Page 180 of Pack Baby for the Silver Foxes

Maeve made a sound that might have been a laugh if she weren’t already crying.

Hudson opened his box. Inside was a ring with a single violet stone, deep and luminous, set simply enough that the color did all the work. Lincoln opened his box, inside was a curved band with two diamonds set into the arc like bright points of light.

My eyes filled so fast the rings became color and shine.

“Mary,” Hudson said, voice steady but not untouched. “We know this isn’t simple.”

“Nothing with me is simple,” I whispered.

“No,” Lincoln said. “Thank God.”

A laugh moved around the table, soft and wet.

Hudson continued. “We’re not asking because of the babies. We’re not asking because of scent matching, though I’ll be grateful for that miracle for the rest of my life. We’re asking because you’re the woman we love.”

Lincoln’s voice roughened. “Our omega. Our heart. Our home. Our forever love.”

My hand went to my stomach.

“We want to spend every day proving you can be loved without being owned,” Hudson said.

“But you will be fussed over,” Lincoln added.

“Yes, I agree.”

“And fed.”

“I hope so,” I said, laughing through tears.

Hudson’s smile trembled. “Will you marry us?” he asked.

My mouth opened. Nothing came out, then everything came out at once.

“Yes. Obviously yes. Why would you ask me that before I’ve eaten my dessert? But yes.”

Lincoln laughed and bent to kiss my forehead.

Hudson slid his ring onto my finger first. Lincoln’s followed, fitting against it as if both had been made for the same hand, the same life, the same impossible yes.

Separately, they were beautiful. Together, they became something else.

Everyone clapped.

Mila clapped because everyone else did and then looked outraged when her bread tower collapsed.

Mac leaned across the table. “Are they both marrying you?”

The room changed by half a degree, not badly but carefully.

I looked down at the two rings.

In our world, packs were recognized. Bonds were recognized. Parental rights could be shared. Households could be built with legal structures, contracts, registrations, and ceremonies older than most governments. But marriage, in the narrow civil sense, still liked a tidy line of one spouse, one signature, one name beside mine.

I looked at Hudson, then Lincoln.

My chest tightened. “I can’t choose.”

Lincoln’s face softened at once. “Love.”