Chapter Text
When she was born, Adam’s daughter had pale skin, a mop of thick, black hair, and her eyes were still that baby-grey. They knew before she was born that she was probably something, Coyote had visited, the Marrok had said something strange—both instances implied something would be amiss.
And it was. Their daughter smelled more like werewolf than she did of Mercy, even brand new. It put Adam on higher alert than he should have been, watching them take her vitals as he worried that she’d change. It was irrational, Mercy and Charles had both been older.
Yelena, they’d named her. It was a struggle at first to look at her, a baby named for his own grandmother whom he’d never met, but whom his mother spoke highly of, and accept that this would be her life. She was doomed to the constant battle of wills, the borderline-immortality, this was a child who would never be able to get close to her human peers for fear of losing them. It brought such turmoil to any remnants of his soul that he’d stopped paying attention.
When Bran visited, saw her from across the room the very first time, his eyes widened and he froze where he stood. Adam had thought it was instinctive. Bran didn’t have a great experience with werewolf children and the scene before him (Mercy holding a newborn baby who smelled of wolf) was probably triggering things the Marrok would prefer to ignore.
He uttered something in Welsh that sounded faintly like a “Lord help us” in tone. Bran didn’t even bother with the pleasantries of asking permission because he didn’t actually have to—the Marrok had made it known time and time again that Mercy was his—and made his way further into the room in dead silence. Only a few feet away from Mercy did he stop, peering around the swaddled as Mercy brought it away from the baby’s face.
Bran breathed.
“How lucky you are, Adam.” But the Marrok didn’t look at him, he had eyes only for the baby. “You didn’t mention.”
“Well I promise you were weren’t keeping secrets.” Mercy muttered. “So do you want to let us know what you’re talking about?”
This time, he did look up briefly, focusing on Mercy first and then Adam before returning his attention to the baby. Bran stepped closer, ran a curved knuckle over Yelena’s soft cheek. Her lips parted, her face turned to nose at him.
“Omega.” There was a soft smile. “You’ll have your hands full.”