Page 81 of Omega Hunted

Brec snorted a laugh. “I’ll lower my expectations on accuracy.”

Soren bit his lip. “I scrubbed them twice, but are you sure they’ll be clean enough?”

“I’m sure they are,” Brec said, but I got the feeling he was lying, and I gave them another wipe with the antiseptic cloth. I spread the tea towel over the little plastic tray, reset the weight, and Asha made an indignant squeak as I lifted her from Soren’s arms.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I murmured. “Your idiot uncle Brec insists.”

“I heard that,” Brec faked being affronted.

“You were supposed to,” I said as I laid Asha onto the towel.

She kicked one tiny foot into the air and flung an arm free of the blanket, and the numbers jumped.

“Hold still,” I said, as if she understood.

She responded by waving both fists and letting out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a complaint.

Soren reached down and rested one finger lightly on Asha’s tummy.

“Shh, little snow. Just for one minute.”

She blinked up at him with wide green-grey eyes and, unbelievably, settled long enough for the numbers to stop flickering.

“I’ve got it,” I said. “Five pounds, three ounces.”

There was a beat of silence, then, “That’s good,” Brec said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “That’s really good.”

Soren let out a breath. “I was worried she’d lost too much.”

“Only half a pound,” Brec replied gently. “All newborns lose. But she’s putting it back on. Five-three is exactly where I’d expect her to be. Keep feeding her when she wants it. Keep doing what you’re doing.”

Soren’s shoulders relaxed. “I can do that.”

“I’ll call tomorrow, Alpha.”

My jaw locked. “I’m not your alpha, Brec.”

“Right. Sorry. Habit.” He didn’t sound sorry, just tired of arguing about it.

The call ended, and I lifted Asha back into my arms before handing her over, one tiny fist tucked beneath her chin, her silver-white hair sticking up in every direction. A stubborn little kink curled over her left temple no matter how often it was smoothed down, the same impossible wave Soren fought every morning after he’d slept.

“I think she’s inherited your hair,” I said.

Soren reached up to flatten his own bangs, then glanced down at Asha and laughed. “Oh.”

“It’ll never stay flat,” I said, as he kissed the top of Asha’s head, smiling to himself as the curl bounced right back into place.

“I suppose she can blame me,” Soren said with a small smile, smoothing the stubborn curl from Asha’s forehead. It immediately curled back over her brow. “There’s not much of her father in her.”

We hadn’t spoken about Malachai Dalton since Soren had told me how he’d become pregnant and how the alpha was dead. I’d researched him a little—he’d died after a car accident, but information was sketchy at best. Yet another story locked down by one of the Families.

“What was he like? Asha’s alpha father, I mean.”

Soren looked up, surprised by the question.

“Malachai?” His expression relaxed. “He was… kind. Gentle. Not what people expected from a Dalton alpha.” He smiled at the memory. “He loved his omega, Gabe, more than anything. They were fated. You could see it.” He touched two fingers to his chest. “Connected here.”

Just like we are, my wolf supplied.