The Alpha's and Their Assassin Mate

Chapter 6

Dean’s POV



I smiled as she sat beside the twins’ bassinets with her elbows on her knees and her fingers hovered just above Kelly’s blanket. Then my smile fell at her posture was rigid, as if she were holding herself together through sheer force of will. The soft glow from the monitors cast shadows beneath her eyes, deepening the exhaustion etched into her features.

It wasn’t the first time I’d seen that look. She’d been quieter these past couple of days, wasn’t eating much and slept even less. She was always watching the twins with a vigilance that never eased. She hadn’t let them out of her sight except for the brief time she took a bath. I’d noticed all of it in pieces, small things that didn’t add up, but she always caught herself before anyone could look too closely.

But now, in the quiet of morning, she thought no one was watching.

Her breath hitched, as if she was afraid. Her fingers trembled as she brushed Asher’s tiny arm. Tenderness and pain tangled together in the bond in a way she would never admit aloud. For a moment, she wasn’t the Luna who carried the weight of a pack or the warrior who survived everything thrown at her. She was simply Max, a woman who had lost before and feared losing again.

I reached toward the bond, searching gently, but she was shielding herself, not fully closed, but enough to not worry us. Over the last few months, she had learned to slip behind walls so well we barely noticed.

Titan’s voice was soft. “She thinks showing pain makes her a burden. Old habits are hard to break.” I hated how true that felt.

Then she sensed me. It was subtle, a shift in her breathing, a small straightening of her spine. She smoothed her expression with practiced ease, the softness I’d glimpsed tucked away as if it had never existed. But she didn’t close the bond entirely. She left a thread open, a small offering of trust.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her movements steady. “Morning,” she whispered, her voice even, though her eyes carried shadows.

I crossed the room and kissed her gently. “Morning,” I murmured. “What’s weighing on you, Little Star?”

She didn’t answer. Her gaze drifted back to the twins, her hand resting on the edge of the bassinet as if letting go would cost her something she didn’t have to spare.

Before I could try again, a knock sounded at the door.

The shift in her was immediate. Her shoulders loosened, her expression steadied, and she welcomed the interruption like a lifeline.

Behind me, Zane was already awake.

The knock at the door cut through the quiet like a stone dropped into still water. It wasn’t loud, but it carried enough weight to shift the entire room.

Zane reacted first.

One moment he was asleep on the couch, the next he was upright, feet planted, shoulders squared, eyes fixed on the door with a focus that belonged to a different life. His body moved before his mind had time to catch up, shaped by instincts he never talked about. The kind that came from surviving things no one should have to survive.

Titan watched through my eyes, thoughtful. “He has lived too long waiting for danger to come through a door.”

Luke stirred next, blinking himself awake in a way that felt almost human compared to Zane’s sharp transition. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to remember where he was, then followed Zane’s gaze toward the door.

Jason woke like someone had personally offended him. He groaned into the pillow, rolled onto his stomach, and muttered something that sounded like a protest against the existence of mornings. His hair stuck up in every direction, and he looked like he’d lost a fight with gravity.

Another knock.

Jason flopped an arm out dramatically. “No. Whoever that is can come back after I’ve gotten another few hours of sleep.”

Before he could protest further, Max said his name. That was all it took — one quiet, warning‑laced “Jason” — and he sat upright like she’d yanked an invisible leash. Her soft giggle followed.

I pushed myself to my feet, smoothing my shirt as I crossed the room. “I’ll get it. Probably Doc checking on Max and the pups.”

Behind me, the shift happened so quickly it felt like watching a movie.

Zane’s posture eased into something deceptively relaxed, though his eyes stayed sharp. Luke straightened in the recliner, expression composed, the last traces of sleep fading from his features. Jason ran a hand through his hair, wiped his face, and somehow managed to look like he’d been awake for hours instead of thirty seconds.

By the time my hand touched the door handle, they were every inch the Alphas the pack expected — steady, controlled and unshakable.

I opened the door. “Good morning, Doc.”

He stepped inside with a polite nod, completely unaware of the chaos he’d just missed. “Good morning, Alpha Dean. May I check on the pups and Luna?”

“Of course,” I said, stepping aside.

Jason leaned back in his chair with practiced ease, the picture of casual confidence. “Lucky guess,” he murmured under his breath.

I hid a smile.

Doc moved to the bassinets first, his hands steady and gentle as he checked the twins. He warmed the stethoscope between his palms before pressing it to their tiny chests. He tested their reflexes, their breathing, their hearing, their weight. The twins watched him with wide, curious eyes, their small fingers curling and uncurling.

Max stood close, her expression calm, but her hand rested on the edge of the bassinet, fingers curled just slightly, as if she needed the contact to stay grounded.

When Doc finished with the pups, he turned to us.

“The pups are doing well,” he said, voice steady but firm. “They’re fully developed, but they are still a little under the weight I prefer for release, so I’d like to keep them a few more days and reassess each day. Nothing concerning — just standard precaution for premature infants, especially since we didn’t know when to expect them.”

We all nodded, unsurprised. Max stepped closer, her expression steady — but her eyes softened and filled with love the moment they landed on the twins. “As long as they’re healthy, that’s all that matters,” she said with a smile.

Doc wrapped the pups snugly before turning to Max. “Luna, may I check on you as well?”

She offered her arm without hesitation, though her gaze flicked toward the twins every few minutes. Doc wrapped the cuff around her bicep, the monitor humming softly as it read her vitals. His movements were efficient, but there was a tenderness in the way he worked that he reserved for new mothers.

“Blood pressure’s still low,” he murmured, mostly to himself. Then, louder, “Not dangerously so, but lower than I’d like for someone recovering from what you went through. Have you been feeling any dizziness, fatigue, or lightheadedness? And eating — have you been getting three meals a day?”

Max’s lips pressed into a thin line — the same face she used when she already knew we wouldn’t like her response. “I get waves of dizziness, but only when I stand up. They’re quick, so I just thought I stood up too fast. I’m tired, but not as much as before giving birth.”

I put on a fake smile as a tight, sinking feeling settled in my chest, a mixture of concern and disappointment as the truth hit me — she’d been struggling quietly, pushing through symptoms, the dizziness, exhaustion, and loss of appetite all on her own when she should’ve shared it with us. How were we supposed to help her heal if she keeps hiding the parts that hurt?

“What about eating?” he asked, already writing in her chart.

Max exhaled slowly. “I’m eating, just not full meals. I know I need to, so I make myself, but I’m not really hungry.”

Doc’s tone softened. “I know. But your body’s been through a trauma, Luna. It needs more than the bare minimum. Try to eat about half a plate more — it’ll help replenish your reserves and support the pups.”

Max nodded, her gaze flicking toward the twins before she answered. “I will.”

“Good,” Doc said, though his eyes narrowed slightly, clearly not convinced. “Nutrition is only one part of recovery, but it’s not the only part.” He shifted his weight, posture turning more clinical. “Your body’s still stabilizing, and that means you need more than food. You’re strong, Luna,” he said evenly. “But strength doesn’t replace rest. I’d still like you to get a bit more sleep, keep your meals consistent, and do some light exercise. Walking the halls would be a good start.”

Max offered a small, composed smile — the kind that didn’t reach her eyes. “Yes, sir.”

Doc’s mouth twitched — the closest he ever came to a smile during an exam. He packed up his equipment, gave her a respectful nod, and stepped back. “If anything feels off, call. Otherwise, keep to the guidelines we discussed, and you’ll be back to your usual self.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Max said, voice polite but distant.

Doc discharged Max before leaving the room with a final nod.

One by one, Jason, Luke, and Zane kissed Max and the pups goodbye before returning to their Alpha duties.