Epilogue
MAKENNA
FIVE YEARS LATER…
The noise in the clubhouse is reaching decibels I didn’t know existed. There’s a hum of voices mixing with shrieks so loud it makes my ears ring. I can barely hear the low rumble of whatever playlist Dayna put on earlier.
I watch the kids running between the legs of the adults, exhausted by their energy already. Theo’s dressed as a wizard—I think. He’s using a tablecloth as a cape, and chasing around Zeke, who is the image of his father.
Dayna tries to snatch up her son as he rushes past, his little legs working overtime, but the kid is fast. Zeke ducks around her and cackles like a lunatic when she yells after him, “Slow down, kid! You’re four, not racing in the Grand Prix.”
I raise a brow and sip my tea. At least someone in the clubhouse is being civilised. Most of the kids have been mainlining sugar since they got here.
“This club breeds insane boys,” Ivy mutters beside me. She leans back in her chair, her lips curved into a smile.
And she’s not wrong.
I don’t know if it’s having access to so much testosterone or if they just come out fully-formed maniacs, but there’s not a single boy born into our circle that isn’t wild.
She watches her nephew as he leaps onto Zeke’s back and the pair of them collapse in a heap, their high-pitched laughs pulling a smile from me.
“Is it any wonder?” I ask, scanning the sea of kuttes and kids, my chest full. “Just look at the men who created them.”
She snorts but she doesn’t deny it either. How can she when Riot is standing at the bar with his brother, Mace, the left side of his face a patchwork of purple and black bruises? He looks like he lost a fight with a paintball gun.
“What happened to Riot?” I ask, picking at the cake I was desperate to get my hands on, but now it’s making my stomach churn. Of course it is. Perish the thought I might actually get to enjoy something without wanting to puke.
Ivy turns in his direction and blows out a breath. “A guy tried to grab my boob the other night.”
“Did he leave him breathing?”
“Yeah, but only because Seren was there.”
I glance over at the buffet table where their daughter is standing with Maylie, calmly pointing at what she’d like her to put on her plate.
She flinches as Theo roars. Actually roars.
But keeps her attention on her niece until Mace intervenes, grabbing Theo as he passes one-armed and sitting him on the counter behind him.
“He’s been a lot calmer since Lila was born,” Ivy says.
Or lies. We both know that’s not true.
“Has he?” I let the scepticism bleed into my words. “Only last week I caught him and Riley sparring in the car park.”
Having two daughters has made Riot more defensive than ever.
Ivy waves that off. “That doesn’t count. The guys fight each other all the time. They’re worse than the kids.”
I hum low in my throat as she carries on talking, but I’m no longer listening. Because he’s here.
Zane.
My husband.
My world.
He walks into the room like even the air knows not to get between us. Everything about him screams confidence, power. Mine.
My breath catches in my throat. Even after all these years, he still makes my heart flutter like we’re teenagers and not the parent of a smart-mouthed three-year-old with an addiction to sparkles.
My eyes soften at Mia sitting on his shoulders. She’s wearing a princess dress under a tiny leather biker jacket. Looped over the top are a pair of fairy wings that are definitely new and are definitely going to shed glitter dust all over our house like she’s Tinker Bell.
Zane and I have talked about glitter before.
It’s banned in our house after she poured an entire tube of it into the washing machine and all his shirts were twinkling like stars for weeks after.
But Zane can’t deny her anything. He’s never been able to.
As if he knows I’m watching him, thinking about him, his gaze finds mine and our eyes lock across the room. I could find him in a crowd without even trying. It’s like the world rotates around me and him.
His steps falter for a beat and then his body relaxes, like seeing me loosened the bands wrapped around his chest and shoulders.
Like I’m the blood in his veins as much as he is mine.
I track him as he pushes through the crowd of brothers and kids, narrowly avoiding stepping on Zeke as he disappears under a table to hide from Dash.
I stand. My feet move on their own, like I’m attached by a rope tethered to him. To her.
Mia squeals, jumping on Zane’s shoulders hard enough that I wince. He’s going to feel that later.
“Mama! Mama! Daddy got me wings.”
I smile. “I can see that, baby.” Zane cups the side of my face, even as he holds onto our daughter with his other hand. He always needs to touch me, even if it’s just a brush over my back or my arm. I lean into his palm, feeling his warmth.
“She wanted them,” he explains.
“Of course she did. She’s a magpie for shiny things.” I kiss his cheek, letting my lips linger. “And you can vacuum up the glitter when it spreads all over the house.”
Zane gives me a look that says he doesn’t care if he has to clean every day, as long as our daughter is happy.
“Okay, fairy princess.” He taps Mia’s leg, draped over his shoulder. “Time to get those magical feet back on land.”
He lifts her down so careful, so gentle it makes my chest ache. But Mia isn’t careful about anything. The moment her feet touch the floor, she takes off like a rocket, heading straight for the food, obviously.
The girl has her priorities straight.
Maylie intercepts her before she ends up wearing the trifle and grabs a second plate to feed my clearly starving child.
Zane steps closer, Mia forgotten for a moment. There’s no fear she’ll get hurt or wander far. We both know she’s safe in this room, surrounded by more family than she knows what to do with.
Brotherhood.
Sisterhood.
Family.
His eyes crawl over mine, like he’s trying to see into my body on a cellular level. He would if he could.
“You look tired, firefly,” he says softly, his eyes tracing the shape of my mouth.
I laugh, my fingers sliding over his chest. “Of course I’m tired. I’m six months pregnant.”
I have more energy now than I did in those first few months, but wrangling a toddler while my hips and pelvis try to divorce themselves from my spine? It’s exhausting.
Zane’s palm skims over the swell of my belly with a reverence that makes my throat tighten. He never stops touching over where our baby’s growing. “You both been okay?”
I place my hand over his, lacing our fingers together as our son nudges against him. His eyes soften, like they always do when he feels the baby.
“I’m pretty sure your child’s head is lodged somewhere under my ribs, but other than that, I’m fine.”
I’m not complaining. Not really. I love carrying our children inside my body, and I love how he looks at me when I give him the world he didn’t think he could have.
So when he kisses me like I’m everything he’s ever wanted or needed, I feel that right down to my bones.
“I missed you.” He presses his forehead to mine, something he always does when his feelings are too big for him.
“You were only gone for half an hour,” I tease.
I love how possessive he is, how loved I am by him. He makes me feel like I’m the only thing that matters. And I am. We are.
Me and Mia—and the baby I’m still baking.
Our second little hellraiser.
“It was half an hour too long,” he huffs, frustrated and maybe a little pissed he had to be away from me at all.
I snort, smoothing my hands down his kutte. The leather is soft, worn and so familiar. My fingers linger over his club patches—the club stitched into both of us now.
“You’re obsessed,” I say.
He kisses me, soft and slow, like we have all the time in the world, like we’re not surrounded by brothers and old ladies and kids.
He doesn’t care who sees. He never has. He needs to reaffirm that I’m still here, still his. “Obviously.”
A roar goes up and we break apart as more people swarm into the bar. Dash greets Trick and Hawk like long lost brothers, even though he went on a run to Manchester just last week. Heidi and Wren, their old ladies, stop to talk to Dayna, who takes little Sophia from Heidi.
Terror looks less terrifying in the unicorn headband his daughter slapped on him, but he doesn’t take it off, not even when Ophelia calls him out.
“It’s about to get crazy in here,” I murmur.
“It’s always crazy when we all get together.”
He’s not wrong. Last time we all got together, Daimon’s old lady ended up with a surprise tattoo of his name on her thigh.
“Comin’ through!”
Zane pulls me against him as King slides around us, holding a kid upside down in one hand, his other hanging uselessly at his side. I can’t even tell whose kid it is. He winks at me as he passes, which makes Zane growl under his breath.
“He only does that because it winds you up,” I say.
“Which is exactly why he shouldn’t do it,” he grumbles.
I slip my hands under his tee, his muscles quivering against my palms. “It’s your baby in my belly, babe. Not his.”
His eyes heat and the way he’s looking at me, I can tell he’s wondering if there’s time to drag me into a quiet room before Ravage and Nic start the speeches. I shake my head.
“No.” He pouts. “I mean it.”
“Later then.”
I smile. “Later.”
There’s a clink of glass and the clearing of a throat. The room falls quieter—definitely not silent. There’s no such thing with this lot.
Ravage and Nic are standing together. Howler is with them. Three powerhouses. Three kings in kuttes.
Nic steps up, ready to say a few words, his gaze scanning the room until they stop on her.
Everything in him softens, even when she raises her bottle of beer at him in mock-salute and smirks.
I lean my head against Zane’s chest. The baby kicks between us, a reminder of everything we have.
Of the family we built on the back of blood and sweat.
My gaze drifts around the kids, the brothers, and women I love as much as blood.
This is what Zane was always trying to give to me. This is what he fought so hard for.
Family.
Love.
And a home.
And somehow through blood, war, (and, of course, fairy wings), we found that with the Untamed Sons.