Epilogue
Amo—two years later
It has taken quite a bit to rebuild after the raiders came through.
To replenish our supplies that were stolen or ruined.
But as I sit here, watching Wilson, I think we finally did it.
We finally made this place a home.
He wanders through the rows and rows of plants, sometimes disappearing from my sight with how deep the fields now go. Expanding it with his know-how was one of the best things we’ve done.
There’s even a greenhouse that extends across the Outskirts, sectioning off a lot of the previously unlivable space, which has allowed us to begin trading with nearby camps and travelers as they pass through. It goes all the way out to our treehouse and it’s Wilson’s best project yet.
I’m so damn proud of him for that.
The council, made up of more than just our elders now, and Moros decided that he wasn’t going to take his dad’s seat in their circle.
Their ways were too biased. Antiquated. Moros wanted to fight outside the walls with his body, not inside their chamber using only his wits and brain.
Though now that he’s getting older and the creaks in his bones are more pronounced, I think he might reconsider joining us.
I know, and he knows, that he can’t run the Guards forever.
Even now, he’s in the Outskirts, training the next rotation of recruits with his eye on one of them to take his place.
I don’t know that my guy will ever not be the grumpy asshole with a drive to keep us all safe, but maybe he’ll calm down at some point.
As for me? Well …
I was bitten.
About a month after Cassia’s funeral, we were out scouting for the materials we needed to make Wilson’s greenhouse, and I got caught up.
Showing the teeth marks to my lovely partners was one of the worst times of my life.
Not only did they freak out, which freaked me the fuck out, they banished me from ever leaving the community again. Jokes on them, though, because living in Moros’s cabin still meant I was on the outside.
Silly boyfriends.
To this day, my blood still runs red.
Normal red.
My palm still aches from the check I did this morning.
Which means immunity.
Go figure.
Aside from that fiasco, and during the time I was quarantined, I decided to become a teacher.
Well, becoming a scribe was my original intent.
But when Kyrt supplied books full of misinformation, I couldn’t stand by and watch. So, I took it over.
Now, I write our history books.
Like, I literally write the books, teach the kids, and help the adults remember.
All it took was telling the truth that Michael had left out.
Moros is not just a notorious legend, known for his blood-thirsty tendencies, but a warrior in a field of cherry trees. A lover hidden behind the armor of a fighter, just waiting to be understood by the right people.
And Wilson, my sweet lover, is not just a hermit in the woods, scaling trees and eating people. He’s a goddamn hero. My hero.
Our hero.
They both are.
The ones we needed and didn’t even know it.
As for Michael … his body was found inside his room, one of the very few private ones inside the community, laying in a puddle of nearly black blood, only a day after the raid. Although the other elders questioned Moros about his death, I know he was with us. Most of the time, at least.
There’s really no way to tell who killed him.
So, he was burned with the rest of the bodies and put to rest.
Hypocrite.
Having him gone has been the best thing to have happened to our little town, his blockades of evolution finally ended and our new ways of life finally beginning.
It all feels like taking a full breath of fresh air. Just like the earth after a clear rainstorm.
“Poppy Amo?”
My grin grows as I set down my inked-dipped pen and meet the wide blue eyes staring back at me over the book I’ve been writing in.
“Yeah, Cassia?”
The little girl isn’t ours, but when we found her cold and starving during one of our scouting adventures, I knew she had to come with us. She was orphaned, her parents nowhere to be found, and all alone. No name. No clue how old she was.
Best we could gather is that her family had turned.
So, we brought her here, integrated her with the other kids, and the entire community helps care for her.
She might stay inside the walls, but whenever we’re here, she’s right here with us.
It only made sense to name her after my best friend.
“Papa Bear said to ask you.” She holds up a covered basket, her reference to Wilson making my heart clench. “I keep it?”
I’ll admit that my stomach drops out and a part of me is terrified of what she’s found, but when I tip back the fabric keeping the contents contained, I laugh.
“A fucking kitten? Where did you find this, little one?”
She shrugs her slender shoulder, her curls falling into her face as she sets the basket down and scoops the poor animal out with her tiny hands. It dangles like a shadow across her torso as she tucks it over her arm, squishing it’s dark meowing face next to hers.
“I dunno. In the woods or sumfin’.” She pets its black, furry head, pulling its eyes wide and I laugh harder.
“Do you know what to feed it?”
“Yeah!” she yells loud and the kitten squeals. “Milks.”
I snort. “Only when it’s little. When it gets bigger, it’s gonna need fish and birds.”
“Okay!” Another squeal from the kitten. Another laugh from me. “And the box. Papa said he’d make a box for its pee.”
My heart swells at another mention of Wilson, and my face aches from my grin. “A box, huh?”
“Yeah. It’s gotta poop and stuff.”
“You’re smart, little one. What do you think Moros would say?”
Her brows bunch real tight and her eyes take on a dark shade as she squints them.
But when she starts talking with a deeper voice, I cackle.
“I’m not carin’ for the thing,” she rasps, mocking Moros.
“You better keep it clean and fed—” her voice tips back to its normal pitch and I have to hold my stomach together, “—but I will! I swear. I even name it Death. After Daddy.”
I clench my chest and can’t contain the grin that has tears rushing to my eyes.
“Okay, okay.” I swipe a finger below my eyes. “Let’s go tell him.”
I gently take the all-black creature from her arms and hold it up to look it in it’s pretty green eyes.
“Welcome to the family, Death.”
Until The End