Chapter 307 307
Aurélie POV
“Damien, go and get some towels and a glass of water for Aurélie.”
My beta doesn’t ask. She orders. Boldly. Directly. As if she isn’t speaking to the Alpha King himself.
“Why can’t Florence go?” Damien growls, never lifting his attention from me as he wipes my brow with a cool, damp flannel.
“Because I’m trained,” she replies sharply, “and I need to stay.”
Her authority fills the room without effort.
This may be Damien’s and my bedroom, but it no longer belongs to us. Not tonight. It has been transformed into a birthing suite, and Florence and Fabrice are in charge of it.
Reluctantly, Damien leaves.
The moment the door closes behind him, Fabrice turns fully toward me, both hands coming up to cradle my face.
“I need to examine you,” his voice murmurs directly into my mind, “and I don’t have time for Damien to try and kill me.”
Even out of the room, Damien’s ears are still tuned to every sound within it.
We move quickly. I have no issue with Fabrice assisting he delivered the twins, after all but Florence’s presence steadies me even more. Without her, this room would be filled with nothing but two males circling each other like threats.
“Alright,” Florence says, helping me sit up slightly. “You’re almost ready to push. Did you not feel the contractions?”
“I did,” I admit, breathless, “but I thought it was just the baby kicking. There isn’t much room left in there anymore.”
“Here towels. Plenty of them.”
Damien strides back in carrying an armful, dropping them at the foot of the bed for Florence.
“Aurélie is ready to start pushing,” Florence informs him calmly.
Her tone is casual, almost dismissive but she pointedly avoids meeting his eyes.
Fabrice suddenly finds my medical notes utterly fascinating, flipping through them with intense concentration. He’d brought them along instinctively when they arrived for what was meant to be a surprise baby shower.
“And how exactly do we know that?” Damien snarls, jaw tight.
I feel the surge of possessiveness through the mate bond, sharp and overwhelming as his instincts threaten to overpower his restraint.
“Damien,” I say firmly, “it’s fine. I’m fully dilated. They just needed to check.”
“They?” His chest expands, shoulders squaring like he’s preparing for battle.
If I didn’t need Fabrice right now, I’d warn him to start running.
“Will you behave,” I snap through the mind-link, “or do I need to fetch Lucas or Maurice to restrain you?”
Lucas had been here earlier. I hadn’t even managed to see him properly before I was rushed inside. He’d offered a quick word of luck as I passed.
“That’s it, Aurélie,” Florence urges. “One last push.”
With everything I have left, I push.
And suddenly, he’s there.
The baby slips free into my waiting hands, instinct guiding me as I lift him to my chest.
“Oh, Aurélie,” Florence breathes, pride thick in her voice. “He’s beautiful.”
Fabrice keeps one eye on my vitals, calm and precise as ever, while Florence works quickly cleaning him just enough before giving him back to me.
I cradle him protectively, his tiny mouth already rooting, searching.
Once the cord is cut, I pass him gently to Damien.
My heart clenches at the sight.
The Alpha King bare-chested, powerful, feared throughout the land holds his newborn son against his skin. The most formidable man alive, cradling the most fragile of beings.
Damien’s eyes lift to mine before his mouth claims mine in a fierce, emotion-filled kiss. His love for me and our children surges through the bond, overwhelming and absolute.
“Do we have a name?” Fabrice asks quietly, stepping closer to admire our son. His hand rests briefly on Damien’s shoulder.
“We talked about a few,” I murmur, exhaustion finally seeping in as the adrenaline begins to fade.
“Which one did you like?” Damien asks softly, his thumb brushing our baby’s cheek with reverence, as though even that small touch might be too much.
“I loved them all,” I say, shifting slightly to get comfortable. “You choose.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.” I smile up at him. “I trust you.”
His gaze lingers on me for a moment longer before returning to our son.
“This is,” he says with quiet certainty, “Frédéric Roux-Garnier.”