Fendwyrs Epilogue
Around 3 years later…
The indoor pool area fell silent when I entered, other parents instinctively pulling their children closer. Even after three years of legitimate business, my reputation still preceded me. Good. Some things shouldn't change.
Reyvan, barely four, gripped my hand with complete confidence. My son was a miniature version of myself—same dark hair, same commanding presence, even at his young age. The only trace of Gustall in him was a slight golden tint to his skin.
"Deep end today, Father?" He asked, already pulling me toward the water. Like me, he didn't waste time with unnecessary chatter. Smart boy, I thought.
"Not yet." My voice carried across the pool, making a nearby omega mother flinch and hurry away. "Basics first, remember?"
Gustall sat at the pool's edge, legs dangling in the water. Unlike others, he was completely at ease with my presence. It made sense he was. Not only was he my destined mate, but we'd also been living together for a long time. "Don't push him too hard," he cautioned, though his eyes sparkled with amusement.
I stripped off my shirt, revealing scars that made other parents whisper and move further away. Their fear amused me—they had no idea what real danger looked like, though I'd just give them a small sample of it.
"When have I ever pushed too hard?"
"Would you like the list chronologically or alphabetically?" Gustall teased.
Reyvan tugged my hand impatiently. "Father, water now."
I lifted him easily, his small body trusting completely in my strength. Like me, he preferred action to words. We entered the shallow end, and I could feel other families gravitating away from our space. Their instincts were good—I might be reformed, but I was far from harmless.
"Remember what we practiced," I instructed, positioning Reyvan's arms. My hands, capable of so much violence, now could mirror my gentleness when it was needed. "Control your breathing."
He nodded, face serious with concentration. Another trait he'd inherited from me—intensity in everything he did. Gustall often joked that we could intimidate people just by thinking too hard.
The lesson progressed well. Reyvan was a natural, just as I'd expected. My son wouldn't be weak in anything. I would make sure he wasn't.
Then it happened.
Confident in his progress, Reyvan broke away during a brief distraction—another child's splash—and struck out for deeper water. His technique was perfect, but his strength wasn't yet equal to his ambition.
I moved in an instant, my body cutting through the water with predatory grace. Gustall was already diving in from his position, but I reached our son first. My arms closed around him just as his head dipped under.
"I had him," Gustall said as he reached us, but there was no reproach in his voice.
"I know." I held Reyvan up, checking him over with an intensity that made nearby children scramble out of the pool. "You okay, pup?"
Reyvan coughed once, then grinned. "Again!"
Gustall laughed, the sound echoing off the walls. "Definitely your son."
"Well, of course he is." I shifted Reyvan to a better position, noting how the water around us had cleared entirely. No one dared come close to the former cartel boss, even one teaching his son to swim. "But this time, we do it properly."
"I want to be strong like you, Father," Reyvan declared, his small face reflecting his pure determination. It was inspiring.
"You already are," I assured him while ruffling his hair, though my voice remained stern. "But strength without control is useless." A lesson I'd learned too late in life, one he would learn earlier.
We continued the lesson, my attention never wavering. Gustall stayed close, our synchronized movements born from years of trust and understanding each other. Other parents watched from a distance, both afraid and fascinated by our dynamic.
Let them watch. Let them see how a predator protects his own, I thought.
"Better," I praised as Reyvan completed another lap. My son beamed at the rare compliment, his pride radiating off him in waves.
"He's going to be a handful when he's older," Gustall observed quietly, but I knew he actually liked knowing that, as did I.
"Good." I smiled, knowing it probably looked more threatening than reassuring to onlookers. "The world needs to be ready for him."
Reyvan swam to me, bypassing Gustall's outstretched arms. His preference for me was clear, though he loved his omega father deeply. He was simply drawn to the darkness in me, the same darkness that flowed in his veins.
My darkness wasn't the same as it had been in the past. It had diminished and transformed over time, much like the darkness in Reyvan.
"Enough for today," I decided, lifting him out of the pool in one fluid motion that displayed more strength than necessary. A reminder to everyone watching that my gentleness with my son was a choice, not a limitation.
"But Father—"
"Listen to your father," Gustall interrupted, his eyes signaling to our child that disagreement would not be tolerated. "There's always tomorrow."
As we dried off, I caught glimpses of other parents' expressions—fear mixed with grudging admiration. They saw a dangerous man who'd learned to be gentle without losing his edge. A predator who'd chosen to nurture without surrendering his fangs.
They were right to remain wary. I might have chosen a different path, but I was still the alpha who'd commanded the Nightshade Wolves. Still the man whose name made hardened criminals tremble.
I would never hide the person I'd once been. If people asked me about it, I'd always tell them everything. I didn't have anything to hide anymore, which was refreshing.
"Ice cream?" Reyvan asked as we headed for the exit, the crowd parting before us like water around a shark.
"After dinner," Gustall and I said in unison, earning a scowl from our son that promised future rebellion.
Ice cream wasn't good for him every day, obviously. While he didn't understand that now, he would soon enough—and when he did, he would thank us.
Then, I smiled again, feeling the other parents' fear spike at the expression. And I thought there was nothing wrong with that. They should remember what I was, even as they watched what I'd become.
Some things changed. Others never would.
And that was exactly as it should be.