Epilogue
Karina - Six Months Later
Six months ago, I was a woman who hid from what she was. Now I'm the Luna of the Rosemark territory, and I've learned that power isn't something you're given. It's something you take.
I stand at the window of our study, watching snow gather on the pines that surround our home. The mountains look different in winter.
“The eastern border patrol just reported in,” Damien says from his desk, not looking up from the maps spread before him. “No sign of trespassers since we installed the new security system.”
I nod, my fingers tracing patterns on the cold glass. “That's the third quiet week in a row. Maybe they're finally getting the message.”
“Or they're planning something bigger.” His voice carries that edge it always does when we discuss potential threats. Six months as Alpha hasn't softened my Damien’s paranoia—if anything, it's sharpened it.
As Damien predicted, the inner circle of Lockhart's pack fought us at every turn during those first brutal weeks.
Three challenges for leadership in the first month alone.
I still remember the sound of bones breaking as Damien put down the last one—a hulking enforcer named Vance who thought I'd be the weaker target.
He learned quickly that being Elena Rosewood's daughter meant I inherited more than just her looks.
The rest of the pack fell into place more easily than we expected.
While Damien and I had agreed for me to assume the role of Luna for this pack to keep the peace with the more outspoken, traditional wolves under our care, I have been training, growing stronger and faster every day.
Preparing for the fight ahead for my own pack lands.
The lands I would rule as alpha with Damien by my side.
We’ve been workshopping names for a male Luna, but he hasn’t liked any of my suggestions.
Though Luman is still my favorite. Maybe it will grow on him.
“I'll be ready when they come,” I say, turning from the window to face him.
The firelight catches on Damien's face, highlighting the new scar that runs along his jawline—a souvenir from the second challenge.
I've memorized every inch of that face, every expression, every micro-movement that betrays his thoughts before he speaks to them.
“I know you will. Your combat training with Gabriel is going well. He says you're a natural.”
I can't help but smile at that. Gabriel has become one of our most loyal allies. After recovering from Saloma's bullet, he took it upon himself to train me personally. Repayment, he says, for failing to protect me that night at Crimson Howl.
“I'm still not as fast as you,” I admit, crossing the room to stand behind him. My hands find his shoulders, feeling the tension coiled there like springs. “But I'm getting stronger every day.”
Damien reaches up, his hand covering mine. “You don't need to be as fast as me. You just need to be faster than whoever comes for us next.”
There's always someone coming for us. That's the reality we've come to accept. Whether it's remnants of Lockhart's old allies or wolves eyeing our territory, the threats never truly end. They just change shape.
“That's the problem, isn't it?” I say, kneading the muscles at the base of Damien's neck. “There's always someone waiting to test us.”
He leans into my touch, a rare moment of vulnerability he shows only when we're alone. “Nature of the beast, kitten. Power attracts challengers.”
I've learned this lesson well over these past months. Every decision we make is scrutinized. Every show of strength measured against Lockhart's brutal legacy. The pack doesn't want another tyrant, but they also don't respect weakness. It's a delicate balance we walk daily.
The fire crackles in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the study walls.
Outside, the snow falls heavier now, blanketing our territory in pristine white.
Six months in this place, and I'm still adjusting to the brutal mountain winters.
My wolf loves it though—she thrives in the cold, finding freedom in the snow-covered forests where we run during full moons.
“Any word from your father?” I ask, my fingers working at the knots in Damien's shoulders. He groans as I hit a particularly tight spot.
“Nothing new. He's still handling the fallout from Saloma's trial.”
I suppress a shudder at the mention of her name. After what she did to me—to us—Anselm had no choice but to hold a formal trial. The revelation that his mate was not only a traitor, but a crossbreed had nearly broken him. The once-proud Alpha aged a decade in a matter of weeks.
“And Elias? How is he taking everything?”
Damien leans back into my touch, his eyes closing briefly. “Better than expected. He's stepped up as his father's right hand. The pack respects him more now that he's proven himself.”
“Good. He deserves that.” I mean it. Despite our rocky start, Elias has become something of a brother to me.
“He’s coming by today.”
“Did he say why?”
“Just that there's news he'd rather deliver in person.”
“That’s not ominous at all.”
“With Elias, it could be anything from pack politics to his latest romantic conquest,” Damien shrugs, but I can feel his tension returning beneath my fingers. “Whatever it is, we'll handle it.”
I'm about to respond when our intercom buzzes. The guard's voice crackles through the system, slightly distorted by the snowfall interfering with our communications.
“Alpha, Luna—Elias Bellandi has arrived at the gate. He's alone.”
Damien and I exchange a glance. Alone is unusual. Typically, Elias travels with at least one security detail, especially in this weather.
“Send him up,” Damien replies, already rising from his chair.
I straighten my sweater and run a hand through my hair, an automatic response to visitors even after months of being Luna. Some habits from my previous life are hard to break.
“Should we be worried?” I ask, moving to stand beside Damien as we wait.
He shrugs, but his body language tells a different story. The easy relaxation from moments ago has vanished, replaced with the coiled readiness I've come to recognize as his default state when facing potential threats.
“Let's hear what he has to say before we decide.”
The sound of tires on gravel reaches us even through the thick walls of our home. Moments later, the front door opens and closes, followed by the sound of familiar footsteps approaching the study. A soft knock echoes through the room.
“Come in,” Damien calls.
Elias enters, shaking snow from his coat. His usually immaculate appearance is disheveled, blonde hair damp from the storm.
“Christ, it's brutal out there,” he says, pulling off his gloves. “The roads are barely passable.”
“Which explains why you came alone,” I observe, studying his face for clues about what brought him here in such weather.
He nods grimly. “What I have to tell you couldn't wait for better conditions.”
My stomach tightens with familiar dread. In our world, news that requires absolute secrecy is rarely good news.
“Sit,” Damien gestures toward the leather chairs arranged near the fireplace. “You look like you could use the warmth.”
Elias settles into the chair closest to the fire, his hands extended toward the flames. I notice they're trembling slightly—whether from cold or nerves, I can't tell.
“Drink?” I offer, moving toward the bar cart in the corner.
“Please. Something strong.”
I pour three glasses of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the firelight as I hand them out. Elias downs his in one gulp, while Damien and I wait with untouched glasses in our hands. He sets the empty tumbler down with a decisive click against the side table.
“Saloma was executed at dawn this morning,” Elias blurts out.
The whiskey glass nearly slips from my fingers. I tighten my grip. “Was it...was it quick?”
“No. My father insisted on the old ways. Public. Before the entire pack.”
I sink into the chair opposite him, memories flooding back with nauseating clarity.
“Good,” Damien says beside me. “She deserved nothing less.”
“I don’t disagree. Saloma was a grade A bitch, and she reaped what she sowed. But there's more,” Elias continues, reaching for the bottle to pour himself another measure, “my stepbrothers have been exiled.”
“Both of them?” I lean forward, the whiskey forgotten in my hand. “Matthew and Leo?”
“They're barely adults,” Damien interjects. “What did they do to warrant exile? Surely, they weren’t involved.”
Elias runs a hand through his damp hair, leaving it standing in disheveled spikes. “They knew. About Saloma's plans with Lockhart. Not everything, but enough.”
The room suddenly feels colder despite the roaring fire. I set my glass down before my trembling hands can betray me.
“Old enough to know right from wrong,” Damien growls beside me. “Old enough to understand what kidnapping and forced mating means.”
I reach for his hand, feeling the tension vibrating through him. “What happens to them now?”
“They've been stripped of the Bellandi name and protection,” Elias explains, staring into his whiskey. “Given enough money to start somewhere new but forbidden from contacting anyone in the pack. If they return to our territory...” He trails off, the implication clear.
Death. The punishment for returning from exile is always death.
“Your father's handling of this situation seems...thorough,” I say carefully, watching Elias's face. There's more he isn't telling us—I can see it written clearly on his face.
“Thorough doesn't begin to cover it,” Elias says, draining his second glass. He shifts in his seat, suddenly finding the fire intensely interesting. “There's something else. Something that concerns both of you, actually.”
I exchange a glance with Damien. “What is it?”
Elias fidgets with his empty glass, turning it between his fingers. “My father has...made arrangements.”
“Arrangements?”
“For me,” Elias clarifies, still not meeting our eyes. “I'm to be mated at the next full moon.”