Page 36 of His Lucky Charm

“For someone with a doctorate in environmental engineering, you have a remarkable talent for understatement,” I observed, taking Abigail from his arms. “Let’s get you dressed, little scholar. Aunt Siobhan’s party awaits.”

The process of dressing an energetic toddler who kept trying to demonstrate her new “trick” whenever we removed her towel was challenging but ultimately successful. By the time we headed for The Lucky Hound, Abigail was resplendent in her green dress and tiny boots, her dark curls tamed into something approximating order.

* * *

The pub had been closed to regular customers for the evening, transformed into a private party space for pack members and trusted allies. Green and silver decorations hung from the rafters, tables had been pushed back to create a central gathering area, and the scent of Siobhan’s favorite foods filled the air.

“There they are!” Siobhan herself called from behind the bar as we entered. “The prodigal professor returns!”

She emerged to greet us, accepting my kiss on her cheek and Rafferty’s bear hug with equal enthusiasm before crouching to Abigail’s level.

“And how’s my favorite niece? I hear you’ve been practicing some special skills.”

Abigail nodded solemnly. “I made paws. Little ones.”

“That’s fantastic!” Siobhan’s genuine excitement made Abigail beam with pride. “You’re going to be the strongest Guardian in generations.”

“Like Daddy,” Abigail agreed, reaching up to be lifted by her aunt. “Up, please!”

As Siobhan complied, I took the opportunity to survey the gathering. About thirty pack members filled the space, along with a handful of human partners and allies. The atmosphere was relaxed, familial—pack gatherings always reminded me of large extended family reunions, with the added dimension of shared supernatural experience.

Kieran approached, his twin boys trailing behind with the controlled energy of eight-year-olds aware of their strength. “Welcome back, Professor. Successful lectures?”

“Very,” I confirmed, accepting his forearm clasp—a traditional Guardian greeting he’d only started offering me after Abigail’s birth. “I understand you’ll be helping with Abigail’s early training?”

He nodded, pride evident in his stance. “The boys were early shifters too. They’ve got some techniques that might help.”

His sons, Dylan and Connor, had overcome their initial wariness of the “human pack member” years ago, and now regarded me with the easy acceptance of children who’d never known a time when I wasn’t part of their world.

“Professor,” Dylan greeted with attempted formality, copying his father’s mannerisms. “Is Abigail coming to practice with us?”

“Tomorrow,” Rafferty confirmed, joining our conversation. “If you boys are willing to show her some basics?”

Both puffed up with importance at being entrusted with teaching the Alpha’s daughter. “We’ll help her control her shifting,” Connor assured us with the confidence of childhood. “It’s easy once you know how.”

“Just like your father taught you,” I acknowledged, seeing Kieran’s chest swell with similar pride. For all his initial resistance to my integration into pack life, he’d become one of our strongest allies, particularly after Abigail’s birth confirmed the continuation of the Alpha bloodline.

The evening progressed with the comfortable rhythm of pack celebrations—food shared family-style, stories exchanged, accomplishments celebrated. Siobhan opened gifts with theatrical appreciation, particularly enjoying the rare Irish whiskey Rafferty and I had procured through academic connections.

“This is why we keep you around, Professor,” she teased, examining the bottle. “Your university contacts have excellent taste.”

“And here I thought it was my charming personality and extensive knowledge of Guardian history,” I returned dryly.

“That too,” she conceded with a wink. “Though the whiskey helps.”

As promised, my mother departed with a sleepy Abigail after cake was served, our daughter offering token protests that were undermined by her drooping eyelids. With our parental responsibilities temporarily suspended, Rafferty and I settled into a different mode—pack leaders rather than just parents.

These dual roles had become natural over the years. In pack settings, Rafferty was Alpha-in-all-but-name (the official transition would occur on his father’s seventieth birthday next year), while I served as unofficial historian, advisor, and human liaison. Our partnership bridged worlds in ways that strengthened both the pack and the town’s future.

“Dance with me,” Rafferty suggested as the gathering shifted toward celebration, music replacing conversation as the evening’s focus. “For old times’ sake.”

I allowed him to lead me to the small area cleared for dancing, his hand warm and familiar in mine. “We met here,” I recalled as he pulled me into his arms. “Right by that door, when you nearly knocked me over.”

“Best clumsiness of my life,” he agreed, guiding me in a slow circle. “Though I maintain it was strategic, not accidental.”

“You’ve been maintaining that for five years,” I pointed out. “Despite extensive evidence to the contrary.”

His laugh rumbled through his chest, felt rather than heard as he held me close. “Historian to the end. Always demanding documentation.”