Epilogue

EPILOGUE

T he Brotherhood had cleared the whole mansion first, of course.

A week later, as Mahrci stood at the front door of the vast brick house she had grown up in, she looked through the grand entrance as if it were a place she had never been before: Even though she recognized the black-and-white marble floor, and the grand-father clock, and the oil painting of her mother through the arch into the parlor . . . the composite didn’t resonate.

Then again, so much of everything had been a lie.

“You don’t have to go in.”

She glanced up at Mayhem. He was by her side, a silent, intense presence that was unwavering—even though she knew he didn’t want her to be here. But she’d had to come. She needed to see this all for herself.

“Yes, I do,” she whispered. “I have to go inside one last time—”

Down at the far end of the corridor, the flap door into the pantry opened, and the Black Dagger Brother Tohrment, the one with the navy blue eyes and the military haircut with the white stripe in front, emerged. His appearance was a welcome one. Though she had all she needed with Mayhem, the idea there were other people around made her a little less paranoid.

“Thanks for letting me come,” she said as the warrior came up to them.

“Always. You’re always welcome.”

As the males greeted each other by clapping palms, she wandered into the dining room, remembering the meals she had eaten there with her father. And then there was the library, and his study, and . . . the parlor. When she came back to the base of the formal staircase, she looked toward the second floor.

“You can go up there, too,” Tohrment said. “And take anything you want.”

“Where is he,” she whispered. Even though she knew the answer to that.

Her father, Whestmorel, had disappeared.

After the horrible scene at Camp Ghreylke had been stabilized, a group of Brothers had come here—and found the mansion, the guest house, and the garage uninhabited.

The male had taken the staff with him. And, from what she understood, all the computers in the house.

“We’ll get him,” the Brother said.

He didn’t go any further than that. Then again, what was going to happen to her father after the Brotherhood took him into custody was going to be too grim to put into words.

Mayhem put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll go up with you?”

It was a while before she shook her head. And then she looked into his eyes. “I don’t want anything from my room. I just . . . maybe it can all be given away, or something.”

“Absolutely,” Tohrment said. “Safe Place will take the clothing and shoes and provide them to females in need.”

“Good. That’s . . . good.”

As a result of his treason, all of her father’s possessions had been seized by the King, part of the provisions of the Old Laws. But she was quite sure the bank accounts had been emptied before he’d left—Whestmorel had been prepared for this, had no doubt been working for the moment when his plans became public and the Brotherhood went after him.

Her sire was now an enemy of the great Blind King. And though she felt no love for him, there was all kinds of dread for what he had brought upon himself.

With a shiver, she stepped into Mayhem’s body and wrapped an arm around his waist. As she tilted her head, it came up against his pec, right on the spot that felt like home to her now.

He didn’t tell her everything was going to be okay—because he never lied, and his rock-solid integrity, after all the falsities and schemes of her father, was among the traits she valued most in him. He just stood by her, strong and tall, steady as a mountain.

She trusted him completely. And that, along with Crawie’s safety, was all she needed in life.

“Let’s go.” Mahrci took a deep breath. “Apex and Callum are due at our house in a half hour, and you wanted to help with setting the table.”

As he nodded and brushed her mouth with a kiss, she felt a renewed sense of well-being. Focusing on the present was the way to deal with a past you otherwise couldn’t live with. And Lassiter knew, it helped to have a mate who supported you with all their heart and soul.

“Keep in touch,” Tohrment said. “Anything either of you need, we’re here.”

Mayhem smiled in a wry way. “Vishous has made the dubious decision to offer me a job. Guess he was impressed with my tinkering.”

The Brother smiled. “I heard he was going to do that. You thinking it over?”

“Oh, I’m in.” Hemmy glanced down at her. “Nothing we’d rather do than help the King.”

“Yes,” she echoed. “We’re both committed to Wrath. One hundred percent.”

Tohrment bowed at the waist, an honor that was not lost on her.

Funny, for however pretentious her father had been, he had never received such respect. And now, as a result of his quest for power, he was begging for the kind of attention that was going to guarantee him a cold grave.

But the consequences of treason were not the kind of fate you could get out of. Not when the Black Dagger Brotherhood was in charge.

Not when you went after Wrath, son of Wrath, sire of Wrath, the great Blind King.

“Let’s go home, my love,” she whispered.

“Anything you say,” Hemmy responded. “And anywhere you want to go.”

Way upstate, a good two-hundred-plus miles north of Caldwell, Apex re-formed before a storefront that, against all odds, was just as he’d remembered it to be. Thirty years later? What were the chances.

But, yup, the Bloomin’ Buds Flower Shop was still in business.

The rest of the Connelly town square was pretty much the same, too. Couple of new businesses, but still the Christmas-card-perfect little town. There were even strands of lights and wreaths linking up the sidewalk lamps, and a big pine tree by the gazebo in the center of the public park was as yet still lit red and green and gold—

Next to him, Callum re-formed, and the second the wolven became corporeal, the two linked hands and tilted in for a kiss.

“So this is the place?” Callum asked as they eased back.

“Yes. Every night, I came here.”

“Can we go inside?”

Apex checked his watch. “Right before closing. Why not?”

They walked forward and Apex opened the door, a little bell ringing. The shop was twice the size it had once been and arranged differently, only the refrigerator unit in the same place. Now there were all kinds of cards, teacups, photo frames, and stuffed animals for sale . . . as well as snow globes, ornaments, baskets, and baby blankets . . . and of course, flowers.

“How can I help—”

As the female voice cut off, Apex looked toward the checkout. No cash register anymore, but a laptop. No more paper receipts. No more clutter.

But the woman standing next to a halfway-made arrangement of red roses was the same.

Well, almost the same. She had aged thirty years, her hair a white cap, her face lined, her hands craggy with veins and bones.

“It’s . . . you,” she whispered.

Apex glanced down at his black clothes, and thought of all the weapons on him. After everything that had happened at Camp Ghreylke, he wasn’t about to be this far north without being armed—fuck it, he wasn’t going unarmed anywhere. Not that he had ever really done that, at any rate.

“Yes,” he replied. “It is.”

Lifting his eyes back to the woman, he thought about how the noninterference rule between vampires and all the rats without tails was still very much in place. But he’d had to bring his love back here. It was part of them reclaiming their collective past.

They’d enjoyed a very nice Last Meal with that symphath the night before, for example. And were going back next week for another round of dinner and desensitization, as they called it.

So, yes, they’d had to come here—

Bing!

As the bell went off, the three of them looked over to the door. And as a woman stepped in, with a man behind her, it was another case of well-there-you-are: It was the other half of the “buds” part of the business, and Apex remembered how the woman had been so afraid of him last time. How she’d moved her purse closer to her, and had looked like she was about to hop on the phone to call the police.

“Hi,” he said. Like he knew her.

“Hello . . .” she breathed as she looked him over.

She, too, had aged, her face wrinkled, her hair white as well. The man who was with her was the same, older and wizened, and Apex approved of the way he stepped in close and put his arm around her: The protective impulse might have been made by an old man, but it was testament to the fact that though the exterior may have aged, the spirit remained alive.

“This is . . .” Apex stepped back and indicated Callum. “Who I was buying those flowers for.”

The woman behind the counter came out, her expression shifting from shock to wonder. “All these years. I wondered what happened to you.”

“Me, too,” the other one said. “We always talked about you.”

Apex nodded as he relinked his hand with Callum’s. “It’s been a long time. But I found him again. We just had to come here.”

“You gonna introduce us?” the old man said.

The woman next to him nodded. “This is my husband, Ernie. And this is . . .”

“An old customer of the shop’s,” Apex supplied.

From what he remembered, she had been full of sorrow when he’d seen her. The sadness had been palpable.

But it wasn’t there anymore.

“Guess fate was kind to both of us,” he said roughly.

Tilting her head to the side, she reached for her mate’s hand as well. “Yes, it was.”

“Did you like all those white flowers?” the other one asked the wolven.

Callum spoke up. “Yes, ma’am. Yes, I did. White roses are my favorite. He prefers the red ones.”

The woman glanced at her business partner. Then she doubled back, and drew one perfect bloom out of the bouquet.

She approached with the rose outstretched. “Here. Give this to him. On the house.”

Callum accepted the gift, and stared at the old woman with soft eyes. “That is very kind of you.” Then he turned to Apex. “For you, my love.”

Apex took a deep breath, and thought . . .

Who knew reality could be better than the life he’d had to make up for them?

Because there was no way he could have cooked up this strangely perfect reunion in his own mind, back in the days when he had been playing pretend with the way they’d lived. In fact, everything that they were doing together now, the sex, the sleeping, the conversations—this moment right here—was just so much more than what he’d tried to create in his mind.

“Thank you,” he said as he took the bloom, put it to his nose, and inhaled. “Oh, wow. That’s beautiful.”

Just like his wolven was.

Just like . . . their future was. For no matter what happened next, be it highs or lows, trials or triumphs, here or wherever they went . . . they were together.

And that was all he had ever wanted.