Epilogue
TWO MONTHS LATER
ANNALIESE
The bonfire crackles, flames licking at the stone wall surrounding the base before rising up, billowing in the August breeze.
It carries the stink of burned skin with it.
You’d think that, after more than a half an hour of watching new members get branded-in and some of the Used choosing the fire in front of the crowd, I’d have grown nose-blind to it.
Nope. It had only gotten worse to the point that Sebastien waited until Colton Claimed Miranda—my baby sister accepting his Claim—before he laced his fingers with mine, tugging on my hand, and leading me away from the crowd gathered around to watch the Claiming ceremony.
They’re only eighteen. Miranda already told me that she and Colt are planning a long engagement.
He wants to attend the Order University, and as his new fiancée, she’s going to be attending the same school, free of charge.
They’ll plan their wedding after they graduate, well before Colt turns thirty.
Or, rather, I’ll plan it. My type-A personality nudged me to nag Miranda for a season at least. I’ve blocked off the autumn five years from now so that I don’t accidentally book another party. Oh, no. I’ll give Miranda and Colton the wedding they deserve.
Just like I planned the best wedding for my husband and me.
I liked the intimacy of us getting married in St. Catherine’s with only our family there to see us exchange vows in front of Father Francis. The reception at Sebastien’s favorite café was perfect, even if that bitchy waitress purposely spilled the glass of red wine all over my dress.
Because she did. Sebastien totally confirmed it, and after that, we haven’t gone back yet.
And, true, I might’ve thought it was a fake marriage then, but I know better now. I still wouldn’t change a thing about our union, though I notice Sebastien watching me curiously out of the side of his eye as guides me away from the assembled crowd.
“What?” I ask.
“Just wondering something.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
One hand is wrapped around my shoulders.
It’s August in Harmony Heights and that means it’s really, really hot.
Kind of swampy really. I know how much my husband likes it when I dress down—as though I’m shaking off the last remnants of Eric’s training—but I chose to wear a thin-strapped, lightweight sundress to my sister’s Claiming ceremony.
I paired it with a pair of high-heeled sandals, bringing me a little closer in height to Sebastien.
Instead of being tucked under his arm, I’m snuggled up against him, resting my head on the edge of his shoulder.
He’s not wearing his road jacket. It’s near.
He left it in the car, but he pointed out that, if I’m dressing up for the occasion, he might as well do the same to support his sister-in-law.
I nearly started to drool when he revealed the crisp light pink polo he has on over his dark denim jeans.
He managed to match his shirt to my dress perfectly, and if I can’t wait to peel it off of him and bury my face in his chest… that’s okay.
He is my husband, after all.
I smile up at him.
Sebastien nearly misses a step before righting himself, squeezing me closer to him. “Fuck me, love. One smile from you and I nearly fell flat on my face. I gotta be more careful.”
I wrap my arm around his lower back. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
He drops a kiss to the top of my head. “I know. And that’s what has me thinking… do you regret not getting to go through this?”
“Through what?”
“The whole Claiming bullshit. I could go in front of Dallas and the others and tell ‘em that you’re mine. Claim you for real. Let all of Harmony Heights know that you’re the Offering for me.”
He’s already done that. In a million small ways since I was panicked and desperate enough to walk around the Court, asking whoever would listen if they would marry me, Sebastien Reynolds has proven that he chose me. That he loves me.
“I’m your wife.”
“You are,” he agrees readily.
“And didn’t you tell…” I hesitate. It’s been two months and I still stumble a little whenever I think of the prick that I wasted so many years with. “…Eric that you have a blood oath?”
“I bled all over that fucking piece of paper.” He turns his hand over so that we both can look at his brand—his brand, and the thin pink scar that bisects part of it.
“I was a little eager,” he admits with a low chuckle.
“Cut myself more than I meant to, but I Claimed you in front of Dallas that day. It was sealed by the King. You were considered mine in the eyes of the Order from that moment on.”
That’s what I thought. “We had our wedding. We’ve been married since the end of March. Five months now, babe… I don’t think I can be any more Claimed than that.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” He gives me another squeeze. “Hey. Come with me to the car? I have something in my jacket pocket I want to give you.”
When I first married Sebastien, prepared to keep him at a distance, determined to do whatever it took to refrain from falling for him, I would’ve refused.
I didn’t want his gifts. I stubbornly ignored any clue that he might’ve had his own motives for agreeing so easily to my ‘marriage of convenience’ idea.
I blamed it on sex, on how I tried to use him to forget Eric only to realize that Seabstien Reynolds is unforgettable.
I blamed it on some need of his to play hero to a woman in trouble.
I blamed it on anything and everything except the very clear reality that I was drawn to him, he was drawn to me, and in the almost year since I spotted him alone in the Last Prayer, I’ve understood that he’s the only one for me.
Eric tried to mold me into the perfect mistress.
He thought that that was all I was good for.
The perfect make-up, the perfect hair, the perfect outfits…
he turned Annaliese Crawford into his private plaything.
For too long, I let him, and by the time I met Sebastien that first time, I didn’t even know who I was anymore.
I have him to thank for helping me regain my sense of self.
Sometimes I want to wear sundresses. Sometimes I’ll trade them for a t-shirt and cut-offs.
Maybe one day I’ll twist my hair up in a chignon.
Another, I’ll throw my hair into a messy bun, sticking a pencil in it so that it’s within reach while I’m planning another event.
He encourages me to work while also reminding me that, if I don’t want to, I don’t have to.
He has more than enough money to support us both, but like how I did everything I could to turn Reynolds’ Garage into a reality, my husband is my biggest cheerleader when it comes to building up my own business.
I’m the premier event planner in Harmony Heights these days. The title used to belong to Mom, but with both of her daughters either engaged or married into the Order, her and Dad have taken a step back from the secret society.
I asked Sebastien if he wanted to do the same. As my husband is fond of saying, Fuck the Order. With Eric dead and Miranda Claimed, I’d be happy to never have anything to do with the Order of the Owed ever again.
But Sebastien… as long as his closest friends are running the show, he’ll be involved. I get that. His loyalty to them is one of the things that made me realize that there’s so much more to him than his pretty face, charming yet cocky attitude, and the dark side he can’t quite hide.
If he loves you, you’re golden.
If you cross him, you’re dead.
If you marry him, you better be prepared for forever because that’s all he can offer—and I’m the luckiest woman in Harmony Heights because he chose to marry me.
I wear the remains of the contract I once drafted in the pendant hanging off the chain he placed around my neck. Even if either of us was still trying to follow any of its points, there’s only one that Sebastien cares about: the termination of the year term to our marriage of convenience.
This agreement does not constitute a lifelong marital expectation unless mutually renegotiated…
If you ask my husband, we ‘mutually renegotiated’ our marriage the night up in the mountains, when he told me he loved me, when he gave me that necklace, and when he fucked me up against a tree after chasing me for the first time.
Yes. The first time. I unlocked a kink in my husband even Sebastien didn’t know he had, and I realized that running from Sebastien, knowing that he’ll forever chase me… it does it for me, too.
He knew we were made for more than a year. Me? When the first thing he said after discovering that I’d stabbed Eric to death was to tell me to wash my hands while he went and grabbed a shovel—after he made sure that I was okay—I knew that I’d be a fool to ever let him go.
So I haven’t. I won’t. And if he wants to give me a gift, I’ll thank him the best way I know how: by trading my sandals for running shoes and begging for a five-minute head start before I take off into the woods behind our house.
That’ll be later, though. For now? I walk with Sebastien over to his Porsche.
He positions me outside the passenger door, then goes around to his side.
His jacket is pooled on the driver’s seat.
After letting himself into the car, he grabs something from the inside of his jacket before closing the door.
I can’t see what it is. The reason for that is simple. When Sebastien joins me, his hand is fisted around a small black jewelry box.
He hands it to me. “For you.”
I take it. “What is it?”
“Open it, love.” Sebastien’s eyes sparkle, the same mischievous look I fell in love with twisting his features.
I do. Popping open the lid, I see a thin ring. The outside is gold, like the ring I’m currently wearing. The inner part shines like diamonds.
“It’s a ring.”
“Every Offering who gets given to an Owed wears the stock standard band. But my wife? She deserves a wedding band as unique as she is.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s ashes.”