Fated and knocked up by the Alpha King (Elara) novel Chapter 6

Elara’s POV

By the time our flight landed in Minnesota, Cassia had declared herself a martyr at least six times.

She yanked off her neck pillow like it was a boa constrictor, flung it into her carry-on, and announced, “Attention passengers, your beloved Valemont princess has returned from her humanitarian mission abroad, dragging along one surly cousin. Please clap.”

The businessman from row twelve didn’t even look up from his newspaper. The flight attendant just muttered something about never getting paid enough.

“Cassia,” I muttered, dragging my squeaky-wheeled suitcase. “You’re not a princess.”

“Correction,” she said, adjusting her oversized scarf like royalty, “I am the daughter of an Alpha, therefore: princess. Also, my twin owes me twenty bucks.”

“Delusional,” I said.

“Fabulous,” she corrected with a grin.

By baggage claim, Cassia’s scarf got caught in the carousel, and I nearly had to wrestle her free before she got dragged onto the belt.

“Still can’t be trusted in public places, I see,” a warm, amused voice said from behind.

I froze, then turned.

Caius Valemont leaned against a pillar, leather jacket slung over broad shoulders, smirk sharp as ever. His golden-brown eyes gleamed with the exact mix of charm and mischief I remembered.

Cassia squealed like a child, throwing herself into his arms. “Twin!”

“Don’t call me that in public,” he grumbled, hugging her back.

“You love it,” she sang.

“Debatable.”

Their bickering cracked something warm open inside me. I hadn’t realized how much I missed this until right now.

Caius’s attention slid to me, his grin softening. “Elara.”

“Caius,” I breathed, and he pulled me into a hug that squeezed a laugh out of me.

“You disappear across the ocean and the first thing I hear is Cass nearly strangled by a scarf?” he said, releasing me. “Checks out.”

“She was born dramatic,” I said.

“I heard that!” Cassia huffed, already stomping toward the exit. “Come on. I need fries.”

“Spain literally fed you patatas bravas,” Caius pointed out.

“Not the same,” she said darkly. “I require American grease.”

The drive toward Valemont Pack was a blur of headlights, forests, and sibling sniping.

Cassia kept leaning over the seat to smack Caius’s arm whenever he teased her about her hat collection. “These are artifacts,” she protested.

“Artifacts from what? The land of questionable taste?” he shot back.

I sat in the back, half-laughing, half-exhausted, the sound of their bickering oddly comforting. After Paris, after Spain and Portugal, after all the noise in my own head… this felt like home.

By the time we pulled into the sweeping drive of Valemont Pack, twilight had dipped the forest in purple shadows. The pack house loomed at the center, all glowing windows and familiar stone, like it had been waiting for us to return.

The heavy front doors opened before Caius had even parked. Alpha Darius Valemont stood framed in the golden light, arms folded across his broad chest. He was every inch the Alpha: tall, dark hair peppered with gray at the temples, lines of authority carved deep into his face. But his eyes — sharp gray, like Caius’s — softened the second they landed on us.

“My daughter” he rumbled, then his gaze slid to me, “and my niece”

Darius’s expression shifted into something almost teasing. “When I permitted this little European escape, I told you two—” he pointed between Cassia and me “—no trouble. Was that so difficult?”

Cassia’s grin froze. She slid her sunglasses down her nose like a guilty child. “Define… trouble?”

Darius pinched the bridge of his nose, but his shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.

Before he could press further, a familiar figure swept gracefully onto the porch. Seraphina. My mother.

She was elegance personified, her long dark hair pinned up, her healer’s robes faintly scented of lavender and parchment. The moment her eyes found me, her composure cracked. “Elara,” she breathed.

I barely made it up the steps before her arms wrapped tight around me, warm and steady, the one constant in every storm. “You’re home,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to my temple.

Something in my chest unclenched. “I missed you, Mom.”

“I missed you too, sweetheart. Though from the way Cassia’s been sending postcards, I feel like I was on half your trip anyway.” She tilted her head at my cousin. “Seventeen postcards, Cassandra. Seventeen.”

“Artistic documentation,” Cassia said proudly.

Seraphina laughed softly, then drew back to look me over, her healer’s gaze sharp. “You’ve lost a little weight. Too much running around.”

“Too many tapas,” I corrected.

Cassia gasped. “Never too many tapas.”

Behind us, Caius was dragging the last of the luggage toward the door. “If you two start about tapas again, I’m leaving you both at the airport next time.”

“Lies,” Cassia sang. “You’d miss me too much.”

Darius finally chuckled, adjusting the ridiculous hat still perched on his head. “Come in, before the whole pack hears us bickering like children. Supper’s waiting.”

As we stepped into the glowing warmth of the Valemont house, Cassia leaned close to me, whispering, “See? Easy. No trouble at all.”

I shot her a look, but couldn’t help laughing.

And for the first time since Paris, I let myself believe I was safe.

Dinner at Valemont Pack was always a production. The long oak table gleamed under golden chandeliers, steaming platters lined the center, and warriors shuffled in and out with more food than three packs could eat. But the real show was always my family.

Alpha Darius sat at the head, his shoulders straight as a general, though the ridiculous wide-brimmed hat Cassia had dumped on him earlier still hung crooked off the coat rack behind him. Cassia smirked every time she glanced at it.

“I said don’t bring trouble back with you,” Alpha Darius said now, carving into his roast. His golden eyes flicked toward Cassia. “What did I get instead? Trouble squared.”

Cassia gasped, placing a hand to her chest. “Father! I’m innocent.”

Caius snorted into his drink. “That’s a lie so big it should be carved into stone.”

“I only dragged Elara to three countries, two questionable bars, and one flamenco club,” Cassia said brightly. “That’s practically tame.”

“Practically tame?” Alpha Darius echoed, dry as the desert. “Only my daughter could measure chaos in flamenco.”

I choked on my water, laughing into my napkin.

At my side, Mom watched quietly, her hands folded neatly on the table. Her expression was calm, her smile soft — but her eyes… they flicked to me again and again, sharp with an intuition I couldn’t dodge. She didn’t say anything, but I could feel her watching me too closely, as if she already knew something I didn’t want to admit.

“So,” Alpha Darius continued, spearing another slice of meat, “did you embarrass this pack name across Europe or not?”

Cassia leaned in like she was about to deliver state secrets. “Depends on how you define embarrassing.”

Caius groaned. “Please stop talking.”

Cassia ignored him, turning her attention on me. “You know, cousin here—”

“—she had the glow the entire trip. Especially after Paris.”

“What?” She grinned, looking far too pleased with herself. “You’ve been queasy since Paris. You fell asleep during tapas in Madrid. And tonight at dinner, you looked at stew like it was poison. Stew, Elara. Your favorite. Clearly, you’re pregnant.”

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