Epilogue #2
“I… shit. Okay.” His voice cracks, and half the crowd sniffles in sympathy.
“Lo, I never thought I’d deserve this. Not you.
Not them. Not a pack this good. I thought the best I’d ever get was…
scraps. But you…” His hand trembles as he presses it to his chest. “You gave me a joy bigger than I thought I could hold. You let me be yours. And I swear, I’m gonna spend the rest of forever proving I’m worthy of it.
I’ll protect you, love you, worship you.
God, I already do, and I’ll never, ever let you forget that you are everything. Everything, Lo.”
He breaks down crying. Full ugly sobs from the growling Alpha that stays in the shadows and works on wood in order to work through his frustrations.
The crowd loses it. Even Sylvia has to dab her eyes.
Beck mutters something about him being a disaster, but his jaw is tight.
He’s only holding it together by a thread, anyway.
And me? Yeah. I’m snot-crying at this point. Full Omega mess. Mascara bleeding down my cheeks. And I don’t even care.
Then it’s my turn.
“Uh. Hi. Okay.” I wipe my nose with zero dignity, which gets a laugh from the crowd.
Good. I needed that. “So, I didn’t write mine down, because…
well, me. But here’s the thing: You three wrecked my life in the best possible way.
You saw me at my worst. Like, actual car crash into a parade worst, and somehow decided, ‘Yeah, let’s keep her.
’ And I don’t know why, but I love you for it.
I love you for everything else, too. For putting up with me, for protecting me, for pushing me to be more than just the girl who ran away. ”
I pause, my heart hammering, because here comes the big one.
“And since everyone in town is definitely already gossiping about it, I may as well say it out loud: surprise. We’re having a baby.”
The gasp that goes through the crowd is so dramatic that it could power the grid. Tansy fist pumps in the back. Ezra looks like someone just told him Christmas is coming twice this year. Cassie bursts into tears. Rosie claps and cheers.
Ford outright sobs. Hiccupping sobs into Beck’s shoulder. Beck is trying to keep it together, but his ears are red, which means he’s two seconds from losing it. Hayes just smiles, soft and proud.
The officiant says something official, but honestly, it’s a blur. The only part I catch is, “You may kiss the bride.”
And then all three of them are on me. Beck first, quick and claiming. Hayes next, slow and calming. Ford last, wet with tears but commanding and so full of joy it almost knocks me off my feet.
He’d never let me fall, though.
None of them would.
The crowd cheers. The lanterns sway. And finally, for once, I don’t feel like a car crash. I feel like I’m home.
This place feels like home.
The officiant lifts his hands. “As is tradition in Honeysuckle Grove, vows spoken are not only witnessed by this pack, but by the bond itself. The Old Oak has stood through generations, and beneath its branches, words become promises, promises become ties, and ties become unbreakable.”
My stomach flips because I know what’s coming. The bond ritual.
The officiant gestures. “Alphas, Beta, Omega, step forward.”
Beck doesn’t wait. He moves first, because of course he does, hauling me closer, daring anyone to blink wrong. Hayes steadies me with one hand at the small of my back, calm even now. Ford clutches my fingers so tight his knuckles go white.
The officiant produces a shallow wooden bowl filled with crushed herbs and oil. “Each of you will scent mark the other. Claim, accept, and bind. This is how packs have done it since the Grove’s first founding, and forever it shall stand.”
My skin prickles because this isn’t symbolic. It’s real. It’s pheromones in the air, scent rubbed into skin, bond threads tightening until you can feel each other humming in your chest.
Beck leans down first, nuzzling into my throat with a low growl that vibrates through my bones. He drags his scent along my neck, rough and unashamed, and the whole crowd goes still. Heat shivers across my skin, Alpha possession rolling off him in waves.
“Mine,” he mutters, not even pretending it’s for show.
Then Hayes, gentler, his nose brushing the same spot, but his scent is sinking in like a slow tide. Steady. Lasting. A Beta’s claim, quiet but no less fierce. My breath catches, because it feels like being wrapped in sunlight.
“Chosen,” he whispers.
Ford’s turn nearly undoes me. He presses in trembling, needy, his scent flooding over my skin, like wine poured too fast. His lips brush the base of my throat, and I swear he’s crying again when he says, “Forever.”
By the time they’re done, I’m dizzy. My scent spikes, sweet, wild, and Omega strong, rushing out to cover them in return. The crowd shifts, uncomfortable, because it’s intimate, too much for public. But it’s tradition.
It’s bond.
The officiant dips a sprig of oak leaves into the oil, sprinkles it over our joined hands. “Bound in scent, in vow, in pack. What has been promised beneath this tree will echo through your bond and through this town for generations.”
The lanterns sway overhead. My men are still pressed close, their scents tangled with mine, and I don’t even care how insane it looks. Because it’s real. It’s us.
And when the officiant finally says, “You may now start your lives together,” it doesn’t feel like permission.