Jace pov
I stood in the nursery we had prepared months ago, holding his sleeping son and staring out the window at the cemetery where his father was buried. Marcus Thomas Storms was three days old, healthy and perfect, with his mother's green eyes and what looked like it would be his father's dark hair.
And Marcus Storms—the original, the legendary Alpha—would never meet his grandson.
The grief hit me in waves at the strangest moments. While changing a diaper. While watching my son yawn. While Grace nursed our baby and hummed softly. Each perfect moment was tinged with the bitter knowledge that my father should be here to see this, to meet the grandson who carried his name.
Storm whimpered in my mind. *Father would be proud. Of our mate, our pup, what we've built.*
*I know,* I thought
