A few moments later, she heard Dragos murmuring over the baby monitor, “Quit making such a fuss, Stinkpot. You’ll get your titty juice in just a moment.”

Titty juice? Clapping both hands over her mouth, she fought to remain quiet so she could hear what happened next.

Rustling noises. He was changing the baby’s diaper.

Excited barking.

Thumps, curses, more barking. The scrabble of hooves and paws. The brittle sound of something breaking. Oops, that must have been the lamp beside Niall’s changing table.

Then, “Oh for fuck’s sake, Niall—it’s just a dog. Cut it out. No, you can’t stab it! Change back, goddammit!”

She lost her struggle for self-control in an explosive guffaw.

Chapter Four

Stinkpot was every bit as fast as his father. He had two big advantages. He was only twelve pounds, so he could turn on a dime, and his strategy was pure chaos. What he couldn’t do was outthink his father’s experienced wiliness. After a few minutes of scrambling, Dragos had the little shit scooped up and firmly tucked underneath his arm. The baby’s four hooves paddled the air as if he were still running.

“Calm down,” he told the dog as he grabbed a fresh diaper. Obediently, Skeeter stopped barking and followed him back to the bedroom. There, Dragos found Pia red-faced with laughter. As soon as Stinkpot saw his mother, he started paddling faster as if that could get him to her more quickly.

“Change back now, sweet baby,” she said as she gathered him up. As soon as he was in her arms, Niall abandoned his Wyr form and eagerly latched onto the nipple she offered. Within moments peace reigned in the room.

Dragos shed his clothing and stretched out on the bed beside his mate and child. These were some of the times he treasured the most, the quiet of the room, the luminous love that Pia radiated, the delicate baby gradually falling asleep as he nursed at her breast.

It filled him, those moments, in a way that nothing had ever filled him before, not war and killing, not even sex and mating. Peace poured into his cranky old soul.

He stretched out on his side, facing them, and rested one hand on Pia’s flat abdomen. When, after a few minutes, Skeeter sneakily crept onto the foot of the bed and rested his head on Dragos’s ankle, he chose to let it go.

What did it matter, after all? The dog’s life was nothing more than a fleeting moment, and he had already lived most of it. He should have what comfort he could for the short time he was here.