Epilogue
The night was quiet. For once, utterly quiet.
No whispers of demons in the dark, no Irish gunfire splitting through the streets, no fresh war pressing in from the edges of our world.
Just the steady hum of the mansion, the low murmur of voices, and the sound that anchored me to life itself… our daughter’s breathing.
She was in Sorcha’s arms, tiny fists curled, eyes closed in sleep, her chest rising and falling like a fragile promise. My mate’s hair spilled across her shoulder, her skin still pale but glowing in a way no light could fake. She was exhausted, still healing, but she was here. They both were. Mine.
I crouched at the side of the bed, pressing a kiss to Sorcha’s temple, then to the crown of my daughter’s head. “My legacy,” I murmured, my chest aching with something too big for words. “Both of you.”
Sorcha’s eyes opened, heavy with fatigue but bright with something I’d thought I’d never see in her again…peace. “You’re staring again,” she whispered, a small smile tugging her lips.
“Get used to it,” I answered simply, brushing my thumb along her cheek. “You’re never leaving my sight again.”
Before she could tease me back, the door opened. Roman stepped in first, Aleksander balanced easily on his hip. Layla at his side, her hand brushing his arm, eyes soft as she glanced at the bundle in Sorcha’s arms.
Behind them came Viking, grinning like the bastard always did, Volken with his calm, razor-sharp gaze, and Draugr, silent as always, looming, but the warmth in his eyes unmistakable. For once, none of them carried blood or fury with them. Tonight, they carried only peace.
“Another Dragic,” Viking drawled, his grin widening as he leaned on the doorframe. “The family’s growing faster than our enemies can blink.”
“Good,” Draugr rumbled, his voice like stone rolling through the air. “Let them know what they’ll face if they try us again.”
Layla laughed softly, shaking her head. “You men and your war-talk. There’s two babies here.” She leaned closer to Sorcha, eyes gentle. “She’s beautiful.”
Sorcha smiled faintly, a hand instinctively tightening around the small bundle. “She’s strong,” she whispered. “She’ll need to be.”
Roman’s gaze met mine across the room, steady and unflinching. “And she will be. She was born Dragic. That’s all she’ll ever need.”
For a long moment, the room stilled. My brothers surrounding me, our mates at our sides, children in our arms. A future we’d carved out of fire and blood, but a future, nonetheless.
I thought of the wars still waiting, the demons that hadn’t been vanquished, the shadows still plotting. They would come again, of that I had no doubt. But tonight wasn’t about the war. Tonight was about us. About what we’d built, what we’d fought for, what we’d bled to keep.
Sorcha shifted slightly, resting her head against my shoulder, her voice so soft it was almost lost. “We’re not alone anymore.”
“No,” I agreed, my hand covering hers, anchoring us all. “We never will be again.”
And as my daughter stirred in her sleep, letting out a tiny sound that broke every wall I’d ever built, I finally believed it.
Not demons. Not enemies. Not death itself.
Nothing would break this family.
Not ever.