Epilogue
Bayzon
Three days after my claiming, I sit in front of the fireplace at our compound, an ale in my hand, my two younger unmated brothers on either side of me.
Life is good.
Which is surprising, considering it was bad, really bad, for a few years there.
The females and offspring are all outside in the backyard, laughing and shrieking. The sound of their joy filters in through the open windows. I can hear Naomi’s voice among them, already blending in as if she’s been part of this family for years instead of days.
My Bride.
A smile tugs at my lips. I still can’t believe she’s mine.
“You’re doing it again,” Trunk grunts from beside me.
“Doing what?”
“Smiling like an idiot.” He takes a long drink of his ale. “It’s disturbing.”
“Leave him alone,” Scar mutters from my other side, though there’s no real heat in the words. “He’s newly mated. He’s allowed to be insufferable for at least another week.”
“A week?” Trunk snorts. “Hook has been insufferable for two years. Cannibal isn’t much better. I don’t think the smiling ever stops.”
I take a sip of my ale and let them talk.
They’re not wrong. I am smiling like an idiot.
I can’t seem to stop. Every time I think about Naomi, about the way she fits against me when we sleep and mate, about the fierce way she broke my arm during our claiming chase, my face does something I can’t control.
“How’s the arm?” Scar asks.
I flex my fingers, rotating my wrist. “Fully healed. No pain.”
“Good. Because I need to talk to you about something.” Scar’s voice drops, losing its teasing edge. “Both of you.”
I glance over at him. My brother’s expression has gone serious, the perpetual frown he’s worn since our parents died deepening into something darker.
“This is about the mist,” I guess.
“Yes.”
Trunk leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I thought we decided it was natural. Illibrium gas escaping during the Dark Moon. You said it yourself that night.”
“I said it’s happened before, but it hasn’t happened in our lifetimes.” Scar swirls the ale in his cup, staring into the amber liquid. “I didn’t say I believed that’s what actually occurred.”
A chill runs down my spine despite the warmth of the fire. “You think someone triggered it deliberately.”
“I think the timing is suspicious.” Scar meets my gaze.
“A mist event that hasn’t occurred in generations just happens to flood the cavern during the biggest public gathering of the year?
While all the fever brothers are in attendance?
While you’re in the middle of dancing with a human female you’re clearly about to claim? ”
“Could be coincidence,” Trunk offers, but his voice lacks conviction.
“Could be.” Scar takes a drink. “But I don’t believe in coincidences anymore. Not after everything that’s happened to our family.”
The fire crackles in the silence that follows.
I think about our parents, murdered in their beds by masked killers. About Daxon, betrayed by our own cousin and banished from Timbur. About Heavy, drugged and left for dead at the Hunter Station, his memory wiped, a fake goodbye note left to make his Bride think he’d abandoned her.
“Someone is targeting us,” I say quietly. “We’ve known this for years.”
“Yes. But we’ve never been able to prove it.” Scar sets down his cup. “Grytel left the ball early that night. Did you notice?”
I frown, trying to remember. The evening is a blur of watching Naomi, of wanting her, of finally holding her in my arms. “I wasn’t paying attention to Grytel.”
“I was.” Scar’s jaw tightens. “He made his appearance, stood around looking superior for an hour or two, and then slipped out. Approximately thirty minutes before the mist rolled in.”
“You think he knew it was coming?” Trunk growls.
“I think it’s convenient.” Scar runs a claw along the arm of his chair.
“The CEO of Minecorp, the male we’re certain orchestrated our parents’ murder and Daxon’s banishment, just happens to leave before a mysterious mist puts everyone to sleep?
A mist that could have injured or killed anyone who wasn’t immune? ”
“But we were immune,” I point out. “All of us. The fever brothers and our Brides.”
“Exactly.” Scar leans forward. “What if that was the point? What if someone wanted to see who could remain standing?”
The implication hits me like a punch to the gut. “They were gathering intel. On us.”
“It’s what I would do.” Scar’s voice is flat. “If I wanted to take down a family, I’d want to know their vulnerabilities first.”
Trunk curses under his breath.
Scar looks between us. “We need to be more careful. All of us. The attacks are escalating. First our parents. Then Daxon. Then Heavy. Now this.” He pauses. “I don’t think they’re finished.”
The laughter from the backyard drifts in again. I hear Naomi say something that makes Leah burst out laughing. The sound should comfort me, but now it just makes my chest tight with fear.
“What do we do?” Trunk asks.
“We keep our Brides close. We watch each other’s backs.” Scar picks up his ale again. “And I keep digging. There’s something we’re missing. Some connection we haven’t made yet.”
“Grytel,” I growl. “It always comes back to Grytel.”
“Maybe.” Scar’s response surprises me. “Or maybe that’s what someone wants us to think.”
I stare at him. “What does that mean?”
“It means Grytel is the obvious suspect. He’s Royal Pigment. He’s the CEO. He benefited from Daxon’s removal.” Scar shrugs. “But obvious suspects are sometimes decoys. Someone to draw attention away from the real threat.”
“You think there’s someone else?” Trunk sounds skeptical. “Who?”
Scar is quiet for a long moment. The fire pops and hisses. “I’ve been thinking about Kryzon,” he finally says.
Trunk’s expression darkens at the name. My own claws tighten around my cup.
Kryzon of Twelve. Our cousin. The male who betrayed Daxon, stole his position as head of the Miners’ Union, and convinced others of his lies even after Daxon beat him to the ground in an honor battle. The male whose treachery led to our eldest brother’s banishment from Timbur.
“What about him?” I growl.
“We’ve been so focused on Grytel that we’ve barely looked at Kryzon in years. We assumed he was just a pawn. A jealous cousin who saw an opportunity and took it.” Scar meets my eyes. “But what if he wasn’t just a pawn? What if he’s still involved?”
“Kryzon is nobody,” Trunk scoffs. “He holds a minor position in the Union now. He has no real power.”
“That we know of.” Scar leans forward. “I’ve started keeping an eye on him again. Tracking his movements. Who he meets with. Where he goes after his shifts.”
“And?” I press.
“And he’s been making trips to the Royal Pigment district. Late at night. Regular visits to a residence I haven’t been able to identify yet.” Scar’s jaw tightens. “A Margol miner has no business in that part of the outpost. Not unless he’s connected to someone with power.”
“You think Kryzon is working with Grytel,” I say slowly.
“I think Kryzon has always been working with someone. The question is who.” Scar picks up his ale again.
“Grytel is the obvious suspect. He’s Royal Pigment.
He’s the CEO. He benefited from Daxon’s removal.
But obvious suspects are sometimes decoys.
Someone to draw attention away from the real threat. ”
“So which is it?” Trunk demands. “Is Kryzon working for Grytel, or is Grytel the decoy?”
“That’s what I intend to find out.” Scar drains the last of his ale. “I have contacts. Beings who owe me favors. And I’m going to follow Kryzon until I know exactly whose door he’s knocking on in the middle of the night.”
“And until then?” Trunk asks.
“Until then, we work and live our lives. We protect our families and our crystals.” Scar stands, stretching. “And we wait for them to make their next move.”
He heads toward the back door, toward the laughter and the light and our gathered family.
Trunk and I sit in silence for a moment, staring into the fire.
“He hasn’t smiled since our parents died,” Trunk says quietly. “You know that, right? Scar used to laugh all the time when we were young. Now he just... investigates. Obsesses.”
“He’s trying to protect us.”
“I know.” Trunk finishes his ale and sets the empty cup aside. “I just hope he finds what he’s looking for. Before it destroys him.”
I think about my brother, about the weight he carries, about the mission he’s made his life since the night we lost our parents. And I think about Naomi, about the future we’re building together, about the offspring that might already be growing in her womb.
“We’ll end this,” I say. “Whatever it takes. Whoever is really behind it all. We’ll find them and we’ll end it.”
Trunk nods slowly. “Together.”
“Together.”
We stand and head toward the backyard, toward our family, toward the females who have made our lives worth fighting for.
But even as I step into the sunshine and Naomi’s smile lights up at the sight of me, I can’t shake the chill that settled into my bones.
Someone is watching us.
Someone is waiting.
And eventually, they’re going to strike again.
I hope you enjoyed Bayzon & Naomi’s HEA!