The Lycan King's Outcast Omega (by Cara Anderson) novel Chapter 184

Alaric

We find Iris in the nursery, humming softly to our son who has awakened and studies his aunt with solemn curiosity that seems impossible in one so young. His awareness has unnerved more than one pack member who expects newborn behavior from the infant who watches everything with an unsettling focus.

"There's my little prince," Sage says, her voice transforming as she takes him from Iris. All traces of her nightmare fade as she cradles our son, her entire being softening with a love that flows freely between all three of us.

Alexander. Named for strength, for leadership, for the new era his birth represents. His tiny hand wraps around Sage's finger with surprising force, his violet eyes - exactly matching his mother's unusual color - fixing on her face with that uncanny focus.

"He's hungry," Sage says, settling in the rocking chair beside the window. As she adjusts her nightgown, Iris quietly excuses herself, leaving our small family in peaceful privacy.

I watch them together, this miracle I came so close to losing. In the soft moonlight streaming through the window, they create a picture of such profound beauty that it momentarily steals my breath.

"He's getting stronger every day," Sage observes, wincing slightly as our son's enthusiastic feeding reminds her he's no ordinary infant. "Just like his powers."

The words hang between us, acknowledging what we've been careful not to discuss too openly - the abilities already manifesting in ways neither of us anticipated so soon. Yesterday, his cries shattered every glass in the nursery when his diaper remained wet for too long. The day before, the healing cut on my hand closed instantly when he touched it with curious fingers.

"The prophecy said nothing about how early his gifts would appear," I say carefully, joining them by the window. "We're in uncharted territory."

"We always have been." Sage smiles down at our son, who feeds with single-minded determination. "From the moment you walked into my run-down little cottage."

The memory brings unexpected lightness - how distant that time seems now, when I resisted the mate bond, when tradition and expectation nearly cost me everything that truly matters. The bond between us warms with shared remembrance, with appreciation for how far we've traveled together.

"The council wants to meet him," I mention, keeping my tone casual though we both recognize the significance of such a formal introduction. "Once you feel ready."

Her expression tightens momentarily before she forces herself to relax. "They want to see if he's everything the prophecy promised. If he's worth the chaos his existence has already caused."

"They want to pay respects to their future king," I correct gently. "And to the queen who nearly died bringing him into the world."

The bond between us ripples with her uncertainty, her lingering fear of judgment, of those who might still view her as unworthy despite everything she's endured to secure her place.

"What if he's too powerful?" she whispers, giving voice to the concern that wakes us both on nights when nightmares don't. "What if they fear him like they feared me?"

Alexander has finished feeding, his tiny face relaxed in milk-drunk contentment that makes him look like the ordinary baby he most certainly is not. I take him gently, positioning him against my shoulder with practiced ease that still surprises me - how quickly fatherhood has become as natural as breathing.

"Then we will teach him to use his gifts wisely," I promise, patting his tiny back. "Just as you use yours to heal rather than harm."

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