EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE

RICHARD

Five months later…

The baby's "feed-me" alarm yanked Richard from sleep after two in the morning, at least according to the blurry digital clock. His daughter's cries coming from the bassinet next to their bed had been growing louder and more demanding the bigger she grew. Already he was reflecting nostalgically on her volume level just after she was born. Those tiny cries had been adorable. A pinched little "wah, wah, wah!" and her cute face scrunched up with baby outrage. These cries were closer to an infant air-raid siren.

He groaned and yawned. His eyes felt like sandpaper. His mouth tasted like an old shoe. Someday, in some distant but beautiful future, his kid would sleep through the night. If he'd still been a prince, he would've immortalized it as a holiday upon taking the crown.

Beside him, Justin rolled over and pulled the pillow over his head. "It's your turn to feed her," came his muffled voice.

Richard made an expressive noise somewhere between a grunt and a tired groan. He rolled out of bed and stood, feeling groggy and sluggish. He made his way to the bassinet where little Ashley was kicking and flailing in that erratic infant way. The motions were halfhearted, and she seemed half asleep, but she was hungry enough to cry for food.

He slipped his hands under her and carefully picked her up, cradling her to his chest. Goddess, it always sent his heart into his throat whenever he held her. She was so tiny, so beautiful, but he was infinitely delicate with her as if she were made of glass. She stopped crying, though, nuzzling against him as if seeking a nipple. No luck there, kid, he thought wryly, heading out of the bedroom and quietly shutting the door so Justin could get some more shuteye.

He carried his little girl with him through the one-room apartment to the kitchen. He swayed from side to side, rocking her and gently singing the chorus of some song he'd heard on the radio that had been stuck in his head for the past two days. As he sang, he went about fixing the formula for her post-midnight snack.

She blinked up at him in the dim light from the fixture over the sink. She seemed a trifle skeptical. Probably wondering why her food was taking so long and suspicious that his singing routine might be a distraction. He launched into another chorus as he warmed the formula, wishing this could go faster. Even the high-tech bottle warmer seemed to take a ridiculously long time when a baby was crying.

Ashley's patience for his singing ran out. She began to cry again. The sound was highly effective. Every time he heard it, it set off alarm bells in his human and wolf sides. He would've chewed through a brick wall to get her anything she needed, just so she wouldn't keep making that heart-wrenching, utterly dismaying, and impossible-to-ignore sound at him.

Finally, the bottle was warmed. After testing to make sure it was the right temperature, he could at last give her the bottle. His daughter stopped crying and began to suck eagerly—a small, quiet miracle that he cherished. She gripped the bottle with both tiny hands near his as he held it for her. She watched him as she eagerly sucked and sucked, leaving him to wonder what she was thinking about. He smiled and talked to her as he paced the room, telling her she was amazing and beautiful and that he loved her.

All true. Very, very true. This kid had turned him into a great big marshmallow. All she had to do was look at him and his heart melted.

He ambled around the small apartment, continuing to talk to her in a low voice about nothing important at all, simply letting his words soothe her. He swayed as he walked because she liked to rock. The battery-operated baby swing was one of her favorite places to be. No wonder the swing sucked batteries dry almost as fast as Ashley went through formula.

As he moved past the window, he pushed the blinds aside and looked out on the dark street. A street lamp cast orange light a dozen meters away. The street was full of townhouses, but most of the humans kept to themselves. Heath and Sara lived in the townhouse apartment downstairs. That helped Vancouver feel like home in all the best ways.

It had been a long road here. They still faced an uncertain future. But with every passing day, his worries diminished and his hopes grew. He had Justin, and he had his child, safely delivered and weighing seven pounds, three ounces. Paying for the birth and hospital stay had taken a sizable chunk of their co-mingled funds, even though the exchange rate favored American dollars. Procuring fake papers and IDs that could stand up to scrutiny took even more. His days of wealth and luxury might be behind him for good…but he was at peace with that.

But Sara had pulled it off. Richard had no idea how they would've made it without the help of his best friend and his best friend's mate. Sara and Heath still weren't married, but no one could doubt how much they loved each other. Someday she might want it. Or perhaps she never would. Sara was a little hesitant with Ashley, but Heath—who insisted Ashley was going to call him "Uncle Heath" when she figured out how to talk instead of wail—absolutely adored the baby.

Once, Richard had noticed Sara watching Heath as he held the infant, cooed to Ashley, played "nose-booping" games and "I-disappeared" games, and even changed her diapers.

"Heath would make a good dad," she'd confided later. They'd both been in the kitchen, the two of them doing dishes after the Friday night meal the four of them (five if you counted Ashley) always shared.

"The best," Richard had agreed softly.

Sara looked at him with her brown eyes, soft but so intelligent. "You make a good dad, too, Your Highness."

He snorted at her use of a title that no longer applied to him. "I only want the best for her. I'm terrified I'll do something wrong."

"You'll do something wrong," she said. "Every parent does."

"Wise. I'll remember that."

"I'm actually talking out my ass," she replied with a laugh. "I'm terrified of children."

He grinned. "Maybe someday that will change."

"Yeah. Maybe it will. Until then, no diapers for me."

They'd both laughed, but he hadn't forgotten that talk. Or how, afterward, Sara had gone out of her way to hold the baby more often.

Canada wasn't exactly as Richard had imagined. He'd had some half-assed idea it was endless evergreen trees, snow, and moose running wild. Sure, he'd known there were cities filled with humans, but for whatever reason, he'd pictured the country as an arctic wasteland for three seasons of the year.

But it wasn't all that different from Altaden in many ways. Not really. Humans were everywhere, of course, but most of them weren't that bad. Or if they were, you could scent the bad ones and keep your distance. He didn't fear them, but neither did he want trouble. Too much was riding on the five of them remaining unknown.

They had mailed a package to Aunt Katie with dozens of photos of Ashley and a few pics of the three of them together, grinning like two tired loons and a baby. Justin wrote her a letter telling her they were safe, sharing some details of their life with her. Sara had read the letter over, with Justin's permission, to make certain he wasn't revealing any clues to their location should the package be intercepted. Richard had driven across the border from Vancouver into Mt. Vernon to mail the package so it would have a U.S. postmark. Then he'd driven back across the border.

Richard still worried about Justin's aunt. He wished she'd come with them, but he understood why she hadn't. She had her dogs, her land, her rifle, her cheese, and her life. No one was running her off. He took a strange kind of strength from knowing that. It didn't stop either of them from worrying, but it was all he could do for now.

Of Altaden and the pack that once would have been his, he knew very little. Only what the media referenced, and he didn't dare leave any digital trace, seeking out shifter media or any server or site from Altaden. But the human press covered shifter politics sometimes, and Sara insisted on VPNs. Imagine how amused he was to find out that Prince Richard Hargreave was dead. He was officially dead. Killed in a car accident in Altaden three months ago. His brother was now the heir to his father's throne. Richard had even caught some footage of his royal funeral. Closed casket, of course, but very grand. His father had spared no expense. Richard was actually touched by how many people showed up.

He was less amused to learn about the disappearance of Luke Brown, the reporter who'd so diligently chased down leads, uncovering the scandal. Sara bluntly claimed he was dead without a doubt, executed and his body secretly disposed of. Heath reluctantly agreed. Richard didn't want to believe his father would go that far…but the man who had sired him had long ago chosen to be a king and not a dad.

Sometimes Richard couldn't sleep, worrying that he would end up that kind of father, as if it were a taint in his blood. But in the light of day, when he held his child, those fears left him. He loved her too much. He loved Justin too much. He would never do anything to hurt them. He would sacrifice everything for them.

And that made him different.

Now he paced the apartment slowly, swaying, humming, and when Ashley finished her bottle, he turned her and patted her back until she burped. Thank the Goddess that his daughter rarely spit up. Although the first time it had happened, coating his back with sour-formula-smelling spit-up, he hadn't exactly been thrilled with the baptism.

But he'd quickly learned that you couldn't be squeamish when being a parent. There were too many dirty diapers, too much drool, spit-up, and rashes to deal with. It was amusing in a way. Once he'd been a prince, eating the finest foods, dressed in the best clothes, and now he was just a man with a shoulder stained by baby spit-up or who opened a diaper praying it wasn't one of those "special deliveries" that had soaked all the way past the elastic edges.

How the mighty have fallen…

But he wouldn't have had it any other way.

"Have I ever told you how much I love seeing you with her?" Justin asked from where he leaned in the bedroom doorway with his arms crossed and a sleepy smile on his face.

"A few times," Richard replied, smiling back. "You should be in bed. Don't waste my turn. You'll regret it tomorrow."

Justin stretched, yawned, and then padded over to him. He was only wearing pajama pants with little sci-fi spaceships on them. He'd been burning off the baby weight, although Richard knew his mate was self-conscious about being stretched out of shape. He still looked amazing to Richard and always would.

"I tried to go back to sleep but couldn't. Looks like I'm up for a while, so I thought I'd keep you both company." He held out his hands for Ashley.

Richard handed her over carefully as if passing a Ming vase. Justin cuddled her. She was already blinking sleepily. Feed. Burp. Sleep. Sometimes Richard envied her those simple routines. Admittedly, he would envy it more when she started sleeping through the night. But like everything else, it was improving. Slowly, but improving. Someday, their sleep would not be all broken up by feedings.

They settled on the old couch with the creaking springs and turned on the television. Richard put his arm around Justin. Justin cradled their baby, leaning against him, resting his head against Richard's shoulder.

It was simple. Another two in the morning feeding. He was tired. Nothing new. Nothing special.

But it was special. He was here with the people he loved. Others might even pity him for all he'd given up to have this. But Richard had no regrets. Not even for an instant.

He turned on the television, putting on a silly show about people getting married without ever having seen each other before, meeting at the altar for the first time. It was junk-food TV, yet oddly compelling, like eating potato chips out of the bag.

His daughter fell asleep, looking like an angel. Again, it struck him how there was nothing in the world more precious than a sleeping baby. Mostly because they weren't crying. He leaned in and kissed Justin on the top of his head.

"What was that for?" Justin asked, looking up at Richard, his eyes shining and a smile on his lips.

"Because I love you."

"Then you'd better give me one on the lips. They are feeling neglected."

So he did. He kissed his mate and put all the love and tenderness he felt for Justin into the kiss. After that, they watched the show until they were tired enough to return to bed. Justin put Ashley in the bassinet and turned on the gentle classical music that soothed her, just in case she'd been jostled into a lighter sleep when being moved around.

Then Justin got in bed and snuggled up next to him. He held his mate in his arms, listening to the sounds of the night outside the safety of their little apartment. He held Justin tight and knew he would never let go.

END