Epilogue #2
My dad raised me to be stronger, better, faster.
Always fighting. Always winning. Softness was weakness.
But he was wrong. Softness was a strength.
All my anger ever got me was cruelty and rage.
I’d been swinging at pieces of myself, my guilt, my grief, my doubt, like they had to be destroyed.
But they weren’t flaws. They were what made me human.
I could still be strong and let others see the more vulnerable sides of me.
I could move slower, breathe deeper, be softer.
The worst sides of myself, the parts I never let anyone else see, they didn’t make me weak. They made me alive.
Wes and Marta made me alive.
“Atlas,” Marta whispered, rolling over to face me. “Are you okay?”
“Just fine, little witch. Go back to sleep.”
She snuggled closer and wrapped an arm over my chest, tucking herself against my side and nuzzling her nose into my neck. “Tell me.”
I shook my head and sighed. “You ever think about the liminal?”
“All the time.” She hummed and pushed up on her elbow so she looked down at me, her dark eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “What about it?”
“I’m just…I’m just thankful for you. That’s all.”
“I’m thankful for you, too, Atlas.” She leaned down to kiss me.
I hugged her close and kissed the top of her head, finally letting myself close my eyes and drift into sleep.
* * *
WESSON
I woke up before Marta and Atlas the next morning and stood at the end of the bed to stare at my brother and our witch.
They were cuddled close together, all of their skin touching, and the sight almost made me jealous.
No matter how we fell asleep, they always gravitated toward each other in the middle of the night like two ends of a magnet finally finding each other.
But being so tied to them helped me realize there was nothing to envy.
They had their own thing, just as I had mine with each of them.
And besides, they were so damned adorable together, I almost woke them up with my filthy mouth on their skin and dirty words whispered into their minds.
Instead, I went for a run to stretch my legs.
The sun rose over the horizon, and the crisp spring air soothed the ache in my muscles from a hard-won fight the night before.
I used to think I wasn’t cut out for this life, that any other existence would be better than the course I’d be put on.
My fear of not being worthy, of not being warrior enough, ate away at me until it was all I could see.
Everyone I’d ever known had died because of what we did, and I thought if I ran far enough away, nothing could ever hurt me again. That I could never hurt anyone else.
I’d only hurt myself in the process.
Two years later, I saw things more clearly. I deserved love from the people who loved me, despite my flaws. I deserved to have everything I ever wanted. I wasn’t bad or evil. In this life, there was no such thing. Only chaos. Only order. Only shades of gray.
Perhaps I should have been more ashamed of myself for the relationship between Atlas and me.
Our father would be rolling in his grave if he knew, and if anything I’d believed about the ancestors was true, I imagined he was groaning in the afterlife and demanding to be brought back to the living realm if only to kick our asses for it.
Fuck him. Fuck all of them.
Atlas and I were meant to be as we were, and in some twisted way, we’d always been like this. Marta had only made things better. She fit between us like fate and destiny had created us at the same time, only to separate us so they could watch us scramble to find each other again.
For the first time, I could say I loved my life. And I had no regrets.
Maybe we’d think about having kids of our own one day. Maybe we’d raise them differently. Maybe we’d tell them they could be whatever they wanted, and if they showed signs of magic, we’d encourage them to explore it however made them feel good.
I snorted and shook my head. We’d probably just fuck them up in different ways, but that’s the nature of life, wasn’t it? I tried my hardest, and I’d survived in spite of it.
After three miles, I got back to the motel just as Marta was waking up.
Atlas had already showered and now stood in front of his backpack wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. Water dripped down his muscles in tempting rivulets, damn near making me drool. He could always bring me to my knees.
Marta flicked her gaze to me, having plucked the thoughts out of my head, and flashed me that wicked grin. She’d been thinking the same thing.
“Hey!” Atlas pointed at both of us. “None of that. We’re on a schedule here. We’ve got to get back to the estate before they send someone to track us down.”
“Look at you,” Marta piped up. “Being so professional and punctual.”
“Hmm, quite out of character, isn’t it?” I raised my eyebrows and stripped my sweaty shirt over my head, making Atlas’s gaze catch on my naked chest. And that was the main difference between us.
I liked him freshly showered and waiting to be soiled.
He liked me already wrecked, so he could see how much dirtier he could make me.
“We’ve got ten minutes,” Marta said, pushing up on her hands and knees to slink across the mattress, stopping just at the edge so she could nudge her nose along the growing bulge behind the towel.
“Ten minutes?” Atlas scoffed but arched his hips into her touch, threading his fingers through her hair. “You two deviants will have me strung out in that bed for at least an hour.”
I walked closer and stepped behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist so I could dance my fingertips across his lower stomach at the edge of the towel. He shivered, and I laughed. “Methinks he doth protest too much.”
Marta parted the barrier separating him from her and leaned in to give his cock the faintest lick. He groaned as his head fell back on my shoulder, and we knew we had him.
Yes, this life was tough. It kicked my ass most days, and I had more scars than I could count, both physical and mental.
But in moments like this, when I had my brother demanding more and my witch teasing every inch of our skin, I knew it was all worth it.
I’d do it all again if I had to, and I’d fight like hell to keep it.
The End