothing.

He stood up, stiff from the cold, and walked away down the path without asking for another thing.

I watched him until the pines closed behind him.

Lars's arm came around my waist.

"Whose pup is she?" he asked, quietly, into my hair.

"Mine," I said.

"Good."

Six weeks later, Petra took Elin for the night.

She came at supper with a bag of diapers and a face that dared either of us to say a word.

"She's mine until noon," Petra said, and she took the baby out to her truck.

The cabin went very quiet.

Lars stood in the middle of the kitchen with a dish towel in his hand.

I leaned on the table.

"Well," I said.

"Well."

"It's been six weeks."

"I know how long it's been," he said. "I've been counting."

I crossed the floor and took the towel out of his hand and dropped it.

He kissed me before it landed.

It wasn't slow.

His hands were in my hair, and mine were under his shirt, and he lifted me onto the edge of the table with a rough sound against my mouth.

"Bed," I said.

"Here is fine."

"Bed, Alpha. I'm not trying that on a table yet."

He laughed against my throat, and carried me to the bedroom.

He set me down on the quilt and stood over me, breathing hard.

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