53. Epilogue
Skye
Filmmakers call this the golden hour. The sunlight is warm and glowing, right before it turns to dusk as Thrax and I stroll hand in hand across our sprawling property. The warm breeze carries the humid scent of fertile soil and the promise of a beautiful summer evening. Our peaceful moment is suddenly interrupted by a small, bleating bundle of energy that comes bounding toward us.
“What in Jupiter’s name?” Thrax exclaims, his eyes widening as a tiny goat kid zigzags across our land.
I can’t help but laugh at the absurd sight. “Looks like we have an unexpected visitor… and a hole in our fence.” I bend down to greet the curious little black-and-white creature.
The kid, all gangly legs and twitching ears, headbutts my outstretched hand before prancing around us in excited circles as it bleats in a surprisingly demanding tone for such a small creature. Thrax’s face softens as he watches the animal’s antics, a smile quirking his lips.
“He’s quite the character,” Thrax chuckles, reaching out to scratch behind the kid’s ears.
“Yep. Full of personality,” I agree, my heart warming at the sight of my fierce gladiator melting over a baby goat. “But where did he come from? We should probably find his owners. ”
After a bit of detective work (and a lot of chasing), we manage to corral our adventurous visitor, put a rope around his neck, and fight with him all the way to a neighboring farm. We give our agreed-upon cover story about having just bought the property for ourselves and some friends.
“Oh, the commune folks,” the elderly couple who own the place give us the once-over, then greet the kid with grudging exasperation.
“Glad to find the little shit,” the old farmer grumbles, eyeing the kid with annoyance. “He escaped when we were loading him onto the truck to be butchered.”
My heart sinks at his words, and I feel Thrax tense beside me. We exchange a glance, a silent conversation passing between us. With a slight nod, Thrax turns to the farmer.
“How much?” he asks in English.
The farmer’s eyebrows shoot up. “You want to buy him?”
I step forward, unable to keep the eagerness from my voice. “Yes, we’d love to. He’d make a great addition to our… farm.”
After some negotiation (and a price that’s probably far too high for a baby goat—especially a little shit), we find ourselves trudging back home, the kid trotting happily between us. Our new purchase seems determined to live up to the farmer’s description, zigzagging across our path and attempting to eat everything in sight.
“You know,” Thrax says between bouts of laughter as the goat nibbles the toe of his boot, “I think we may have bitten off more than we can chew with this one.”
I grin, watching as Thrax scoops up the mischievous kid. “Maybe, but look how happy he makes you. Besides, every farm needs a mascot, right?”
Thrax grumbles, “By his nature, perhaps we should name him Dominus . ”
“Master!” I laugh. “That’s a good one. You’ve probably hit the nail on the head. I think he’ll try to rule the roost, although when the other gladiators arrive, I imagine they’ll give him a run for his money.”
“Not to mention your cat, Alabaster,” Thrax says as he tries to rein in the ornery creature. “I’m pretty sure she thinks she’s in charge.”
I giggle. He’s right, though. She still hasn’t forgiven me for traipsing off to Switzerland for months.
As we crest the hill that leads to our farmhouse, we pause to take in the view. The property stretches out, a patchwork of fields and construction sites that will soon become home—not just for us, but for the other gladiators as well.
The existing farmhouse, where we’ve been staying, stands sturdy and welcoming. Soon, it will be Laura and Varro’s home, a place for them to build their life together, just as Thrax and I are building ours.
To the left, I can see the foundation of what will become our cottage—a cozy haven for just the two of us. Although Thrax made sure the plans were drawn up to include room for expansion. He gave me the sweetest look when he said that to the architect. I’m not gonna lie. It made my stomach do that swoopy, swirly thing that feels like an elevator dropping way too fast.
“It’s really coming together, isn’t it?” I muse, leaning into Thrax’s side.
He nods, his arm tightening around me. “It’s more than I ever dreamed possible,” he says softly. “A home, a future… a family.”
The word “family” sends a warm flutter through my chest. It’s true—in the months since we left Switzerland, even across an ocean, we’ve become more than just a group of people thrown together by extraordinary circumstances. We’re becoming a cohesive unit.
My phone buzzes with a text from Laura.
“She has several updates,” I announce as I scan the messages. “First, Lucien just completed the revival process. He’s healthy and adapting well, though understandably stunned by his journey through time.”
Thrax’s eyes light up at the mention of his brother. “Ah, the one with skin and hair white as milk. He was always quick to learn—he’ll do well here.”
Thrax gives me a thumbs up, our little in-joke.
“There’s more,” I continue, my smile faltering. “Roth’s case has concluded. He had powerful friends and excellent lawyers; he received a surprisingly light sentence.”
“And Victor?” Thrax asks quietly.
“Still missing,” I reply softly. “Interpol and Dara’s teams are following every lead, but…” I trail off, not wanting to voice our shared fears.
Thrax squeezes my hand. “We’ll find him. I feel it in my bones.”
“Laura and Varro will be here tomorrow afternoon to check on the construction progress,” I add, trying to lift the mood. “And she hints at having some other news, but didn’t say what it was. She ended her message with three dots.”
“A secret, hmm?” Thrax’s expression brightens. “Perhaps good news to balance the bad?”
I don’t answer, but wonder if the news is personal.
We’re quiet for a moment. Are we both worrying about Victor? Thrax answers my unspoken question when he says, “I don’t need a visit from Fortuna to know we’ll find Victor,” he adds with quiet conviction. “All my brothers will be here with us soon. All of them.”
As night falls, Thrax and I settle onto the porch swing, Dominus curled at our feet. The chorus of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl are all the background music we need for our quiet conversation .
“What do you think Laura and Varro’s other news will be?” I ask, tracing lazy patterns on Thrax’s palm.
He hums thoughtfully. “Maybe the scientists have quit demanding scrapings from our skin? Or the different governments trying to claim ownership of us have, how do you say it? Fucked off?”
“Hmm.” I snuggle closer, loving the feel of Thrax’s sturdy chest under my cheek. “That will be more of a miracle than you guys surviving two thousand years under the sea.”
Thrax presses a kiss to my temple. “Whatever comes next, we’ll handle it.” He nuzzles another kiss to the top of my head. “It’s still hard to believe sometimes. That I have you—have all of this.”
I understand what he means. Our life here in Missouri, the family we’re building, the future stretching out before us; it all sometimes seems like a dream. A beautiful, impossible dream we never saw coming during our meeting in that Swiss hospital when the big, silent gladiator couldn’t tear his gaze from the sky.
“You know,” I say, a mischievous glint in my eye, “we haven’t christened every room in the house yet. And since Laura and Varro will be taking it over soon…”
Thrax’s low chuckle rumbles through me. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, my love?”
In response, I stand, pulling him up with me. “Race you to the kitchen,” I tease, already darting toward the door.
His playful growl follows me as I run, giggling, through the house. When he catches me (as I knew he would), his kiss is tender despite the passion simmering beneath the surface. We haven’t even been together for half a year. Sometimes all he has to do is gaze at me with that predatory look and I get instantly wet at just the thought of his hands grazing my skin.
Although exciting, having him take me on the kitchen island isn’t as erotic as I’d imagined. The hard wood is unpleasant, and a nagging thought at the back of my mind scolds me that it’s incredibly unsanitary .
Still, I think my sexy gladiator could make me come a couple of times even if I were lying on a bed of nails.
“What are you thinking?” Thrax murmurs afterward, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my belly.
I prop myself up on both elbows, gazing up at him. “Just… everything. How far we’ve come, how much we have to look forward to.”
His smile is soft, his eyes filled with a love that still takes my breath away. “We have a lifetime ahead of us,” he says. “A lifetime to build this home, to welcome our brothers, to love each other.”
The enormity of it all—the love, the responsibility, the sheer impossibility of our situation—washes over me. But instead of feeling overwhelmed, I feel… ready. Ready to fa ce whatever challenges come our way, ready to build this beautiful future together.