Epilogue

Hannah

The snowfall has softened the forest into a quiet, silver wonderland. I watch from the window of the pack house. Rhys helps a group of pack wolves shovel snow from the paths. His dark hair glints under the pale winter sun, strands catching the light as he works. A warm flush spreads through me, watching him laugh with Charlie, one of the younger wolves, who seems determined to turn shoveling into an impromptu snow-tossing competition.

Rhys loses, of course. He always lets the younger ones win at these things, though his mock-exasperated groan when a pile of snow hits his boots deserves an award all on its own. He doesn’t see me watching, which makes the moment even more precious. This is Rhys—not the loner who stumbled into our territory weeks ago, full of hesitation and mistrust, but a man who’s learning to stop fighting his place in the world. Who’s thriving here, with my family, my pack.

With me.

“Penny for your thoughts?” My alpha brother’s voice pulls me out of my reverie. Ryan leans against the counter, his arms crossed, watching me carefully. He glances between me and the window, where Rhys has now hoisted Charlie onto his shoulders in a show of good-natured defeat. “You’re staring again.”

“You’re imagining things,” I say, though I can feel the heat rising up my neck, betraying me.

Ryan smirks knowingly, an expression that seems almost foreign on his usually serious face. It’s the most relaxed I’ve seen him in days. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile like that. Or you, for that matter.” His tone is light, teasing, but there’s no mistaking the sincerity behind it.

I shrug, trying to downplay my emotions, but the grin tugging at the corners of my lips refuses to be suppressed. “Guess you’ll just have to get used to it.”

Ryan chuckles, shaking his head. “I think I can manage that.” He pauses, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “Actually, you know… he’s been doing great at the construction company. That guy works harder than anyone I’ve seen in a long time. I’m glad I hired him—he’s the real deal.”

I blink in surprise at his unexpected praise, and before I can stop myself, my smile widens. “He’s got a way of surprising people,” I admit, my voice full of quiet pride.

There’s a brief silence that stretches between us, one that feels less like a gap and more like a bridge. When I glance up, I see that Ryan’s expression has softened, his usual alpha sternness replaced by something quieter, almost vulnerable.

“You know I was wrong about him, right?” he says finally, his voice quieter now, laced with a kind of reluctant humility that makes the moment feel weightier. “It wasn’t easy for me to see it at first, but… you’re good for each other. And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you proved me wrong.”

The words hit with a force I don’t expect, something in my chest hitching in response. For so long, I’d felt like I was pushing a mountain up a hill, fighting to convince Ryan to trust Rhys, to trust me and my choice. To hear this—unexpected, unprompted—is like the final piece of something clicking into place.

For a moment, I don’t trust my voice. When I finally speak, it’s through a rush of emotion that I barely manage to steady. “Thanks, Ryan.”

“Just take good care of each other, okay?”

“We will.” And I mean it, with every piece of my heart.

???

By the time afternoon rolls around, the pack house is filled with its usual holiday bustle. Wolves come and go, picking up hot drinks and pastries between their errands, their laughter mingling with the music playing softly through the speakers. Rhys slips through the door just as I’m handing off a tray of warm cinnamon rolls to Ellen, one of my favorite pack elders.

“I smell cinnamon,” he says, his voice warm and teasing as he leans against the counter. Snowflakes cling stubbornly to his hair, and his silver-gray eyes catch mine, sending a shiver of warmth through me. “You holding out on me, Thorne?”

I grin, grabbing a roll from the back of the tray and handing it to him. “One for the road. Don’t get used to this VIP treatment just because you’re my mate.”

Rhys doesn’t reply right away. Instead, his gaze softens, and he reaches across the counter to take my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “I’ll never get used to it,” he says quietly, his voice carrying threads of something I can only describe as awe. “But I’ll never stop being grateful for it, either. For you.”

If it weren’t for my years of living among wolves with supernaturally good hearing, I’d swear the world went completely silent in that moment. Even now—after everything we’ve been through, after claiming the bond we both resisted and yearned for—his words have the power to leave me breathless.

I squeeze his hand, my throat tight with emotion. “You earned this,” I whisper back. “You earned all of it.”

???

We’re back in our cabin—what used to be the “guest” cabin—when he surprises me.

The night outside is falling fast, the hour growing long, but Rhys seems strangely unhurried. He leads me toward the small armchair by the window, nudges me until I sit down, and then retrieves the thick, woolen blanket draped over the back of it. He kneels at my feet as he wraps it around my shoulders, the gesture so tender it steals my breath.

“When do I get to find out what you’re up to?” I ask, my voice edged with curiosity. “This feels suspiciously premeditated.”

His lips twitch slightly as he pulls something out of his coat pocket. It’s a small box, wrapped somewhat clumsily in striped, red-and-white paper, and I catch the slight hesitation in the way he holds it out, as though still adjusting to the idea of giving and receiving in a world full of people who care about him.

“For you,” he murmurs, his voice almost bashful. “It—it might not be much, but…”

I take the box gently, my chest swelling with affection as I look up at him, sitting there in front of me with a vulnerability that speaks more of trust than any words ever could. Carefully, I peel the wrapping away to reveal a small, wooden carving inside. A wolf and a crescent moon. It’s unmistakably carved by his hand—the same hands that built his survival in the wilderness and shielded my world from harm. The detail is exquisite, the lines clean but full of a quiet kind of wild beauty.

“Rhys,” I whisper, my voice trembling slightly as I run my fingers over the smooth wood. “Did you…?”

He nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “I thought it might… remind you of what you said. About us. About me finding somewhere I belong.” His gaze flickers away. “It seemed fitting.”

A tightness blooms in my throat as his words settle over me, heavy and warm. “It’s perfect,” I manage, my eyes misting as I pull him closer, tangling my hands in the familiar warmth of his shirt. “You’re perfect.”

He shakes his head slightly, some lingering self-doubt flickering in his eyes, but he doesn’t argue. And when I press my lips softly to his, I feel his exhale—relief, acceptance, love—all captured in that single, unspoken moment.

Outside the window, the snow falls quietly. Inside, the warmth between us grows, pulling the world into something simple and whole.

For the first time in my life, everything feels complete.