“Right. Because stalking is so reassuring.” My crossed arms tightened, but his gaze dropped for just a second—long enough for heat to flood my cheeks as those violent, feverish nights flashed through my mind.
To my surprise, Zuri didn't bristle. Instead, she stretched beneath my skin with something disturbingly like...approval. I caught the exact moment Garrick sensed her interest. His pupils dilated, shoulders relaxing just a fraction.
With a sigh that felt like defeat, I stepped aside. “You have five minutes.”
As he crossed the threshold, I noticed his jeans filled out nicely and his eyes flickered to the staircase. He moved swiftly with poise for such a large man.
“They're sleeping in the living room. Go into the kitchen.”
His eyes lingered on the living room door, but he walked past it to go into the kitchen. Zuri approved of his concern for the babies. I was more cautious when I remembered how out of control his beast was.
Five minutes turned into an hour as he explained the effect of the moon cycle on his wolf, Valor, and their history. When the twins stirred, he followed me into the living room, and I noticed the children paused to stare at him, recognising their father.
The room was silent as I fed them, and Garrick slowly inched his way closer to touch their tiny cheeks. Our eyes met, and for a moment, Zuri and Valor sized one another up. It could have been my imagination, but I relaxed, sinking into the couch. Omari grabbed his father's finger and gripped it. Imani’s dark eyes stared at him intently.
“I want to be their father, Mercy and not a part-time dad,” he murmured.
“You're tied to your pack.” I reminded him.
“I don't have to be.”
I stared at him before I nodded.
“We take one day at a time. The children come before us.”
His eyes widened in surprise before he eagerly nodded. I tensed up when he moved towards me, but he kissed my cheek. His fingers trailed down my neck, where he’d bitten me. His mangy dog scent was gone. It was replaced by a fresh, earthy scent, reminding me of the mountain I met him on.
“Any issues, and I can always rip your throat out,” I said nonchalantly, unable to resist.
I felt his lips curl against my cheek before he pulled away.
“A wise woman told me to bow to my queen,” he said with a chuckle, but the heated flames in his eyes almost made me squirm.
Shayamal was on my side, after all. She could tell me more about who I was. The only information I had was the stories my grandmother used to tell me. I was nothing like the terrified woman running from a predator mere months ago. My eyes dropped to my children, who suckled hungrily. They deserved to know both sides of their family. Garrick’s eyes filled with adoration as he looked at our children.
As the twins nursed contentedly, an unfamiliar sound rose in my chest. It was a deep, thrumming purr that made their tiny fingers clutch instinctively at my skin. Garrick's breath hitched, his wolf recognising what mine already knew.
My life had changed drastically, but as I cradled my babies close to me, I realised that I wouldn't change a single thing.
This wasn't surrender.
This was evolution.
The Dollmaker’s Heir
Chapter 1
Bianca
The familiar excitement of the hunt was on. I eyed up my competition: an old man who openly knew it was game on and a middle-aged woman who ignored both of us as she focused on rummaging through the table. My love of antiques excluded me from my family and friends' hobbies. I was sure that I was born in the wrong era.
Old items had a particular scent and feel. Like a book from the library, old and musty yet handled by thousands of people, they were sure to leave a mark. This was what it was like for me, hunting through antique fairs, charity shops, and car boot sales. Holding and feeling old items sometimes took me to different worlds, just like my books did.
The old man brushed past me, and I immediately looked in the direction he was going, but it was to a vinyl record collection. More people were gathering, which meant I needed to move quickly. I was about to move on when a doll caught my eye.
The vendor had kept it behind the counter. It lay on its back, but I could tell from the flamboyant clothing, hair and hat that it was possibly a Victorian doll. It was the ultimate status symbol in the mid to late 1800s to own them as toys for children or collectables.
It could be a good investment depending on its condition, age, manufacturer, and artistry. Wood, wax, and porcelain were the main components. The doll's pale cheeks looked cracked, a good sign of age.
