Epilogue
I gaze out at the Surhiiran lake from the balcony of our villa by the shore, watching the sun's pink rays dance across the pristine water as it sinks behind the clouds. Listening to the soft, rhythmic lap of waves against the white cliff below.
It's the villa I spotted as we left Surhiira on the train, and just as I suspected, it's perfect for us. The white marble of our new home somehow manages to blend perfectly with the wild landscape around it. Plague even had beautiful blossoming plants and vines transported from the hanging gardens around the palace to enhance our little slice of paradise.
This villa was Plague's gift to me. To the whole pack, even though I was the one who'd planted the idea in his mind. He had Surhiira's best architects and builders start working on it the morning we all left Surhiira on the train, making it perfect for us.
It's a celebration of the safety we've found together. And after everything we've been through as a pack, we've more than earned it.
More than earned our rest.
I lean over the balcony railing with a contented sigh, watching gentle waves spread across the lake's surface. The gilded hull of the white catamaran we use to travel back and forth to the marble city glints in the setting sun. On the rear exterior hull, the name Whiskey insisted on giving it is glinting, too.
The Wildcatamaran.
While Whiskey was on a roll with naming everything in sight, he named our villa the Chateau Two. It's kind of a tongue twister, and it isn't a chateau at all.
But it fits.
The Chateau was the first place I started to feel almost at home. Before I realized it was the alphas that made me feel that way, not the run-down concrete buildings and reinforced steel doors.
The thought brings a smile to my face that bubbles up into a laugh even as I stare out at this impossibly peaceful bliss we've fought so hard for. From here, it's easy to let myself just be. To let myself decompress.
It's so… different.
It's nothing like the violence and chaos we lived in for so long.
And for once, we're the ones being protected. While we can't see the guards in the distant watchtowers, they can certainly see us. The open landscape that stretches on for miles and miles, even beyond the vast lake that shelters us, makes it impossible for anyone to come anywhere near us without getting picked off by snipers.
It's strange, this new life of mine.
Of ours.
Strange to live without feeling like we have to look over our shoulders. There's no Sword of Damocles hanging over our heads here. No one can touch us in this sanctuary.
Not that it keeps us from being on edge when we hear a sound in the distance that sounds like danger. When you've lived so long with death breathing down your neck, it's hard to believe you're truly safe. And I'm not the only one going through an adjustment period.
Even though it's clearly the good kind.
The Ghosts are having trouble adapting to retirement, too. Old habits die hard, especially for alphas who've spent their entire lives fighting and killing. Then again, it hasn't been long at all. Just over a week. So much has happened in such a short span of time.
With the seizure of the capital city and the destruction of the Council, the old Reinmich has fallen. The Refinement Center is nothing more than rubble and ash on blood-soaked ground. Surhiiran forces have been expanding outward by the day, liberating more and more of the country that was once a prison for every omega within its borders.
And while the queen offered the task of overseeing the rebirth of what's already been coined New Reinmich and ruling as regent to Plague, I've never been more relieved than when he turned it down.
The rest of the world is still fucked up. We couldn't fix it all alone. It was too much for one pack—even a pack of alphas like mine. But we laid the foundation, and we're committed to doing our part of that work as a pack.
Just not as the Ghost Alpha Unit.
Our part in the war is done.
But that doesn't mean it hasn't left its scars on us.
Thane still positions himself with clear sightlines to all exits, even when we're just having dinner. He checks the lake often, too, as if there's any chance an enemy might try to cross to us. Even if that could possibly happen, we're up on a cliff. Still, he checks, his dark eyes always on alert.
Sometimes I think being the protector makes him happy. There's rarely tension in his muscles these days, and I would know, considering how many shoulder massages I give him.
I can see him from where I stand on the balcony, sitting on the deck of our boat, looking out over the lake. When he's sitting like that—cross-legged, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees—he's meditating.
He always has lived in his own head.
At least now, he's more likely to meditate than overthink.
Whiskey, on the other hand, deals with the stress of his new environment—or lack thereof—by throwing himself into training with almost manic intensity. The training area behind the house echoes daily with the sound of him pummeling punching bags and sparring with whoever he can convince to join him.
It's usually Valek.
They've formed a bizarre and tentative truce that seems built entirely on kicking each other's asses in a controlled environment. Better that than both of them wandering around the city, picking fights with drunks.
That's where they both are right now, and judging from the harsh sound of Valek's triumphant laughter and Whiskey snarling in frustration, their latest match isn't winding down anytime soon. I'd rather let them work their shit out without cutting it short, but Whiskey and Valek both help me cook.
Well, Valek helps me slice everything up, at least.
I pad barefoot out onto the soft grass of our backyard training area, drawn by the sound of grunting and the solid thwack of fists meeting flesh. The late afternoon sun casts gentle shadows across the pristine white marble of our villa as I watch Whiskey and Valek circle each other.
Instead of interrupting them, I decide to wait, leaning on one of the training dummies Whiskey's painted to bear striking resemblances to the cyborg cowboy ninjas from his favorite movie.
Our favorite movie, actually, even though I've seen a few others since then. None of them live up to my first cinematic experience with Bros, Hoes, and Foes that last night in the Chateau, even if the rest of the night was nothing to laugh about.
And of course, not to be outdone, Valek came up with his own way to add his personal touch to our home. A jar of preserved fingers, presented to me with a bow. Specifically the remaining fingers of that beta at the Refinement Center. He thought I'd like to have them.
He was right.
The alphas are both shirtless and sweating, their muscled bodies gleaming in the golden-pink light. Like a white wolf facing up against a big grizzly bear, and it's impossible to tell who's winning. That goes for the physical fight and the verbal blows they're trading, although I don't know how they can make out what each other is saying over the grunts and growls.
Especially since Whiskey can’t read Valek’s lips behind the silver-and-white scarf that somehow remains in place.
The sight of the two alphas sparring makes the back of my neck tingle with a familiar heat. It's been strengthening over the past couple of days, and I'm sure Plague has noticed. He told me he's going to pick up more heat suppressants for me while he's in the city with Wraith tonight, and the other alphas have been on edge all day. I keep catching them scenting the air when I walk by.
But I don't want to take those again.
This time, I want to go into heat.
I want to know what it's like now that we're a pack.
A family.
A family with a permanent home.
That's why I've been sneaking off to work on my nest whenever I have a spare moment. The private nesting room Plague had renovated for me is tucked away in a secluded corner of the villa, accessible only through a hidden door disguised as part of the ornate wall paneling. He presented it to me with uncharacteristic shyness, explaining that he wanted me to have a space that was entirely my own.
It's a den of marble, sure, but a den nonetheless. There are no windows, only rounded walls and a low, slanted ceiling.
And it's absolutely perfect for me.
I think of the luxurious pile of fabrics and blankets and pillows waiting for me there, all carefully selected by the pack during our shopping trip in Surhiira. Plague had plenty of extras delivered, too. In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion he bought out the whole shop.
At the time, I was overwhelmed by the sheer variety and opulence of it all. Now, as my heat approaches, I'm grateful for every silky piece of fabric and plush cushion.
I've arranged and rearranged them countless times, driven by some primal instinct I don't fully understand. Each piece has to be just right, creating a cocoon of comfort and safety that smells of my alphas.
I've even caught myself purring as I work.
The other alphas have been giving the nesting area a wide berth, respecting my need for privacy. But I can sense their curiosity. Sometimes I catch them lingering near the hidden entrance, scenting the air with poorly concealed interest. Especially now, with my oncoming heat intensifying my omega scent in the nest. It makes my chest warm, knowing they want to be close even as they hold themselves back.
And tucked away in one corner, carefully folded beneath the throw pillow embroidered with home is where the pack is , are scraps of fabric I've stolen from each of them. One of Thane's belts, carefully coiled around the pile. A strip from one of Whiskey's tanks. The scarf Wraith accidentally tore on his sharp teeth. One of the cloths Valek uses to polish his knives. And one of Plague's gloves, liberated when he wasn't looking.
Maybe I should feel guilty about the theft, but it's nothing they'll miss—although Plague did go looking for the glove—and the omega in me purrs with satisfaction every time I catch their mingled scents.
It makes the nest feel complete.
Whiskey moves suddenly, snatching Valek's scarf in a burst of impulse. Valek responds immediately by socking him in the jaw, earning an angry snarl from Whiskey. The bigger alpha tackles Valek, slamming him to the ground on his back, and pins him down. Valek slams his knee up into Whiskey's gut and the other alpha falls off him with a woof.
The sight of the two alphas brawling makes a fresh wave of heat wash over me. My skin feels too tight, too sensitive. I want to strip off my clothes and go to my nest and roll around in their scents, marking everything in preparation for tonight.
But not yet.
First, we need to have dinner.
I have a special night prepared for us all.
Right now, Wraith is in the city with Plague, who's helping him with a laser treatment for his scars. The special crystal technology they use is gentler than traditional methods, which is crucial given Wraith's trauma. And he'll only need one session. There isn't much they can do other than smoothing and softening the scar tissue with the laser because of the way he metabolizes sedatives and other medication, so he isn’t a candidate for anything more invasive even if he could mentally handle it.
I'm glad he wasn't worried I wanted him to do more when we talked this morning, before he went off with Plague. I reassured him I just want him to feel better and not be in so much pain, and I could tell from the lightness in his eyes that he believed me.
We’re all making progress.
Each in our own way.
It still amazes me how much has changed. Plague is working on opening his own clinic in Surhiira, where he'll specialize in treating veterans and injured civilians who come to the city for help. Surhiira seems to be heading into the future slightly less isolationist than it once was, at least when it comes to those in need.
I think helping others heal helps him heal too, in a way. And he's not hiding anymore. Not from his past, not from his family, and definitely not from his relationship with Whiskey.
The thought makes me grin as I remember Whiskey's increasingly exasperated reactions to other alphas hitting on him since Plague came out publicly about everything that’s happened, including their relationship. Most of the flirtations have been imagined, but that just adds plenty of funny moments to our trips into the city.
Out of all of us, Wraith seems the most at peace with our new life. He’s content to relax around the villa with me, and when I go down to the gardens by the beach to gather food for our meals, he follows me there, too, and catches fish with his bare hands in the crystal-clear water. He's incredibly efficient at it, and always humane.
The fish he caught this morning are waiting to be cooked. They're already cleaned and ready beside the stone fire pit, thanks to Valek and his favorite new glass-forged Surhiiran cooking knife. Of course, Whiskey brought the logs for the fire, including a few that were way too big because he wanted to show off his biceps to me, which are even thicker than usual thanks to all the training.
Then he and Valek went off into the sunset to spar.
I've already gathered the kindling and small branches, arranging them just like my mother taught me when I was little. There's something deeply satisfying about cooking over an open fire, especially fish. The smell of woodsmoke and fresh herbs takes me right back to those rare peaceful moments of my childhood.
I start building the fire, carefully stacking the wood in a pyramid shape. The familiar motions are soothing on my slightly frayed nerves, though tonight, they're only frayed because I'm starting to go into heat. This is something I know, something that connects my past to my present in a way that feels right.
"Need any help with that?" Whiskey calls out, momentarily distracted from his sparring match with Valek.
Valek takes advantage of his lapse in attention, sweeping Whiskey's legs out from under him. The bigger alpha hits the ground with a thud and a string of creative curses.
"I'm good," I laugh, striking a match. "But maybe you two could grab some more wood for later? We'll want to keep the fire going after sunset."
They both nod, their earlier competition forgotten as they head toward our woodpile. They're still bickering about Valek's cheap shot, but it's nice to see them working together instead of trying to kill each other.
Progress comes in many forms, I suppose.
The fire catches quickly, flames licking at the dry wood. I arrange the stone cooking platform over it, waiting for it to heat up properly. Wraith's fish are beautiful specimens, their scales gleaming silver in the late afternoon light.
I season them simply. Just salt, pepper, and fresh herbs from our garden. Sometimes the old ways are best, and there's nothing better than fire-cooked fish with crispy skin and tender flesh.
My mouth waters just thinking about it.
When Plague and Wraith return, dinner will be ready. We'll all gather around the firepit, sharing stories and laughter as the sun sets over the lake. These moments of peace and togetherness still feel surreal sometimes, like I might wake up and find it was all a dream.
But it's real.
This is our new life.
I watch as Valek and Whiskey return with armfuls of wood, their earlier sparring match seemingly forgotten. Valek immediately starts arranging herbs with his usual precision while Whiskey gets busy stoking the fire higher.
“Son of a fucking bitch!” Whiskey snarls, shattering the silence. Valek barks out a sharp laugh at the sight of Whiskey smacking his padded abdomen where a stray ember just flared up and burned him.
“Are you okay?” I ask, running over to him to inspect the red mark on his stomach. He lets out a sharp hiss as my fingertips trail over the burn, and when I press my lips to it to make him feel better, he shudders.
“Better?” I ask him.
“Y-yeah,” he says hoarsely, swallowing hard as he stares down at me, pupils blown wide. "But I think an ember hit me a little further down, too."
I give him a look.
Valek’s laughter finally subsides. “That’s what you get for cooking without a shirt on,” he remarks.
“You’re one to talk, bro,” Whiskey retorts with an irritated glance over Valek’s own bare torso.
“Yes, well, I’m not tending the fire,” Valek replies smoothly, stretching like a cat so the sun reflects off his lean muscle.
Show-offs.
Both of them.
I’m appreciating the show, though.
“Here comes the killjoy,” Valek says, sighing dramatically. I follow his gaze to the lake. Thane is coming up the path, looking more relaxed than usual after his meditation.
"Hey, zen bro,” Whiskey says to Thane with a nod.
"Call me that again and I'll throw you in the lake," Thane growls, but his tone is more playful than usual. He settles beside me, his presence warm and solid. "Something smells good."
"The fish Wraith caught this morning," I say, arranging them on the cooking platform. "Dinner will be ready by the time he and Plague get back."
“Plague let me know they’re on their way,” Thane replies, tapping the pager on his belt. My eyes are drawn immediately to the obvious bulge in his pants, too. “And I spotted the spare sailboat they took coming from across the lake. Should only be a few minutes now.”
Sailing is another thing Wraith took to automatically. Whiskey, who has plenty of sailing experience from his days on the coast of Columbia, started teaching him as soon as we got here. And the sight of him on a deck, his massive frame silhouetted against the setting sun as the wind whips through his choppy dark hair, does something to me.
I remember the first time he took me out on the boat with him. Just the two of us, surrounded by endless blue. The catamaran cutting through the waves, spray misting my skin. The feral alpha at the helm, his muscles flexing as he steered us through the water.
It’s a wonder I didn’t go into full blown heat right then.
I notice how all three alphas subtly shift closer, clearly affected by my strengthening scent. Thane's nostrils flare slightly, while Whiskey keeps finding excuses to brush against me as he tends the fire. Even Valek seems more focused than usual on his task, as if he's struggling not to slip and slice his fingers.
"The herbs are ready," Valek announces, passing them to me with careful movements. His fingers brush mine, and I feel him shiver slightly at the contact.
"Perfect," I murmur, sprinkling them over the fish. "Whiskey, can you grab the plates from inside?"
"On it," he says eagerly, clearly grateful for the distraction. As he heads toward the villa, I catch him adjusting his pants, trying to be subtle about it.
Not subtle enough, apparently.
Thane snorts and Valek smirks behind his scarf.
"You're all ridiculous," I tell them fondly, turning the fish to ensure even cooking. The skin crisps beautifully, releasing an amazing aroma that mingles with the woodsmoke.
"Can you blame us?" Thane asks quietly, his dark eyes intense as they meet mine. "Your scent is..."
"Alluring," Valek finishes when Thane trails off. “To say the least.”
I hide my smile, pretending to focus on the cooking. "Good things come to those who wait."
“I hope you mean that literally,” Valek says under his breath.
Thane shoots him an irritated look. It's clear he still has a bone to pick with Valek, but that’s something he’ll have to get over during his meditation sessions.
Whiskey returns with the plates, having clearly taken a moment to compose himself. "Are we still talking about dinner?" he asks, looking between us.
"What else would we be talking about?" I ask innocently, enjoying the way all three alphas tense at my tone.
The sun continues its descent toward the horizon, painting everything in soft gold and pink. The lake sparkles like diamonds, and a gentle breeze carries the scent of the herbs from the garden. The only thing that isn’t peaceful is the wound-up energy humming from the alphas surrounding me.
And I’m enjoying every moment.
Enjoying the way they orbit around me, drawn by my strengthening scent but maintaining their control. Enjoying the knowledge that they're all mine, just as I'm all theirs.
As my alphas busy themselves with the final dinner preparations, I smile to myself. Tonight is going to be interesting, to say the least. But first, we'll enjoy this meal together, as a family, in our beautiful home by the lake.
Just as it should be.
As if summoned by my thoughts, I hear footsteps approaching from the path leading up from the lake. My heart leaps as I spot them, Plague's lean frame a stark contrast to Wraith's hulking silhouette. Even from a distance, I can tell Wraith is in an unusually good mood. There’s even more of a lightness to his gait than usual, his massive shoulders relaxed.
I abandon the fire pit, trusting Valek and Whiskey to keep an eye on dinner as I hurry to greet the two returning alphas. Plague reaches me first, his pale blue eyes warming above his white scarf. Without hesitation, he tugs the fabric down and pulls me into a passionate kiss.
The familiar taste of him—clean and sharp, like mint and ozone—floods my senses. His gloved hands cup my face as he deepens the kiss, and I melt against him. When we finally break apart, both breathless, I can see the effect my strengthening scent is having on him. His pupils are dilated, a faint flush visible on what I can see of his high cheekbones.
"Fuck, you’re a sight for sore eyes," he murmurs as if they've been gone for weeks instead of hours, his voice rougher than usual.
I nuzzle into his palm, savoring the contact. “Welcome home.” I pause as something occurs to me, lowering my voice so I don't spoil the mood around the fire. "Any word from Azarel?"
Plague's gaze darkens and he shakes his head slightly. "No. And I imagine that's probably a good thing."
He's probably right. After what we saw in the Council chambers, I get the feeling that we won't have to guess when Azarel finally realizes whose care Cosima was temporarily transferred to. But that's a problem for another day, and considering Azarel cut off all contact with Surhiira and disappeared behind enemy lines after the invasion, he's all but officially been declared a defector. He won't be able to get to us here anytime soon.
“Where’s my kiss?” Whiskey asks, walking up with his arms spread wide and a grin on his face.
“Go kiss him before he sets himself on fire,” I say to Plague, grinning.
With one last quick kiss, Plague moves past me toward the others. I watch as he approaches Whiskey, who's still shirtless and glistening with sweat from his earlier sparring match.
"You should really put a shirt on before you burn yourself," Plague chides, though there's fondness in his tone as he tugs Whiskey close and presses his lips to the other alpha’s. Whiskey pulls him into a crushing bear hug.
Valek's amused voice drifts over. “Too late.”
I turn my attention to Wraith, who's finally reached us. His blue eyes crinkle above his black scarf as I throw my arms around his massive frame. He rumbles softly, the sound vibrating through my entire body as he engulfs me in a gentle embrace.
"How did it go?" I ask, pulling back to look up at him.
Good. Missed you, he signs.
"I missed you too," I say softly.
He reaches up and unwraps his scarf. My breath catches as the fabric falls away, revealing his scarred jaws. At first glance, he doesn't look dramatically different. But as I study him more closely, there are subtle but noticeable changes. The furrows of scar tissue do seem smoother, blending more naturally with his skin, and the exposed muscle near his sharp back teeth doesn't look as angry.
He still looks like my Wraith, but there's less tension in his features. Like he's not in constant pain anymore.
That’s what matters most.
"You look amazing," I tell him honestly. "How do you feel?"
He shrugs those massive shoulders, but I notice the pleased glint in his eyes. Better. Doesn't hurt as much, he signs.
My heart swells with joy for him. I reach up, cupping his scarred face in my hands. "You're so handsome," I murmur, meaning every word. Always have. Then, gently, I press my lips to his sharp teeth.
Wraith freezes for a moment, clearly surprised. Then, hesitantly, he licks me in return. His own way of kissing. The gesture is almost wolflike, and it sends a shiver of heat through me.
It's getting really hard to hold off.
His rumbling growl intensifies as he catches my strengthening scent, those piercing blue eyes darkening with interest.
"Oh, yeah, how'd your big fancy laser treatment go?" Whiskey's uncertain voice breaks the moment as he saunters toward us. I turn to see him staring at Wraith, his brow furrowed in confusion as he takes in Wraith’s appearance like he’s struggling through a spot the difference puzzle. "Oh. I'm sorry, man. Or... I'm happy for you?"
I shoot him a glare.
Whiskey's distress visibly grows. "Bro, is this a trap? Am I supposed to say something specific?"
"You're supposed to shut up and mind your own business," I say, though there's no real heat in my words.
But Wraith just huffs a laugh and signs to him. I didn’t do it for you, W-H-I-S-K-E-Y.
Whiskey laughs nervously. To his credit, he’s been doing better with sign language. They all have. I asked them all to learn with me, and they’ve been putting in genuine effort with Wraith as our teacher.
Plague pinches Whiskey’s side, eliciting a startled growl from him, before he can dig himself a deeper hole. "Why don't we all sit down and enjoy the lovely dinner Ivy's prepared?"
We gather around the fire pit, settling onto the cushions arranged in a circle. The fish and roasted veggies sizzle tantalizingly on the cooking platform, filling the air with a mouthwatering aroma. I serve everyone, making sure Wraith gets extra of his favorites since he had a rough day.
"This looks incredible," Thane says appreciatively as I hand him his plate.
"It smells divine," Plague agrees, inhaling deeply.
Whiskey's already shoveling food into his mouth. "Holy shit, wildcat," he mumbles around a mouthful. "This is fucking amazing."
"Thank you all," I say, warmth spreading through my chest at their praise. "But I can't take all the credit. Valek and Whiskey helped, and Wraith caught the fish."
Valek preens visibly at the acknowledgment, folding his scarf in his lap. "I didn’t do much."
"Yeah. You chopped herbs," Whiskey snorts. "I'm the one who hauled all that firewood."
"Yes, and you managed to burn yourself in the process because you insist on being half naked all the time," Valek shoots back. "Truly a herculean effort."
“I don’t mind,” Plague adds, glancing appreciatively over Whiskey’s bulky bare torso.
Whiskey mutters something under his breath that sounds like it’s probably obscene before glancing around us. “There’s something that’s been on my mind,” he says, stretching as he looks to Thane. “What’s your real name?”
Thane looks up in surprise. “What?” he asks, his brow furrowing.
“Well, it can’t be Thane , bro.”
“And why the hell not?”
“I dunno, it just sounds like a code name,” Whiskey says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“What would Thane even mean?” Thane demands.
“I always figured it has something to do with trees,” Whiskey says with a shrug. “Sounds tree-ish.”
Thane just stares at him for a few seconds before replying flatly, “It doesn’t. It’s just my name.”
I almost choke on my fish. Whiskey just rubs the back of his head. “Well, that was awkward.” He glances at Wraith. “Speaking of names, though, maybe we should rename you.”
Wraith tilts his head, confused, and signs back to him. Why?
“Sounds like a mean name,” says Whiskey. “And you’re not a mean guy. You could have any name you want. Like Vincent, or Victor, or Viggo…”
“Do you know any names that don’t start with a V?” Valek asks, arching an eyebrow.
“None that would fit,” Whiskey replies. “Why? You jealous he’ll have a better V name than Valek?”
Wraith gives him a blank stare, like he doesn’t know how to react to that, then looks at me. I like my name. I like the way she says it, he signs.
I lean against his shoulder affectionately.