EPILOGUE || THIERRY
I t turned out that while Jeremy could survive on human blood if he needed to, extremely rare meat—the kind you wave over a hot grill to show it who’s boss—was also an acceptable source of nutrients for his newly changed body.
I suspected this was because a werewolf is technically part animal, and therefore, animal blood sufficed just fine.
Jeremy didn’t seem too worried about the details.
He was mostly relieved he hadn’t turned into something his former pack would need to hunt.
The only bad part about his new diet was that his body no longer wanted anything but rare meat or human blood. Unlike an ordinary vampire, Jeremy couldn’t stomach regular food anymore.
His hunger wasn’t like a vampire’s, either.
It wasn’t the crazed frenzy most newborns endure for months after turning.
He was perfectly at ease around humans, with or without me present.
When he did need to feed, he described the hunger as essentially the same as when his heart had still beat in his chest. Manageable. Almost—but not quite—human.
Sunlight hardly affected him. More than that, he no longer needed the moon to transform. Somehow, the mixture of vampire and wolf blood running through his veins was all the magic he needed.
And while he was no longer alpha—that mantle had, in fact, passed to Reed—he could still control his shift. He discovered this after he had accidentally shredded his blanket. A single thought was all it took. He would need to learn restraint.
We stayed in Crescent Springs for only one night after his transformation.
The pack was wary of him. Lindsey seemed to understand Jeremy was still her brother, and Reed would likely come around, but the rest kept their distance.
Perhaps they’d accept him eventually, perhaps not.
Jeremy assured me it didn’t need to be soon.
I was deliriously happy. Jeremy was alive. Or—well, not dead. He had come back to me.
The only dark cloud came when Poppy, Ethan, and Daniel examined the fissures the creatures had crawled out of. They were still trying to cobble together the spell to stabilize the bleeds, using Ethan’s blood.
Jeremy, Simone, Nathaniel, and I stood guard. After all, other creatures might have escaped from tears the wolves hadn’t covered. The bleeds occasionally opened in unpredictable places.
A few minutes into their efforts, Poppy shot to her feet, paler than usual. “No. No way.”
I turned to see the fissure glowing faintly gold, the ground around it shining with residual magic.
“What is it, darling?” Simone demanded, instantly at Poppy’s side.
“It was me,” Poppy whispered, stricken. Her wide eyes locked on mine. “The mate spell… that’s what caused the bleeds.”
“What? How is that possible?” Ethan asked, staring at the glow. Then his brows pulled together. “Okay, um… yeah. It’s the same sigil that’s on the vampires affected by the mate spell. But that doesn’t make sense, right? You weren’t anywhere near here when you cast it.”
“No,” Daniel said quietly. “It does make sense.”
We all stared. He grimaced. “Wolves are bound together through magic. It’s subtle, but there’s a real magical connection that gets forged when they’re in a pack together, similar to a mate bond.
They’re also linked—again, through magic—to the land itself.
That’s how they can sense it when something from another plane breaches this world.
The magic of the land itself tells them. ”
Poppy’s head snapped toward him. “You’re saying my spell hit Jeremy and kept going ?”
Daniel nodded. “It probably connected with Jeremy, spread outward through the pack, and then into the land. And this area was already unstable…”
Ethan frowned. “And it just needed a push.”
“A spell powerful enough to rewrite fate would do it,” Daniel said dryly. “The bleeds were unstable already—it was only a matter of time before they opened again. But this sped the process up.”
Poppy’s face crumpled. She covered her mouth, horror in her eyes. “Fuck.”
Simone caught her, pulling her into an embrace. Poppy didn’t cry, but the enormity of what she— we —had done seemed to have left her speechless.
I knew exactly how she felt.
You couldn’t have known, Jeremy whispered into my mind.
I nodded stiffly. If Poppy and Daniel were right, we had caused the bleeds. It was a miracle no one else had died. Yet.
And it meant I was directly responsible for what Jeremy had become. How could he ever forgive me?
There’s nothing to forgive, Jeremy said firmly, clearly hearing the dark spiral of my thoughts. If I hadn’t met you, I’d still be living rough in the woods—or I’d have forced Reed to challenge me. I might be dead. I wouldn’t change anything that happened.
But you did die! My frustration burst through the bond. That’s literally a thing that happened!
Sure, Jeremy soothed. But I came back. And now the pack has backup. Crescent Springs will have witches and vampires to help guard it. I’m leaving them in good hands.
Until Poppy, Ethan, and Daniel could figure out the spell that might close the bleeds for good, Tatiana ordered a team of witches to stay in Crescent Springs. Nathaniel stationed vampires there as well.
The wolves might not have been thrilled to share their town with other supernatural creatures, but we didn’t stay to see how it all unfolded. Jeremy left Reed the bar. Eventually, he’d sign it over—it wasn’t as if we needed the money—but for now, he’d be a silent partner.
We didn’t go back to Seattle. Instead, we went to Gold Bar.
I could have listed a dozen logical reasons not to head to Seattle.
It certainly wasn’t wise to push our luck with Jeremy’s transition, after all.
But in truth, I needed the peace of being surrounded by the motley crew of love-struck saps that somehow felt like family.
But I counted myself among them, so it wasn’t as though I could judge. Much.
* * *
It was raining outside, the second night of our stay at Michael and Danny’s. It was one of those gentle Pacific Northwest drizzles that never really stops, just shifts in tempo. The smell of wet pine drifted through the open window, blending with the cut grass and incense scent of my mate.
Jeremy stood beside me next to the bed, bare-chested and fresh from the shower, his damp hair curling slightly at the edges. His hand brushed mine, slow and deliberate, and I let my fingers curl into his palm.
“I keep waiting for this to feel unreal,” he said quietly. “But it doesn’t.”
“No,” I agreed, tracing the line of his collarbone with my gaze. “It feels like fate.”
He turned toward me, his hand sliding over my hip. “Good.”
Then he kissed me, slow and deep. His lips were warm, familiar, and still capable of unraveling me. There was no urgency in him. Only reverence.
I let him guide me with a gentle touch until my spine met the cool sheets of the bed. His fingers slid up my sides, mapping me with wonder in his eyes.
I arched into him without thinking. No pretense. No second-guessing. Just want and trust.
He kissed along my throat, then lower, moving down my chest. When his lips closed around one nipple, I gasped—sharp and unguarded—and threaded my fingers into his hair.
“So beautiful,” he murmured against my skin.
He sank lower, tongue tracing the ridges of my abdomen. A quiet sound of need escaped me. He caught it, smiled against my hip, then moved lower.
When his mouth closed around my aching cock, the world narrowed to pure sensation.
He took his time, pleasuring me slowly and deliberately, worshipping my body. Over and over, he brought me almost—but not quite—to release. I was certain he could feel the echoes of my pleasure through the bond, the same way I knew he was hard and aching to be inside me.
Then, perhaps sensing my desperation, he went lower still. His cool breath on my entrance made me shiver with anticipation. His hands anchored my thighs as he worked me open. Every languid drag of his tongue said you’re mine. It wasn’t possession. It was a promise.
By the time he lined himself up, I was shaking with want.
He caught my gaze, hand grazing my cheek. His piercing blue eyes met mine. “You okay?”
He was still asking, still giving me the chance to refuse. He had proven to me, in a thousand ways, that I could always trust him. That my first impression of him had been utterly wrong.
I nodded. “Yes. Just—please.”
He understood. He pushed in.
He moved carefully, as though still afraid of breaking me, though he knew better.
I bit my lip against the stretch, watching his eyes light with pleasure at being inside me.
There was a flash of pain, but even that was delicious.
The fullness was sheer, devastating bliss.
And the echo of his pleasure mingled with mine until it was almost too much.
He set a rhythm that was steady, deep, and maddening. Each thrust dragged over that place inside me that blurred my vision and sent pleasure climbing my spine. And through it all, his eyes never left mine.
“You feel like home,” he whispered.
I swallowed hard and let myself be vulnerable. “I haven’t ever let myself have a home before.”
“You do now,” he replied, gaze still locked on mine. “With me.”
When he finally came, it was with a low groan and a shudder that echoed through me. But he didn’t stop. He wrapped himself around me, hand curling around my cock, stroking me in time with the aftershocks that rippled through his body, which I felt as though they were my own.
I came with a cry, spilling across my belly, my whole body taut and trembling.
He kissed my temple, then my lips, before gathering me in his arms as though I were something precious.
We lay tangled for a long while, the rainstorm outside softening to a hush.
I closed my eyes, not to sleep, but to memorize this: him, us.
We’ll have time for that, he assured me silently. We’ve got an eternity.
I didn’t want to think it, but the thought surfaced anyway. What about Magnus?