Bonus Chapter 3
Lexy
The soft hum of morning always came before the sun rose, a quiet melody of life waking beneath the silver haze that hung over the tribe’s lands. I stood on the balcony, the same one CJ and I had built in the new land, and breathed in the scent of dew, earth, and serenity. Five years had passed—five calm, astonishing years—and sometimes, I still couldn’t believe we’d earned this peace.
No more threats whispered in the shadows. No more late-night battles for power or bloodlines. The packs had learned to coexist, not perfectly, but well enough to give our children something we’d never had: a world without constant fear.
I smiled softly as I sensed small footsteps pattering behind me before they even appeared. Three sets of tiny hearts—steady, curious, and warm. The triplets. My second set—five years old now.
“Mami!” Lyric’s voice broke the morning hush as she wrapped her little arms around my leg. Her curls bounced, glowing orange beneath the dawn. Beside her, her twin brothers, Xazuel and Soren, tried to peek over the balcony rail to spot their father below.
“Daddy’s training again,” Soren whispered with awe.
“Of course he is,” I murmured, brushing a hand through his dark hair that mirrored CJ’s. “He says it keeps him young.”
“Old,” Xazuel corrected, giggling. “He’s old now.”
I laughed—a sound that still surprised me after everything we’d endured. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”
As if summoned, CJ’s voice carried up from the courtyard. “I heard that!” he shouted, mock offense in his tone as he sparred with one of the new warriors.
The triplets erupted in laughter.
I leaned against the rail, watching him for a moment. His movements were as precise and powerful as ever, but there was a lightness now, something he hadn’t carried before—the burden of kingship no longer crushing him, but shared, softened by love and time.
It was strange how normal life had become.
Inside, the household buzzed to life. Our first triplets—the ten-year-olds—were already awake. Alexia was sitting at the kitchen table, reading, while Jr. and Elio argued over breakfast. Their powers had matured early; their connection to both moon and light energy was still growing, but they’d learned discipline through years of guidance and patience.
And then there was our youngest—little Nia, only two.
She toddled into the kitchen with her blanket in tow, her big blue eyes still foggy from sleep. She was quiet, more observant than the others had been at her age, but when she smiled, the world seemed to pause. CJ always said she was the calm after every storm.
I set plates down in front of the kids and took a moment to simply watch them. Seven hearts that beat because CJ and I had refused to give up on hope. Seven little souls who were living proof that love could rebuild anything.
“Mami,” Alexia said suddenly, looking up from her book. “Did you ever think we’d all be like this one day? Just… normal?”
Her words made me blink. I sat beside her, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Normal is a big word, sweetheart. But yes… I hoped. I think I always hoped for this, even when it felt impossible.”
She smiled softly, that same confident calm I saw in her father’s eyes. “I like it this way.”
“So do I,” I whispered.
CJ entered then, sweat glistening on his brow, his shirt half undone. He grinned at me with that same boyish charm that hadn’t dimmed a bit. “What’s for breakfast?”
“The same thing as every morning,” I said, smirking. “And don’t even think about stealing from the kids’ plates.”
He mock-gasped, then bent to kiss me, his lips lingering longer than necessary. The room filled with quiet laughter and groans of ewww from the kids, and I felt something warm and steady pulse through me—the same bond that had held us through every storm.
After breakfast, CJ took the older triplets for training while I walked with the younger ones to the riverbank. Tarria’s voice carried across the field as she instructed a new group of recruits alongside her mate, her movements sharp and graceful. She caught my eye and smiled—a knowing, proud smile. She’d come so far.
The river shimmered in the sunlight, and Lyric tossed pebbles into the water while Nia clapped at every splash.
“I want to be strong like Auntie Tarria,” Lyric declared suddenly.
I crouched beside her, dipping my fingers in the cool stream. “You will be. Strength comes in many forms, little one. Sometimes it’s in your fists… and sometimes it’s in your heart.”
Her brow furrowed, as if she were trying to hold onto the meaning of it. Then she nodded solemnly and ran off to chase her brothers.
Watching them, my heart ached with fullness. It wasn’t the sharp, desperate ache of battle days—it was softer, deeper. The ache of gratitude.
The afternoon drifted by in golden light. The triplets practiced their control lessons under the meadow trees while Nia napped in my lap. I could feel the steady rhythm of her breathing, the pulse of life that had come to define this era of peace.
By the time the sun began to set, CJ and I found ourselves standing together outside, watching the children play. Their laughter rang through the air, mingling with the sounds of wind and birds.
“Hard to believe they used to fit in our arms,” he said quietly, slipping an arm around my waist.
I leaned into him. “Hard to believe we survived long enough to see this.”
He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “You made it happen, Lex. You held everything together when the world fell apart.”
I turned to face him, meeting his gaze. “We did. Always together.”
There was a long pause, filled only by the crackle of the torches and the distant chatter of the tribe. The peace we’d built wasn’t perfect—there were still political debates, still power shifts among the allied packs—but none of it threatened the heart of what we had. Our family. Our unity.
“You know,” CJ said, his voice thoughtful, “I used to wonder if I’d ever stop feeling like I had to fight for everything. But lately… I don’t. It feels like we’ve finally reached the part where we just live.”
I smiled, tracing my fingers along his arm. “We earned this. Every scar, every tear—it led us here.”
The children ran past us then, Alexia shouting something about a race to the garden. CJ and I stood side by side, watching as all seven of them disappeared into the fading light, their laughter echoing into the twilight.
For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel the weight of what came next. There would always be challenges, always lessons, but the foundation was unshakable. Love had become our legacy.
I reached for CJ’s hand, intertwining my fingers with his. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”
He smiled, his eyes reflecting the moonlight. “Neither would I.”
As night fell, the stars scattered across the sky like the spirits of those who’d guided us here. I whispered a quiet thank-you to them—to every soul who’d fought, every sacrifice that had brought this calm.
Because peace, I’d learned, wasn’t the absence of chaos. It was the decision to keep loving, even after the storms.
And as I looked out at our home—our kingdom, our children, our future—I knew that CJ and I didn’t need anything else. We had everything.
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