Epilogue - Reeyan
Our daughter’s tiny fist wraps around my finger with surprising strength for someone only three months old.
I stand in the newly constructed Llewelyn-Grayhide Cultural Center, surrounded by the culmination of two years’ work.
The building rises three stories high, with archives from both packs housed under one roof.
Floor-to-ceiling windows let in natural light that illuminates the reading areas where wolves from multiple territories gather to study our shared history.
Elara makes a small sound against my chest, nestled in the carrier I wear.
Her silver-blonde hair matches her mother’s exactly, but she has my green eyes.
A perfect blend of both territories, born into a world where the curse is nothing more than a cautionary tale about the dangers of revenge disguised as protection.
“She’s beautiful,” Matriarch Lydia comments, appearing at my elbow. The Llewelyn leader moves with more ease than she did two years ago, her face softer now that she can express emotion without magical suppression, fighting her at every turn. “Sera must be exhausted.”
“She is. But she won’t admit it.”
Lydia laughs and replies, “That’s my niece. Stubborn to the core.”
I search the crowd for Sera and find her on the second floor, speaking with a group of younger Llewelyn women who are still learning to handle their emotional freedom.
She gestures animatedly; there’s no trace of the reserved archivist I met on that desert road.
Breaking the curse didn’t just free her pack.
It transformed them into something they were always meant to be.
“The center is impressive,” Lydia continues. “I never imagined we’d build something like this when you first came to us with evidence of the curse.”
“Neither did I. But Sera had the vision for it.” I adjust the carrier, making sure Elara’s head is supported properly.
“She wanted a place where Llewelyn women could learn their true history alongside Grayhide’s.
Where future generations would understand what was stolen from them and how they got it back. ”
“She’s done remarkable work with the support groups.” Lydia watches her niece with undisguised pride. “Her psychic abilities have developed beyond anything we expected.”
That’s an understatement. Sera’s visions have grown stronger and more controlled since breaking the curse.
She can now sense emotional distress in other Llewelyn women before they even recognize it themselves, which she uses to guide them through the process of feeling everything for the first time.
“She’s helped over a hundred women adjust to emotional freedom,” I tell Lydia. “And trained a dozen others to do the same work across different territories.”
“The curse affected more than just our pack. News spread quickly about what happened here.” Lydia’s face grows serious. “We’ve had inquiries from three other matriarchal packs asking if their emotional distance might be magically induced rather than cultural.”
“Are they?”
“Two of them, yes. Veva and Evangeline confirmed it last month. Both packs are preparing to attempt their own rituals. They want Sera to be there. To guide them through the process.”
My wolf bristles at the thought of Sera putting herself in danger again, even though I know she’s more than capable. “What did she say?”
“That she needs to discuss it with you first. That you’re partners in all things.”
Pride swells in my chest. Sera could have agreed immediately. Could have made the decision without consulting me. But she chooses partnership over independence every time, not because the mate bond demands it, but because she values what we’ve built together.
Elara squirms in the carrier, making small, unhappy sounds. I recognize the signs. She’s hungry.
“I should find Sera. Feeding time.”
Lydia nods and moves away to greet other guests.
The grand opening has drawn wolves from every territory in the valley.
Oren and Ash stand near the historical displays with Wyn and Raegan.
Dorian made the trip from Ambersky with his mate.
Even some of the Hysopp witches came to witness what their coven’s documentation helped accomplish.
I make my way up the stairs to the second floor, navigating through clusters of conversations. Elara’s complaints grow louder, and several people smile as we pass. A crying baby at a formal opening would have been scandalous to the old Llewelyn pack. Now they just find it endearing.
Sera sees me coming and excuses herself from her group. She meets me halfway across the floor, reaching for our daughter.
“Someone’s hungry,” she says, smiling.
“Someone inherited her mother’s impatience.”
“And her father’s stubbornness.” Sera takes Elara from the carrier, cradling her. “There’s a private room on the third floor I can use. Want to come with me?”
“Always.”
We climb to the third floor, where Sera converted one of the smaller archive rooms into a comfortable space with chairs and soft lighting to help those who might be experiencing sensory overload. She settles into a chair and begins nursing while I lean against the desk nearby.
“Your aunt told me about the other packs,” I begin. “The ones asking for your help with their curses.”
Sera doesn’t look up from Elara. “What do you think?”
“I think you’ll want to help them. That watching other women suffer under magical suppression will eat at you until you do something about it.”
“You’re not wrong.” She adjusts Elara’s position and adds, “But I also have responsibilities here. The support groups need consistent leadership, and I can’t just abandon them to help strangers.”
“You wouldn’t be abandoning them. You’d be expanding the work you started.
” I move to sit in the chair beside hers.
“We could train more facilitators to handle the groups here while you travel to assist the other packs in Badlands. Or we could bring the other packs here for training before they attempt their own rituals.”
“We.” She looks at me, finally, eyes soft. “You’d come with me?”
“Did you think I’d let you face a potentially dangerous situation without backup? I’ve read enough historical accounts to know these things can go wrong in creative ways.”
She throws her head back and laughs. “Of course you have. What would I do without my historian?”
“Probably make reckless decisions and give me premature gray hair.”
“You already have gray hair. Right here.” She reaches over and tugs gently at a strand near my temple. “Elara gave you those.”
“Elara is perfect and has never caused me a moment of stress.”
As if on cue, our daughter spits up on Sera’s shoulder. We both laugh while Sera grabs a cloth to clean up the mess.
“Definitely your timing,” she comments.
We sit in comfortable quiet while Elara finishes nursing. These moments have become my favorite part of parenthood. Not the big milestones or celebrations, but the small, private times when it’s just the three of us existing together.
“I want to help them,” Sera announces after a while. “The other packs. I remember what it felt like to live under that suppression. To believe something was fundamentally wrong with me because I couldn’t feel the way I wanted to. If I can spare other women that suffering, I have to try.”
“Then we’ll figure it out together. We always do.”
She moves Elara to her other breast. “My mother came by yesterday.”
“How did that go?”
“Better than I expected. We had tea and talked for two hours. She told me she can finally tell me she loves me without fighting through magical barriers. That every time she says it now, it’s like breathing for the first time.”
The emotion in Sera’s voice makes something behind my ribs squeeze. “That must have meant everything to hear.”
“It did.” She looks down at Elara. “And she brought enough prepared food to feed us for a month. She also said you’re good for me. That I smile more now than I have in my entire life.”
“You do smile more. So do I.” I watch our daughter nurse contentedly. “Your mother isn’t the only one making up for lost time.” I reach over and take Sera’s free hand, lacing our fingers together. “Your whole pack has transformed. The difference between now and two years ago is remarkable.”
“Some are still struggling. Thora especially. Forty years of emotional suppression don’t disappear overnight.” Sera squeezes my hand. “But she’s trying. They all are. That’s what matters.”
Elara finishes nursing and promptly falls asleep against Sera’s chest. We sit there for another few minutes, neither of us wanting to break the peace of this moment.
Finally, Sera speaks again. “I had a vision last night.”
My wolf perks up with interest. Sera’s visions are always significant, even the small ones. “What did you see?”
“Another pack. Far north of here. Their women are suffering under a curse similar to ours, but older. Maybe four hundred years. Not one Lydia has identified.” She looks at me with those pale blue eyes that can still steal my breath. “They need help, Reeyan. And I think we’re meant to provide it.”
“Then we will. When Elara is old enough to travel safely, we’ll go north and see what we can do.”
“Just like that? No concerns about safety or logistics?”
“I married a woman who broke a three-hundred-year-old curse and defeated Thornridge operatives while cut off from her wolf. I think she can handle a northern pack with some old magic problems. Besides, I’m curious about the historical context.
Four-hundred-year-old curses don’t happen without an interesting backstory. ”
She laughs and shakes her head. “Of course you want to research it. I should have known.”
“You did know. You married a historian.”
“I married you. The historian part was just a bonus.”