Epilogue

HARPER

A lycan was chasing me. But I wanted to be caught.

Happiness burst inside me as I flew through the forest on four feet. The wind whistled in my ears and whipped through my fur. Snow flew under my paws.

Tree branches snapped behind me. I laughed, and the sound emerged as a short, high-pitched bark. Einar wasn't even trying to be quiet.

I glanced back, and awe shivered through me at the sight of his golden eyes and powerful form. He was magnificent, every inch of his body rippling with muscle. After four months together, his shifts from man to lycan were smooth and nearly effortless.

But as he'd predicted, the fire hadn't left him. Einar was still a rogue. But our mate bond was an anchor that banked the fire. When the flames threatened, I pulled him into our bedroom and reminded him that he was loved. That it was okay to be less than perfect. I wasn't perfect, either. My anxiety disorder had returned with me from the edge of death. Apparently, some things just couldn't be fixed.

But that didn't mean they weren't beautiful.

The wind shifted. Einar's panting breaths grew closer. Anticipation buzzed in my veins as I burst into a clearing. A second later, Einar pounced.

We tumbled to the ground together, rolling over and over through the snow. My laughter started out as a series of barks and then slid into a human giggle as we shifted from two legs to four. And then Einar was on top of me, his thigh sliding between my legs and his smile curving against my neck.

"You lost that race on purpose," he murmured, reaching down and stroking the place between my legs that made me see stars.

"Are you complaining?" I asked, letting my eyes flutter shut as I arched against him. Moisture flooded me. My clit burned with need.

Einar continued working his magic, his fingers sending waves of pleasure through me. "No, not complaining," he whispered, trailing hot kisses along my jawline. "But now that I caught you, I get to claim my prize." He drew back, grasped my hips, and flipped me onto my stomach. Before I could get my bearings, he pulled me onto all fours and plunged inside me.

My pleasured cry echoed around the clearing. I dug my fingers into the snow as he began to thrust, his cock nudging my womb. The cold would have been intolerable before, but it didn't bother me now. Lycans were hot-blooded—a trait that was taking me a while to get used to. Even in the depths of winter, I spent most of my time in tank tops and shorts. Einar spent most of his time finding excuses to take them off me.

His fingers dug into my hips. A second later, a crack split the air, and pain flared over my ass.

My gasp was loud in the clearing as I met his gaze over my shoulder. "You did not just spank me."

A wicked light entered his silver eyes. "Don't even try to pretend you didn't like it, sweetheart. Your pussy just clamped so hard, I think I might lose circulation in my dick."

My cheeks heated. Einar chuckled. Then he fucked me harder, bending over me and licking the shell of my ear.

"I love those blushes," he rumbled in my ear. "And you want to know a secret?"

"Yes," I gasped, moving with him.

"When your cheeks turn pink, your pretty nipples do too. And I love it, Harper. I love seeing my wife flushed and breathless. I especially love knowing I made her that way."

Wife. I never got tired of hearing him say it. We'd married a month after the battle at the warehouse, the ceremony held at the entrance to the maze with Arlo officiating and all of Draithmere's inhabitants around us. Arlo insisted he wasn't concerned about the Legerdemain trying to assassinate him, but Einar and I still worried. After everything he'd done for us, Arlo deserved happiness.

In the meantime, he had his hands full helping my father repair my parents' house. The two of them had struck up an unlikely friendship, and now Arlo spent a few days a week in Seattle, working with Dad to make the property livable. Although, I suspected Einar sent Arlo to make sure my father had truly turned over a new leaf and didn't plan on writing any stories about the supernatural world.

Einar delivered another stinging slap to my ass, and my thoughts dissolved as my arousal flared hotter. Goosebumps lifted on my skin. I thrust my ass higher, offering Einar a better target.

My husband chuckled—and then his chuckle turned into a growl as I squeezed my inner muscles around him. He tangled a hand in my hair and tugged my head back, holding me steady as he pumped his hips faster.

My body rocked wildly in the snow. Dirt curled between my fingers. My breasts swayed, my nipples tight and aching. The scent of leather and pine flooded my lungs. I cried out as my orgasm rushed toward me.

Einar reached a hand under my body and found my clit. Two strokes was my undoing. My orgasm hit, and I screamed Einar's name as I came apart, my body shaking.

He followed a second later, his bellow bouncing off the trees as he pumped his hot release inside me. Then, gasping, he pulled out and collapsed in the snow with me in his arms.

We lay quietly for a few moments, our hearts beating in sync. A smile tugged at my lips as I deliberately tuned out the sound—a trick Einar had taught me so I didn't get overstimulated by too much noise. Heightened senses were cool, but I didn't need to hear Leander stumbling to the bathroom after a long night of drinking Adina's hard cider.

When Einar's breathing was even, I turned in his arms and stroked the golden stubble on his cheek. "Do you feel less nervous about meeting Cyrus this afternoon?"

My husband scowled. "I'm not nervous."

"Einar."

The scowl lingered a few more seconds. Then Einar sighed, a sheepish expression stealing over his rugged features. "Have I been that obvious?"

"A little," I said, smiling. I feathered my thumb over his jaw. "You have nothing to worry about. I'll be with you. And I've talked to Abby a lot over the phone and email. I think she and I are going to have a great time together."

The scowl reappeared. "More like scheme together. My brother has no idea what he's about to unleash."

I couldn't help my laugh. "Oh, I think he knows." I kissed the corner of Einar's mouth. "And if he's half as stubborn as you are, he deserves it."

Several hours later, nerves gripped me as I stood in Draithmere's foyer with Einar at my side. Through the windows, a black sedan crawled up the driveway, its tires crunching in the snow. Out of habit, I tucked my right hand behind my back.

Einar caught my wrist, pulling my attention to him. My breath hitched as he lifted my severed pinky to his lips and kissed it.

"You look absolutely radiant in that dress, Harper Rothkilde," he murmured, tenderness shimmering in his eyes. "It's not fair, really. Brains and beauty in one fuckable package."

A snort escaped me before I could stop it. "Fuckable?"

He shrugged, a playful smile on his lips. "I just call them as I see them. You're the wordsmith around here." He leaned in and brushed a kiss on my cheek. "And my favorite author."

"I'm not an author yet," I said. But maybe someday… Working as a reporter was out of the question, even though I had every intention of finishing my degree. At first, I'd expected it to bother me. Growing up, I always assumed I would follow in my parents' footsteps.

But spending all those nights writing alone in my room had sparked something inside me. Facts were fine, but maybe fiction suited me better. And goodness knew my new life offered plenty of inspiration.

"You will be," Einar said breezily. "My favorite fuckable author."

My shoulders shook. I slapped his arm. "Excuse me, do you plan on having more than one?"

"No. My heart is yours." He slanted me a lascivious look. "Along with the rest of me."

We fell silent as the car stopped outside. Arlo exited and went to the passenger door. Seconds later, a black-haired version of my husband approached the house. A beautiful woman walked at his side, her dark hair loose around her shoulders and a chubby baby in her arms. A little boy raced ahead of them, his small legs pumping.

"Max!" the man called out. "No running!"

The boy spun, dancing in place. "I'm not running, Daddy! I'm sprinting!"

Einar snorted. "Little shit," he said under his breath. He raised a brow at me. "Sounds like you're not the only one with a thesaurus."

I laced my fingers through his. Seconds later, Arlo led King Cyrus and his family into the foyer—and Einar faced his brother for the first time in ninety years.

For a moment, neither man said anything. They stared at each other, their matching silver eyes filled with wariness…and maybe a hint of fear.

Just when the silence stretched too long, Max, Cyrus's five-year-old son, walked up to Einar. The little boy cocked his head to the side and gave my husband an appraising look.

"Are you really my uncle?"

Einar cleared his throat. He stared at the boy, then crouched so his face was on Max's level. "Yes. Your father and I are brothers."

Max seemed to think this over. Then he leaned closer to Einar and lowered his voice. "I have a sister. She's okay, I guess."

Amusement shimmered in Einar's eyes. He looked at Abby, who seemed to fight a smile. The baby in her arms blinked, her wide blue eyes landing on Arlo.

He winked at her, and she rewarded him with a gummy smile.

Einar offered Max a sage nod. "Sisters can be all right once you get to know them. Brothers too." A muscle jumped in his jaw. "Family is important. One of the most important things, actually."

Abby pressed the fingers of her free hand to her lips. Tears gleamed in her eyes as she looked at Cyrus.

"That's true," he said, his deep voice laced with emotion. "Family is everything. Both the kind we're born into"—he looked at Arlo—"and the kind we choose."

My throat burned. Oh, god, I was going to cry and embarrass myself.

Einar straightened. I took his hand, then tugged him forward until we stood before Cyrus. Drawing on the YouTube tutorials I'd watched over the past few days, I dipped into what I hoped was a passable curtsy.

"It's an honor to have you in our home, my lord. You and Queen Abby and your beautiful family are very welcome."

"No," Cyrus murmured, putting a hand under my elbow and pulling me upright. "You never bow to anyone, Harper." He lifted my hand and brushed a respectful kiss over my knuckles. "It's my honor to meet the woman who brought my brother back to me."

Einar sucked in a breath. He locked gazes with Cyrus. They moved at the same time, throwing their arms around each other. After a moment, Einar nodded, and it was obvious they spoke mind-to-mind.

Abby came to my side. Max moved with her, hugging his mother's leg and staring up at me with eyes the same color as King Cyrus's—and my husband's.

"Is it true that a werewolf chopped your pinky off?"

"Max!" Abby cried. She turned to me, her face a mask of horror. "I am so sorry, Harper. I can't believe he said that." She looked at her son. "Maximilian Rothkilde, you and I are going to have words, young man."

"It's okay," I said. I stuck out my right hand, letting Max have a look. "Yep. He cut it off with a knife. But it's all better now."

Max's eyes filled with awe. He looked up at me, hero worship on his face. "That is bad ass, Aunt Harper."

"Max!" Abby said.

I laughed, joy spreading through me. As Einar, Cyrus, and Arlo joined us, I grinned at my new family. "You're right," I told Max. "It's pretty bad ass."