Epilogue #2
Cillian senses my possessive displeasure and cocks a half-smile. “Nothing like that. I think he feels guilty for nearly getting our omega killed.”
That’s… fair.
Fine, I reply. I guess he can keep his fingernails a while longer.
Cillian’s rare smile grows. He strides past, clapping me on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit.”
My throat rumbles, but the feeling isn’t foreign anymore. Laughter is more common than most things around here these days. Except maybe for greedy growls when we’re all jockeying for a spot next to our girl.
“Dane!” she calls. “Come claim your seat before I have to stab Rhys to keep him out of it.”
“Again?” Rhys asks dryly.
“Yeah,” she giggles. “Again.”
When I finally duck into the back of the limousine-style Rolls, Briar is tracing the bite-mark on Rhys’s neck.
He has a tattoo there, now—an extension of his snake sleeve, depicting the head of a viper with its fangs bared.
The serpent’s jaw is stretched wide, all the way to the edges of our mate’s silvery claim.
I had a similar thought when I updated my own ink. The patterns covering the unscarred half of my chest now extend all the way to my sternum, where Briar designed a moon—half in light, half in darkness—to surround the permanent mark she left on me.
Our omega loves it because it reminds her of the moment she saw my whole face for the first time. I love it because it’s a symbol for the nickname I gave her that day.
My moonbeam.
She looks just as luminous today—and hearing me think so softens the smile on her face as she tugs me down next to her, burrowing into my side.
I’ve become her security blanket when we venture out. She’d never admit it out loud—and perhaps not even to her other alphas—but she’s confessed through our bond that sometimes, the world still feels too big and scary to her. Knowing that I help her feel safe is an honor.
I wrap my arm around her shoulders and cuddle her close, scent-marking her forehead. Briar shuts her eyes and rests against me, stroking her fingers over my jaw.
More heat blooms under my skin, but this time I don’t even try to will it away. My mate hums her approval, rubbing her cheek over mine. Covering my scars with her essence. Claiming them—and me—all over again.
Will I ever become immune to seeing my ring on my wife’s finger?
The answer is no. Especially since she added two bands of delicate, curling ink to her finger. One for Dane and another for Rhys—designed to surround the gold band and its sparkling array.
The tattoos were our first pack outing after her heat—and I was reliably informed that I would be the worst pack alpha ever if I didn’t join in. So I got one to match hers, although mine is a single, solid line under my wedding band. Branded there as backup.
Which is ironic, considering the only time I’ve ever taken my ring off was to have the tattoo etched there.
Briar notices me frowning at my hand, trying to come up with another time when I removed the gold circle. She listens as I come up blank, watching images of myself flit through my mind.
The morning I bought it, nearly two years ago, choosing one that matched hers.
Sitting at my desk, night after night, weighing it in my palm.
Wondering if I’d be a good husband. Worrying that I could never be a decent mate.
How heavy that band felt each day after our wedding, knowing she loathed me while I fell more in love with her every second.
Green beams gaze back at me when I raise my head and peer across the backseat. They’re soft and sharp, somehow—the special combination that could only belong to my soulmate.
You know, she thinks, I didn’t hate you… much.
I let my lips curve into her favorite semi-smirk. Mysterious, she calls it; though recalling the term nearly kicks it into a full grin.
Really, Mrs. Blackwood? I reply. Because I remember you glaring at me while I recited my vows.
She smiles back, but it’s the small, somewhat-shy version that shoots a dart into my heart. You were too handsome, she admits. It pissed me off.
With a startled chuckle, I realize I believe her. Then I recall how she pouted through the heinously expensive meal after our ceremony. My spiced, smoky scent spikes as my palm tingles.
Devil, she accuses, pumping pure adoration through our bond.
I’m still not used to the way this feeling has changed me. I’m weak for it, and somehow stronger than ever because of it.
I may not be able to untangle those vines, but I show them to her anyway. Letting our omega trace each emotion down to the root, sorting the thorns from the petals.
I may be the Devil, I tell her. But you’re my Queen.
Dane doesn’t flinch as Briar suddenly launches herself into my arms. I catch her easily, mentally tutting reprimands about seatbelts until she crushes her mouth to mine.
Fuck. There’s no way I’m actually the demon she claims. Because she’s mine. And she’s heaven.
Being in my lap keeps her distracted for the rest of the drive—meaning she doesn’t see where we’re going or ask too many questions.
Which was my plan all along.
The car rolls to a stop, and Rhys snaps into gear. He always scrambles to open doors for Briar, offer his hand. A gentleman and a romantic—until they’re alone together.
Dane follows while I grasp Briar’s lock pendant, pulling to tighten the chain. She gasps, lust and excitement sparking in her gaze. Yes, Sir?
See? Satan could never get this lucky.
The true adoration and bratty sarcasm twined around her voice make me hard. I cup her chin, capturing her lips one last time before nipping the swollen lower curve. “Close your eyes.”
My wife grumbles internally about alpha-holes and barks, but her heart soars as she obeys, her Omega squealing with happiness when my Alpha issues a purr of approval.
“Good girl,” I murmur. “Now, take my hand.”
She complains while I guide her out of the car and onto the sidewalk. The third time, she whines, “Can I look now?”
I step behind her with a chuckle, gliding my hands over her hips. Dane comes to her other side while Rhys drifts forward, nervously wincing over his shoulder at the gift we’ve prepared.
It was a group effort—muttered through the bond in the wee hours of the morning, when our omega was lost to her dreams and unable to catch on. Now, the last month of effort looks well worth every hour and dollar we spent.
Nerves still swoop through us as we brace for her reaction. I look to each of my packmates, then nod at Dane.
“Okay, moonbeam,” he husks, nuzzling her temple with his unmasked jaw. “You can open your eyes.”
We all fall still as Briar flutters her lashes, squinting in the late-morning sunshine. My body feels like stone as Dane darts glances between Briar and the building in front of us. Rhys gives a little flourish, then seems to realize how lame he looks, cringing.
Briar doesn’t notice, though. She drifts toward our gift, out of my reach. Everything inside me lurches, protesting… until a burst of bright, shimmering awe floods the bond.
“Oh my God,” she whispers. “Is it—”
I draw her back into my arms. “Yours. Yes.”
Her perfect lips fall open while she blinks, reading and rereading the sign I had made for her new store. An antique iron slab, its edges twisted into the intricate sorts of frills she loves. Emblazoned with two words:
Rosebud Books.
Will I ever get used to Rhys’s ranting, Dane’s blushing, or Cillian absolutely shocking the hell out of me?
God, I hope not.
“—had to move quickly when the place went up for sale, but obviously the previous owners didn’t give a shit about it at all, so—”
Rhys hasn’t stopped talking since he unlatched the padlock on the front door and led us inside. I feel his anxiety through the bond, along with the others’, but I’m still too stunned to react.
It’s the same tiny bookshop my big man brought me to for my first taste of freedom… but it’s been utterly transformed.
The buckling wood floors have been sanded and re-stained nearly black. They match the stately rows of shelves, all featuring intricate moldings that coordinate with the newly installed windows.
They’re ours, I realize. The same stained glass we have at the manor—miniaturized to fit the arched panes framing the carved front door and the counters.
There are two. One stacked with books and outfitted with a register. The other much longer, with several barstools lined up in front and a large, rose-gold espresso machine humming against the wall behind it.
Vines curl artfully down the onyx backdrop, twisting into a tapestry of budding…
Roses.
They hear me say the word in my mind, halting their apprehensive musings. Rhys instantly pivots. “Yeah,” he enthuses, gesturing to the flowers. “It’s a hydroponic wall. Dane put it in for you. It was his idea to add the plants and the coffee bar.”
Dane’s flush darkens. He rushes to step up beside Rhys, rubbing his hand over his beard in a sheepish gesture. “Rhys ordered all the books. Hundreds of them, moonbeam. It took him weeks to get the inventory sorted. And even longer for Cillian to buy the shop in the first place.”
Because it was his grand plan, of course.
My mastermind. Devil. Dominant.
Husband.
The man in question wraps an arm around my waist, opening his palm to reveal a set of keys. “These are yours.”
I take them, looping the cursive B keychain around my finger. “But I—I don’t—” My head turns from one alpha to the next, finally landing on our pack leader as I whisper, “Why?”
He follows the thread of my dismay, reading all the emotions I can’t convey. Confusion being the biggest.
Did they think they had to do this? To earn more forgiveness or keep me happy?
Cillian softens, dropping a kiss to my shoulder. “No, love. We’re setting you free.”
A bolt of alarm sticks in my throat, but Rhys cuts in, taking my hands and meeting my eyes.
“Everything is under your name only,” he rasps.
“We don’t own any of it and never will. It will always be yours.
Keep it as a place to read alone and live off our money forever.
Open it and peddle books until you’re a millionaire.
Sell the store and take every cent. We don’t care, as long as you’re happy, baby. ”
The words sink in gradually. Soaking into my soul. They are giving me real freedom. The kind that buys you a plane ticket or a house or a car.
So the choice to stay can truly be mine. Every single day.
A sob stutters out of me as I jump into Rhys’s arms. He hugs me tight, waiting.
New dreams materialize in my mind. Visions of opening the store, serving coffee, and selling books. Having a special place where I can be creative and earn my own money and maybe make friends…
Cillian would teach me how to do anything business-y, I’m sure. Though I also wager those lessons will come at a delicious price.
Rhys would have opinions on everything, of course. But I bet he’d be the most charming proprietor ever. Though I’m not crazy about the thought of women flocking here to see his perfect face. Maybe if I show off my fangs every now and then, to make sure people got the message…
And Dane may not know much about aesthetics and books, but he would do anything to help me. I picture him lugging boxes, driving me back and forth. Not to mention all the physical labor that must have gone into getting the place ready for me.
The Earth seems to slow to stop as a deep, powerful truth settles over me.
“This,” I decide, spinning to face them. “Is exactly where I want to be.”
Here. With you. Forever.
Relief and joy pour through my alphas, turning Rhys’s laugh into a hoarse sound as he picks me up and spins us in a gentle circle.
“Thank God,” he says. “Because there is a ton of smut in here. Like, enough to last us years. I could never get through it alone.”
Happy tears blur the beautiful store around me. I fight them off, running my eyes over the wall of rosebuds. They’ll bloom and wither, like the others.
But that’s okay. When the petals fall? New ones will grow.
There will be no thorns here, I decide. Just rosebuds.
Only beginnings.
Because these beasts? The ones who were supposed to end me?
They’re my eternity.
Dane plucks me up next, folding me into his thick arms. “We love you, Briar,” he rumbles. “We want you to know you always have choices with us.”
Cillian cups my face and leans his forehead against mine, blue eyes burning fierce and true. “We want you to have everything.”
The abundance of his vow—this moment, my pack—swells through me, leaving the connection forged between the four of us even brighter. Stronger.
I let them absorb it, too, gazing back at my husband. Repeating the first thing I ever said to him. The two words that bound me to my beasts.
I do.
Thank you for reading Bound to the Beasts!