Epilogue
Tori
My apartment looked smaller than I remembered.
I stood in the middle of the tiny living room and slowly turned in a circle, trying to see it the way Egon must. The cracked ceiling above me still carried the faint brown outline of an old water stain.
The carpet was worn thin where years of pacing had carved pale paths through the fibers.
The window by the couch never sealed properly, letting humid Florida air seep in along with the distant murmur of traffic and the occasional shout from the street below.
It was objectively terrible. But it had once been my entire world.
And somehow… that still mattered. Now that the bounty, or whatever Derek had offered on my head, had officially been lifted—per a call from Special Agent Chen this morning—I wanted to share it with my mate. Needed him to see where I came from.
Behind me, Egon shifted in the doorway. Even the smallest movement from him changed the atmosphere of the room.
His size alone overwhelmed the space—broad shoulders nearly touching both sides of the narrow hallway, dark hair brushing dangerously close to the low ceiling.
He looked like a powerful creature accidentally trapped inside a dollhouse.
"This is where you live?" His voice rolled through the room, deep and careful, as though he were afraid the walls might collapse if he spoke too loudly.
I turned to face him. "This is where I lived," I corrected. "Before everything." Before alien Warlords. Before reality TV. Before Derek lost his mind. Before I found my mate.
Egon stepped inside slowly, his golden gaze absorbing every detail—the sagging thrift-store couch, the crooked lamp I'd bought for ten dollars, the photographs taped to the wall of college friends, stray animals I'd helped rescue, the life I'd been building piece by fragile piece.
"It is…" He hesitated, clearly searching for the right word, his brows knitting in concentration. "…cozy."
A laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it. "It's a dump, Egon."
He studied the room again, then nodded solemnly. "Yes. It is a dump." Then his eyes returned to mine, warm and steady. "But it is your dump." His mouth curved slowly. "And that makes it beautiful."
My chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with the apartment.
I crossed the small distance between us and slipped my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek against the solid wall of his chest. His body radiated heat through the thin fabric of his shirt.
The familiar scent of him—smoke, wild air, something uniquely Egon—wrapped around me until the rest of the world faded.
The mating cuffs on my wrists caught the dim light as I moved, alien metal glimmering softly against my skin, etched with elegant sigils that represented his bloodline. Permanent. Unbreakable. Ours.
And for the first time since this madness began… we were alone. No cameras. No producers. No federal agents hovering nearby. No security. Just us.
Egon's arms came around me slowly, carefully, as though he still couldn't quite believe I was real.
"I do not wish to live here." The blunt honesty made me grin against his chest. My head tilted back so I could see his face.
His expression held no judgment, only quiet certainty.
"We are very wealthy, mate," he continued simply.
"I have lands and homes on Atlan. Estates on several worlds.
We could live on The Colony, if you prefer.
At the Beast Compound where I stay, or in a home of our own.
" He said it the way someone might offer coffee.
Casually. As if entire planets were normal housing options.
I laughed, the sound bubbling out before I could stop it. "Can we maybe visit all those places before we decide?"
His answering smile was slow and devastating.
"Anything you want, mate. I will provide.
" His hand lifted to brush a strand of hair from my cheek, fingers surprisingly gentle for someone capable of tearing steel apart.
"I would give you the world, Tori," he murmured.
"Every star in the galaxy. Everything I have… everything I am… is yours."
My heart squeezed painfully in my chest. "What if," I asked softly, "what I really need… is some love from my beast?" The change in him was immediate. The air between us thickened. His breathing deepened, chest expanding under my hands.
"And I want a real wedding," I added quietly. "Not on television. Not for ratings. A real one. With people who love us. With you waiting at the end of the aisle." My fingers curled into the front of his shirt. "No drama. No cameras. Just us."
His eyes darkened. "Whatever you want." The words vibrated through his chest like distant thunder. "Whatever you need. I am yours. Forever."
"Promise me."
His hands tightened slightly at my waist. "I promise you everything."
Then something shifted. I felt it before I saw it. The air seemed to pulse with energy. Egon's body tensed beneath my hands as if something vast had stirred beneath his skin.
"Egon?" I whispered. His breathing roughened. The golden glow in his eyes deepened, brightening until it looked almost molten.
"Your eyes…"
"The beast…" His voice dropped lower, rougher, the syllables slower now. "He wants you. Now. He is taking over."
I searched his face—searched for hesitation, for fear. I found none. Only the same fierce devotion that had carried us through everything. My pulse fluttered wildly. I’d tasted pleasure with the beast before. My beast was wild. Rough. Could never get enough.
Being wanted so completely was… addictive. "Then let him have me."
The sound that tore from his chest wasn't quite human.
His body expanded before my eyes, a transformation both terrifying and mesmerizing no matter how many times I witnessed it.
Muscles swelled beneath his skin, each fiber multiplying, thickening, gaining mass with impossible speed.
His frame grew larger—taller, broader, more powerful with each passing second until he seemed to fill my vision completely.
The already cramped apartment shrank around him, the walls pressing close, the ceiling descending until it nearly brushed the top of his transformed head.
Furniture that had seemed adequate moments before now looked like dollhouse pieces scattered at his feet.
Before Egon, I would have been afraid. Any sane woman would have run screaming from the alien beast towering before her, muscles rippling with barely contained power, golden eyes glowing with predatory hunger.
Instead, I felt only arousal. Only need.
Only the devastating certainty that I wanted this—wanted him—exactly as he was.
"Mine," he rasped, and the word vibrated through the room with the force of an earthquake, a promise written in stone and sealed in blood.
My breath caught in my throat, trapped by the intensity of his gaze.
Those eyes, no longer entirely civilized, locked onto me with singular focus, seeing nothing else in the world worth noticing.
God. It was so fucking hot when he looked at me like that.
"Yours," I whispered, the admission as much an invitation as a confession.
His hands came for me—larger now, fingers thick and strong and impossibly gentle as they wrapped around my waist. He lifted me effortlessly off the floor, my weight meaningless to his enhanced strength.
I barely had time to gasp before my arms wound around his neck of their own accord, clinging to him as the room tilted and spun.
He carried me across the apartment with long, purposeful strides, each step jostling me against the hard planes of his chest. I could feel his heart hammering beneath my palms—fast, urgent, racing with the same hunger that burned through my own veins.
"Wall," he growled, the single word rough with barely contained instinct.
I understood immediately. Understood and wanted.
My back met the peeling paint near the water stain, the cool surface a shocking contrast to the furnace of his body. He pressed close, surrounding me completely—his massive frame caging me in, his heat enveloping me, his scent—musky and male and him—filled my lungs with every breath.
My legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, locking at the ankles, holding on for dear life as he settled against me. Through the layers of our clothing, I could feel him—hard and huge and impossibly ready—pressed against the cradle of my hips.
My pussy was soaked and ready. Aching. Empty. So fucking ready.
Heat radiated from him in waves. Power rolled off his skin like electricity. Possession darkened his gaze to something almost black.
And beneath it all… unmistakable restraint.
Even now. Even like this—transformed, enlarged, his beast nature riding him hard—he held back. Controlled himself. Protected me from the full force of his hunger.
The realization made my chest ache with fierce, uncontrollable love. Love. I loved him. Totally. Every cell in my body was his. Every beat of my heart belonged to him. I’d proudly told Derek I wasn’t property, but Egon owned me. I was his.
And he was mine.
His breath brushed my lips as he leaned closer, his massive body crowding me against the wall, his golden eyes searching mine for any sign of fear, any hesitation.
He found none.
"You’re mine, beast," I whispered, my fingers threading through the thick silk of his hair, pulling him closer, demanding more. "Mine."
Egon
"Mine." The beast responded to his mate. His claim emerged from my throat like gravel, rough and broken and barely human. My beast nature rode me hard, demanding I claim her, mark her, make her mine in every primitive way possible.
But I was still Egon. Still her mate. Still the man who would rather die than hurt her.