Chapter 23: The Name-Day Book
Three mornings after the battle, the clubhouse smelled different. It was not the sharp tang of gunpowder and blood that had clung to the rafters for days, nor the acrid smoke of burning fence posts from the north ridge. It was bread. Warm, yeasty, golden-crusted bread, baked in the old cast-iron oven that Sofia had insisted on hauling from the salvage yard two years ago, and the scent curled through the main hall like a promise.
Duncan sat at the long trestle table with his hands wrapped around a mug of the herbal tea Sofia had brewed for him. The steam rose in lazy spirals, and he breathed it in, letting the warmth settle the queasy roll in his stomach. Across from him, Marcus was methodically consuming his third slice of bread, slathered with butter that dripped down his thick fingers. Cole and Reese argued good-naturedly about something at the far end of the table, their voices a low, comfortable rumble.
Jared was not in the hall. He had gone out before dawn with Danny to check the eastern fence line, and Duncan had felt the absence like a missing tooth. Three days since the battle, and still his chest tightened every time Jared walked out of sight. The bond pulled at him, a constant quiet hum beneath his skin, and he had learned to live with it. To lean into it.
He let his hand drift to his belly, a habit he had developed without noticing. The pup was still so small, barely a flutter of change, but he found himself reaching for the warmth there whenever he was still.
That was when Danny walked in.
The man came through the side door with his boots heavy on the plank floor, his wiry frame moving with the coiled restlessness that never quite left him. He stopped when he saw Duncan, and for a moment the old hostility flickered behind his eyes. Then it faded, the way it had been fading all week, and he crossed to the table to pour himself a cup of coffee.
"Fence is solid," he said, not quite meeting Duncan's eyes. "Jared's checking the posts on the south bend. Said he'd be back before noon."
"Thank you, Danny."
Danny grunted. He took a sip of his coffee, then stood there, a little awkward, like he did not know whether to stay or go.
At the other end of the table, Sofia set down her own mug and reached into the pocket of her leather jacket. She pulled out a worn leather journal, the cover cracked with age and the spine held together with rough twine. She slid it across the table until it stopped in front of Duncan.
He blinked at it. "What's this?"
"Every pup in this pack gets a name-day book," Sofia said. Her grey eyes were sharp, but there was something soft in her voice, a gentleness she kept buried most days. "My mother started it. She made one for each of us when we were born. Scribbled down the date, the time, the first thing we did that made her laugh. She used to say a pup deserved to know where they came from."
Duncan's throat tightened. He ran his fingers over the cracked leather cover. "I..."
"It's blank," Sofia said. She tilted her head toward his belly. "You're going to have plenty to fill it with."
The room went quiet. Even Cole and Reese stopped their bickering, and Duncan felt every eye settle on him. His hand was still resting on his stomach, and he became suddenly, acutely aware of it. He tried to pull it away, but Sofia reached across the table and caught his wrist, holding it there.
"Don't," she said softly. "It's real. You don't have to hide it in here."
Danny's jaw tightened. Duncan saw it, the hard line of his mouth, the way his fingers gripped his coffee mug a little too tight. For a moment Duncan braced himself for something sharp, a cutting remark about omegas and pups and weakness.
Danny set his mug down. He looked at the journal, then at Duncan's hand on his belly, and something in his face shifted. The hostility cracked, just a little, the way ice cracks on a thawing river.
"Sofia made me one," he said, his voice rough. "When I came to the pack. I don't know my real birth date. She put the day I showed up in it instead."
Sofia smiled, a rare, unguarded thing. "A pup deserves a beginning, even if it's not the one they were born with."
Danny was quiet for a long moment. Then he reached into his own jacket and pulled out a small, folded square of cloth. It was a faded red bandana, worn soft with age, the edges frayed. He set it on the table next to the journal and pushed it toward Duncan.
"For the book," he said. "From the old days. Before I had anywhere to call home. You can tuck it in the pages. Give the pup something with a bit of history."
Duncan stared at the bandana. His chest ached, a sweet, swelling pressure behind his ribs. When he looked up at Danny, the man was already turning away, heading for the door with his coffee in hand.
"He's not good at feelings," Sofia murmured, watching him go. "But that right there? That's practically a declaration of loyalty."
Marcus laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that shook the table. "I told you. The kid's all bark. Give him a pup to protect and he turns into a mother hen."
Duncan laughed, wet and a little shaky. He picked up the bandana, rubbing the soft, worn cloth between his fingers, then carefully tucked it between the first blank pages of the journal. The leather creaked under his touch, and he imagined his own fingers writing in it. A name. A date. The first thing his pup did that made him laugh.
"I don't know what name to give them yet," he said, half to himself.
"You've got time," Sofia said. "Nine months, or thereabouts. Use it to decide."
The side door opened again, and Jared stepped in, filling the doorway with his broad shoulders and the scent of cold desert air. His amber eyes found Duncan across the room, and his whole bearing softened, the hard edges of the alpha smoothing into something quieter, more private.
He crossed the room and leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of Duncan's head. "What's this?" he asked, nodding at the journal.
"Name-day book," Duncan said. His voice came out thick. "Sofia made me one. Danny gave me something to put in it."
Jared looked at the bandana peeking out of the pages, then at the door where Danny had disappeared. Something warm flickered in his gaze. He settled into the bench beside Duncan, one arm sliding around his waist, and pulled the journal closer to look at it.
"We'll write the first page together," he said. "When they're born. Both of us."
Duncan leaned into him, letting the steady beat of Jared's heart anchor him. The bread still smelled warm, the pack still murmured around them, and the journal sat heavy and full of promise in his hands. Three days ago, he had been fighting for his life in a war he never asked for. Now he had a book, and a bandana, and a pup growing inside him.
It was not the life he had imagined for himself. It was better.