Chapter 152

Logan

The phone vibrates against the console, the screen lighting up with an unknown number. My chest tightens. Every nerve in my body and mind screams at me to answer it.

“Hello?” my voice is sharp, strained, already on edge from hours of searching for my missing wife.

“Logan.”

The voice slithers through the line, low and measured. Recognition flares, and my stomach twists. Wanda.

“What the hell did you do with her?” the words rip out of me before I can think. Rage surges hot, bitter, and unrelenting. “If you hurt her, I swear—”

“Quiet,” the witch cuts me off with chilling calm. “Emily is with me. She’s in labor. My home. The child is coming now.”

Her words drop like stones. For a moment, my breath catches in my chest.

“She’s…what?!” the exasperated words fall from my mouth before I can even stop them.

“I don’t have time for your anger, wolf. The address is Birch Hollow, down the east road. Cottage in the woods. Come if you want to see your mate alive.”

And just like that, the line goes dead.

“Goddamn it!” I slam my fist against the wheel, nearly cracking the leather. My heart pounds so hard it hurts, like it’s trying to break free from my ribs. Without thinking, I floor the gas.

The trees blur by as I tear down the road, headlights slicing through the darkness. My grip is iron on the steering wheel, but my hands shake anyway. Images crash through me — Emily alone, Emily in pain, Emily calling for me and I’m not there. My throat burns.

Hold on, sweetheart. Hold on.

The turnoff comes fast, a narrow dirt road snaking into the woods. I almost miss it, skidding as I swerve, gravel spitting out behind me. Branches scrape the side of the car like claws as I push deeper into the forest. The car jolts, tires crunching over roots and stones, but I don’t slow down. My chest heaves, sweat slicking my palms, until finally the headlights catch on something.

An old cottage crouched among the trees, its windows glowing faintly comes into view just up ahead.

I barely put the car in park before I’m out, sprinting. The night air cuts sharp against my skin, but all I hear are the sounds spilling from inside.

Cries. Her cries.

I freeze on the porch for half a heartbeat. The sound isn’t just pain — it’s primal, raw, wolf-blooded. A cry that twists into a howl, fierce and commanding, shaking something deep inside me. It’s my wolf. My pulse leaps in response, every fiber of my being pulled toward her.

“Emily,” I breathe, before shoving the door open.

The cottage is small, cluttered, heavy with herbs and smoke but I don’t care. My eyes lock on the figure stretched out on a bed near the fire, hair plastered to her face, body trembling with the force of each contraction. Madame Wanda hovers near her, but she might as well be invisible because all I see is Emily.

“Logan,” her voice cracks on my name, broken by pain, and my heart splinters.

I’m at her side in seconds, dropping to my knees, taking her hand in both of mine. She grips me so hard it feels like my bones might snap, but I don’t let go. I’ll never let go.

“I’m here,” I rasp, forehead pressing to hers, “I’m here, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

Tears streak down her cheeks as another cry rips from her throat, wolf-strong, shaking the walls. She sobs through the pain, words spilling in fragments.

“I’m sorry, Logan…I’m so sorry for leaving—”

“No,” I cut her off, voice breaking as I cradle her face in my free hand. “Don’t you apologize. You hear me? You’re here, that’s all that matters. You’re safe, Emily. You’re safe.”

Her body tenses again and she cries out in pain, the sound fierce, shattering. Wanda mutters something about pushing, but I hardly register it. I’m too focused on Emily, on every tremor of her body, every breath she drags in.

Her nails dig into my skin, her eyes locking on mine, wild and desperate. I nod, holding steady, giving her everything I have.

“You can do this,” I whisper fiercely, even as my own tears blur my vision.“You’re the strongest damn woman I’ve ever known. You can do this.”

The next cry that rips out of her isn’t just human — it’s a howl, deep and resonant, vibrating in my chest. My wolf stirs in answer, rising to the surface, compelled by the Alpha note in her voice.

For a heartbeat, the world tilts. This isn’t only a birth — it’s something older, something primal. This is a monumental moment where two new wolves are coming into the world.

She bears down with one last surge of strength, and then the air fills with a new sound — high, piercing, impossibly small yet impossibly powerful.

A baby’s cry. My breath stutters. My world stops.

Wanda moves quickly, too quickly, wrapping the tiny form in cloth and handing him over. But I can hardly see her. My eyes are locked on Emily, chest heaving, face pale and drenched in sweat, but alive. Alive.

Then the bundle is in her arms, and I see him. Our son. A boy.

The sound that leaves me is half-laugh, half-sob, my hand trembling as I reach to touch his tiny head, his dark hair damp against his skin. My throat closes around the words, but I force them out anyway.

“We have a son,” I whisper, voice cracking. “Emily, we have a son.” Her tired smile wobbles as tears slip down her cheeks. She looks from me to the baby, then back again, and the world narrows to just this — her, me, and the miracle in her arms.

The baby’s cry rises again, sharper this time, and the hairs along the back of my neck lift. There’s a strength to it, a resonance that shouldn’t belong to something so new. It isn’t just crying — it’s calling. My wolf bows to it instinctively, recognizing something ancient and undeniable.

Is this how our wolves adapt to our child coming into the world? If this is how I can show my son my undying loyalty to him, then I hope he can feel the love that my wolf and I radiate while we silently vow to protect him.

Emily feels it too. I can see it in her wide eyes, in the way her arms tighten protectively around the boy. Her tears spill freely now, but her smile grows, fragile yet fierce.

“He’s strong,” she whispers. The baby coos in her arms, his eyes still closed. He moves his arms around and I reach out to let him grasp my finger, letting him tug on it. Emily chuckles. “Stronger than I imagined.”

“Like his mother,” I murmur, brushing damp hair back from her forehead. My chest aches with a strange mix of exhaustion and awe, my entire body trembling from adrenaline and relief.

I press a kiss to her temple, then lean down to brush one against our son’s head. The scent of him — new, wild, and ours — floods my senses and roots me to the spot.

“What should we name him?” Emily quietly asks, looking up at me with a tired smile and a slight tear in her eye.

“Peter,” I nod my head, remembering the one name that the two of us agreed on.

“Peter,” Emily breathes his name out, looking down at the baby in her arms.

We stare at our newborn son, his cries finally quieting. He breathes deeply, sleepy from his big moment. I take him from Emily so Wanda can give her some tea, walking towards one of the cottage windows.

With Peter in my arms, it feels as if I am whole again. For the first time in what feels like forever, the storm inside my mind quiets.