Epilogue

EPILOGUE

ATTICUS

I stood there at the top of the hill, staring out at the view that stretched out forever. My hands, scarred and rough from battles long past, pushed the swing gently. Higher and higher it went, and each time it swung back toward me, the bubbling laughter of Elara and Caelan—my children—greeted my ears. Their small legs kicked out as if they could catch the sky itself.

“Higher, Daddy!” Elara squealed, her twin brother echoing the sentiment with an eager nod.

“All right, just a bit more.” I gave the swing another push, careful not to let it go too high. To them, it was just another game, another day, but not to me.

Five years. Five years since everything had almost ended, since the land beneath us had been soaked in blood and desperation. No one would be lighting candles or laying flowers today. Instead, we celebrated life—theirs most of all.

“Look at us, Daddy! We’re flying!” Caelan pulled me back from the edge of my thoughts, his face split into a wide grin.

“Like birds, huh?” I said, smiling despite the tightness in my chest.

“Like dragons!” Elara corrected with a giggle, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Dragons it is, then,” I conceded, watching them soar.

The sun was warm on my face, and the rhythmic creak of the swing lulled me. Today wasn’t about looking back; it was about what we had now, what we’d fought for—peace, a chance for these children to grow up without the shadow of war hanging over their heads.

“Time to slow down, you two,” I announced after a while, catching the swing gently to bring it to a stop. They pouted a little, but the promise of later adventures was enough to coax them off.

“Can we explore the woods later?” Caelan asked, bouncing on his toes.

“Maybe after the feast,” I told him, ruffling his hair. “We’ve got a big night ahead.”

“Yay!” They cheered in unison, grabbing each other’s hands and spinning around in wild dance.

I watched them dance. This was our victory, our future. Nothing, not the ghosts of the past nor the uncertainty of tomorrow, could take that away from us.

Aria stepped up beside me, her silhouette melding with the hill’s gentle slope. The breeze whipped through her hair, teasing a few strands out of the loose tie at the back of her head. Her face softened as she watched Elara and Caelan, those rare silver eyes of hers shining with all the love in the world.

“Hard to believe it’s been five years,” I said.

She slid her hand into mine, and I relished the touch that had become my anchor. “Five years of peace,” Aria said, her thumb tracing small circles on the back of my hand. She nodded toward Elara and Caelan who were still dancing.

“Five years of us, of them,” she added, eyes never leaving the sight of our children laughing.

I chuckled. “Peace,” I said, still watching her. The word meant more than just a world without war; it was the calm that had resided inside me since our lives had intertwined.

We turned our backs to the hill, the swing now still behind us, and started toward the manor. The structure stood proud yet unassuming, merging with the surrounding nature. I could hear the clatter of pots and pans as the cooks prepared for tonight’s feast.

“Look, Daddy, my shadow puppets are coming with us,” Elara called out. I glanced over my shoulder to see a procession of shadows trailing after her. There was a fox, its tail bushy and full, playfully nipping at the heels of a butterfly that fluttered close to the ground.

“Very clever,” I said, watching as she guided them with flicks of her hands. Those shadow creatures danced to her tune, almost as if they were alive. It warmed me to see her wield the gift with such joy.

“Look, Mama, I made a leaf storm.” Caelan laughed, excited with the thrill of his discovery. He waved his arms, sending swirls of leaves dancing around him.

“It’s beautiful!” Aria praised, clapping her hands together. Her eyes sparkled with pride as she watched our son master his own gift of nature.

Aria bent, her fingers brushing against a wildflower. She plucked it gently from the ground and moved behind Elara, sliding the flower behind her ear. “There, now you’re as pretty as the meadows,” she said softly.

I watched them, my chest tight with something like joy, or maybe pride. “We did good, didn’t we?” I asked.

“Better than good,” Aria said, her eyes fixed on our kids. “We made a new path.”

“Nothing like what we had,” I murmured.

“Exactly. They’ll know love, laughter...freedom.”

“Everything we didn’t have,” I added. The shadows of our past seemed so distant now, almost like they belonged to someone else.

We settled the twins down for a nap, then tiptoed through the house and out into the garden. It was a space that mirrored us, wildflowers alongside carefully tended rows, herbs and vegetables in harmony.

“Every plant, every flower... it’s a part of us.” Aria’s hand brushed over a lavender sprig.

“Feels like forever since we started this,” I commented, picking a leaf and crushing it between my fingers, releasing its scent.

“It’s hard to imagine life before this garden, before them.”

“Hard, but not impossible,” Aria said, leaning close to sniff a rose. “We’ve come a long way.”

“From the battlefield to here,” I said, glancing back at the house where our children slept. “From blood and steel to earth and bloom.”

“We’ve grown,” Aria agreed, her smile reaching her eyes.

I took her hand in mine, feeling the calluses of battles past and the softness of a life more peaceful.

We settled onto the old bench, the oak’s branches reaching above us like outstretched arms. Aria leaned in, her weight against me a familiar comfort.

“Do you ever think about where we’d be if—” She stopped short, the words hanging unfinished in the air.

“If the battle had gone differently?” I knew the thought that haunted her, the same one that used to keep me up at night. I shook my head. “I used to. In the beginning, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” I cupped her cheek in my palm. “Now,” I said, pausing, “now, I think only of this, of you, of them. Of the future we’re building.”

Aria’s smile caught the last light of day, soft and glowing. It hit me every time, like a punch to the gut, in the best way.

“I love you,” she said.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “I love you.” The words felt heavy on my tongue, full of everything we had shared. “More every day, my queen.”

The light changed, stretching shadows across the garden. We watched the sun dip lower, painting everything with a warm gold.

“Tonight will be a good night,” I said.

She leaned into me, warm against my side. “Just a little longer here,” she murmured.

“Yeah, just us,” I agreed.

No grand speeches or ceremonies. Just the soft rustle of leaves and the fading day. This moment, this peace, it was ours, and no one else’s. Not yet.

The feast was alive with the kind of life that you could feel in the marrow of your bones. I stood there for a moment, taking it all in. Aria’s laugh cut through the night, clear and contagious. Mia was right there with her, sharing in the joke, their heads thrown back in mirth.

I smiled. They were so happy. Some days, I still couldn’t believe it.

Ilaric darted past me, his form blurred as he chased the twins across the grassy clearing. Their giggles were like music, the sound of pure joy that echoed in the open space.

“Gotcha!” Ilaric shouted, swooping Caelan into his arms as Elara sprinted away, little legs pumping fast.

“Again, Uncle Ilaric! Again!” Caelan squealed, wriggling to be put down.

“All right, but this is the last time, little man.” He set Caelan down, and they were off again, a whirlwind of energy under the twilight sky.

I couldn’t help but grin. We’d come out on the other side, stronger than before. Around me, the pack mingled, laughter and voices weaving into a tapestry of celebration. Faces glowed in the bonfire light, every line and crease telling its own story.

“Atticus, come join us,” someone called from a table laden with food.

“Be right there,” I replied, lingering on the scene before me. This was more than just survival. This, right here, was triumph.

I stepped back, just a little, watching it all unfold. Aria’s laugh cut through the night, clear and bright. She was with Mia, hands moving as she spun some tale that had them both in stitches.

“Remember when you—” Aria broke off, laughing too hard to finish.

“Every time,” Mia managed between chuckles, shaking her head.

The kids ran circles around Ilaric. His face lit up like he’d captured the moon itself. He never tired, not with them. They adored him, and it showed.

“Uncle Ilaric, look how fast I am!” Elara shouted.

“Like lightning, little one,” Ilaric praised, beaming.

Watching them, I felt it. This was what family meant, the kind we chose for ourselves. It settled deep in my bones, a solid truth I’d never let go.

“Hey, Atticus, try this.” Seren gestured from the drinks table, where she stood with Hale. His arm brushed hers, a silent conversation in their touch.

“Sure.” I moved over, taking the proffered mug. The brew was strong, the kind that warmed from the inside out.

“Good stuff,” I nodded.

“Thanks,” Hale said, his eyes finding Seren’s. “We made it.”

“I can tell. It’s got a kick,” I replied.

They shared a look, something private and profound. It spoke of battles fought and won, of a partnership that was rock solid.

“Seems like everyone’s found their place,” I said.

“Looks that way,” Seren agreed, topping off another cup.

“Here’s to that,” Hale raised his mug, and we clinked ours softly.

“Here’s to us,” I echoed, feeling the truth of it all settle around us like a cloak.

“Lyza, look out,” Joren said as another toddler made a break for the woods. Quick as a flash, Lyza scooped up the little escape artist, spinning him around until his giggles filled the air.

“Gotcha,” she said, her strategic mind always three steps ahead of their children’s next move. “You’re not getting away that easily.”

“Mommy’s too quick for you,” Joren added, ruffling the boy’s hair. Their other toddler clung to his leg, looking up with wide, expectant eyes, clearly plotting her next bit of mischief.

“Your turn to chase me, Daddy,” she demanded, releasing Joren just as quickly.

“Is that so?” Joren glanced at me with an amused smirk before taking off after his daughter, leaving a trail of hearty chuckles behind him.

Children wove joy into every day. It wasn’t just about keeping the kids in line; it was about teaching them, loving them. They were shaping the future of our pack with every laugh and lesson.

“Those two never stop, do they?” Gorden asked from beside the fire where he sat with Eldan.

Forced out of his own pack because of his sexuality, Gorden had sought a safe haven with Silver Claw. From the moment they met, he and Eldan had formed an unbreakable connection. The unfolding relationship between the men brought me hope that all differences could be met with acceptance.

Eldan shook his head, his eyes warm with pride. “They’re what keeps us on our toes, future defenders in the making.”

“Thanks to you,” I said, nodding at Eldan. He’d taken every willing youngster under his wing, turning raw talent into skilled protectors. “The pack’s safer because of your training.”

“Couldn’t do it without Gorden,” Eldan replied, clasping hands with his partner. “He’s got a knack for spotting potential.”

Gorden agreed, his attention lingering on Eldan with quiet respect.

The night wore on, the bonfire dwindling to embers. Aria leaned against me. Our kids were sprawled across the blanket, lost in dreams. I wrapped my arm around her, pulling her closer.

“This was a beautiful night,” she murmured.

“A perfect night.”

I looked up, stars piercing the dark sky. Gratitude welled up inside me. For this moment. For my family. For the life we built. I didn’t need to say it out loud. The stars knew. Every silent thank you for Aria, for our kids, for every day we had. The quiet of the night understood it all.

“Love you,” I murmured.

Aria snuggled closer to me. “Love you more,” she said above the crackle of the dying fire.

That was everything.

Continue reading for a sneak peek of Fated to the Cursed Alpha