Chapter 68 The Rotation System
The transition from the battered, industrial mountain climber to Elana’s luxury armored SUV was like stepping from a war zone into a sanctuary. The heated leather seats, the soft air suspension, and the quiet hum of the engine were a balm to Leela’s exhausted body.
While Fennigan and Jax stayed behind in the biting cold to wrestle the damaged climber into the lower garage and secure the gear, Elana didn't waste a second. She drove the "girls" and the babies straight to the main Pack House, bypassing the clinic entirely. She knew what Leela needed wasn't fluorescent lights and sterile tiles; she needed the Alpha floor, high-thread-count sheets, and the smell of home.
The Men’s Return
It took Fennigan and Jax nearly an hour to secure the climber and log the damage. By the time they walked through the heavy oak front doors of the Pack House, stomping the snow from their boots and shaking the ice from their coats, the house was quiet.
It wasn't an empty silence, though. It was a warm, distinct heaviness that settled over the house when the pack was safe and the cubs were fed.
"Upstairs," Fennigan murmured, his nose twitching as he caught the faint, sweet scent of warm milk and lavender drifting down the grand staircase. "I think Mom has already set up command."
They climbed the stairs, their heavy footsteps muffled by the thick runner. They were dirty, smelling of grease, pine sap, and adrenaline. When they reached the double doors of the master suite, Fennigan pushed them open gently, expecting to find Tara sleeping.
Instead, they stopped dead in the doorway.
The Village at Work
The massive king-sized bed, usually dominated by Fennigan’s sprawling presence, had been transformed into a center of operations. The fire in the bedroom hearth was crackling, casting a golden glow over a scene of pure, coordinated feminine power.
Leela was propped up against the velvet headboard, looking cleaner, warmer, and softer than she had in weeks. She had been changed into fresh pajamas, her hair braided back loosely. Cradled in her left arm, Briar was latched on, nursing with a rhythmic, contented focus that made her tiny hand flex against Leela's skin.
But Leela wasn't bearing the burden alone.
Sitting right beside her, with the regal posture of a matriarch who had done this a thousand times, was Elana. She held Caspian securely in the crook of her arm, expertly angling a bottle of warmed formula. Caspian was drinking greedily, his dark eyes fixed on his grandmother’s face as she murmured a soft, nonsensical stream of affection to him.
Ginny was sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, sorting through a stack of burp cloths and tiny onesies, ready to jump in the moment a baby needed burping or changing.
The Rotation Strategy
"Well," Jax whispered, leaning against the doorframe with a crooked, tired grin. "I think we've been replaced, brother. Look at the efficiency."
Elana looked up sharply, a finger flying to her lips. "Shh. We just got the rhythm synced. Don't break the concentration."
Fennigan walked further into the room, his boots feeling heavy on the plush carpet. His eyes softened as he took in the sight of his mother and his wife working in tandem. He moved to the side of the bed, leaning down to press a lingering, grateful kiss to Leela’s forehead, breathing in her scent.
"I see you've got reinforcements," Fennigan murmured, running a hand over Briar’s soft head.
"I have a system," Leela corrected softly, looking down at her daughter. "Your mother isn't taking no for an answer."
Elana didn't look up from Caspian, but she smiled. "Leela is recovering, Fennigan. If she tries to breastfeed two hungry Elementals on her own every single time, her energy reserves will bottom out again. So we rotate."
"She feeds the girl, I feed the boy," Elana explained, shifting the bottle slightly. "Next feeding, we switch. Leela provides the immunity and the bond; I provide the extra calories and the grandmotherly charm."
"And I provide the logistics," Ginny added from the foot of the bed, holding up a clean diaper like a trophy. "And the burping. I'm the designated burper."
The Alpha’s Relief
Fennigan watched them—his mother nourishing his son, his wife nourishing his daughter, and their friend ready to support them both. The fear of the mountain slide, the terror of the fog, and the cold isolation of the last two weeks felt a million miles away.
He reached out, his large hand covering Leela’s free hand where it rested on the blanket. She turned her palm up, lacing her fingers through his.
"I like the system," Fennigan decided, his voice rough with gratitude. "It takes a village... and I'm glad this is ours."
"The best," Leela whispered, closing her eyes as the warmth of the room—and her pack—finally allowed her to truly rest.