Epilogue
“Ricky, where are you?”
I stand on the porch of the sanctuary’s main building, my eyes sweeping the yard.
Ten minutes of searching, and still nothing.
The familiar weight of worry settles in my chest as I scan every shadow and every corner where my troublemaker might be hiding.
The early evening air carries the scent of pine and the distant sound of nocturnal animals stirring, but no chittering from my missing raccoon.
I’ve been looking for him since I realized he wasn’t in his cage with Zorro.
Although we call it a cage, the combination indoor/outdoor enclosure they share is a raccoon’s paradise.
But Ricky figured out how to open the door about eight months ago, and no matter what Maren and I do, no matter how many new double locks we install or alarms Damien sets up, he manages to break out.
Maren.
The worry that’s been gnawing at me for three days surfaces again.
She’s been gone without a word since Tuesday afternoon.
I came back from running errands in Estes, and Cindy, our newest intern, said a man had stopped by to see her.
They argued. She could hear raised voices from inside my office before he tossed Maren over his shoulder and carried her, kicking and screaming, out the front door, driving off in a large SUV that looked like a tank.
Even if the security cameras hadn’t been disabled in what Damien called a “suspicious malfunction,” I’d know he took her.
Maren and Cade have been dancing around each other for months.
Well, she’s been dancing around him while threatening to have him murdered if he doesn’t leave her alone.
Most of it is an act. I’ve known Maren since college, and I know when she’s interested in a man.
But why did she leave with him? She doesn’t bail on me or the sanctuary. Or on Estella, her grandmother. I called Estella yesterday, just to check on her, but I didn’t ask if she knew where Maren was. There’s no point in worrying an eighty-year-old woman.
If Maren’s with Cade—and I’m almost sure she is—he wouldn’t hurt her. At least, I hope he wouldn’t. But where the hell did they go?
Her purse is still here. Her phone too. I found that out when it started chirping in her desk drawer from the dozens of texts I sent asking where she was. Maren doesn’t go anywhere without her phone.
But she just vanished. Poof. Gone. Kidnapped by Damien’s COO.
I’m trying not to panic, but it’s hard, especially with how out of whack my hormones are. I didn’t even get a chance to tell her.
“Ricky!” I call out again, louder this time. “If you don’t come here right now, no banana peanut butter pop for you tomorrow.”
Nothing. Just silence and the distant hoot of an owl.
My frustration builds as I turn and walk back through the door.
I move through the building, checking all of his usual hiding places one final time.
Most of the animals have settled for the night—the soft sounds of sleeping creatures, the rustle of bedding, and the occasional contented sigh from one of our permanent residents.
Ricky couldn’t have gotten out unless one of the interns made a mistake when I was in the barn feeding Cotton and Patches. He has to be around here somewhere. Trouble is his middle name, though if you asked Maren, she’d say it was “boob-obsessed furry sexual harasser.”
Shit.
I can’t even manage not to lose one of our animals when Maren isn’t here. Some veterinarian I am.
When I reach his enclosure, Zorro sits alone on his favorite perch near the viewing window, washing his face with black paws. The indoor portion of their habitat sits empty except for him. My heart sinks.
“Rick! Come on, buddy, where are you?”
I unlock the enclosure door and step inside, searching every nook and cranny. The outdoor section, accessible through a large pet door, is equally vacant. My pulse picks up as I check the door mechanism, still functioning, which means he didn’t break out through there.
“Ricky!” My voice echoes through the building, higher now with the first threads of real panic.
I pull out my phone and dial Damien’s number, pacing toward the front of the building. He should be heading over from the estate, where he still works remotely most days.
Six months of living with him has settled into a rhythm I never could have imagined with my wolf.
His presence in my bed every night and morning, coffee brewing before I wake, the way he watches me tend to the animals with that soft expression he reserves only for me.
The one that morphs into heat and desire in an instant.
“Hello, beautiful.”
His warm voice carries that dark edge that makes me wet from just a few syllables. Even more so now that my hormones are insane. Heat pools between my legs, and I press my thighs together.
“I’m just pulling up.”
I look out the front window and see the golf cart he uses to travel between our properties.
The Bureau of Land Management gave him permission for a driveway easement through the federal preserve that sits between our property lines.
How he talked the federal government into letting him pave a path through protected land is beyond me.
Advantages of being a billionaire, I guess.
“Have you seen Ricky anywhere? He’s not in his enclosure with Zorro.”
The main door opens with its familiar squeak, and Damien walks through, phone pressed to his ear.
He ends the call and slips the device into his pocket, his eyes assessing my expression.
My breath catches at the sight of him—windblown hair from his golf cart ride, and the silver strands at his temples askew.
“The little troublemaker’s missing?”
He approaches, and my body reacts to his proximity like it always does—pulse quickening, skin warming, and that pull low in my belly that makes me want to press against him. I give in to the urge to touch him, reaching up and pulling his head down to mine for a kiss.
His arms wrap around me as he deepens it, groaning into my mouth. My breath hitches as he hardens against my stomach, and every nerve ending in my body lights up. The taste of him, the scent of him, the way his hands span my waist—it’s overwhelming.
Jesus. My libido is in overdrive. I pull away before I drag him to the lobby floor and let him violate me seven different ways.
“Fuck, Luna.” Damien shakes his head as if clearing it, a sexy smirk curving his lips. “I missed you too, little doe.”
The endearment sends heat straight to my core. He doesn’t call me that often anymore, except when we’re intimate. His eyes have gone midnight black, the gray-blue of his irises swallowed up, leaving only the kind of dark that means restraints and surrender and losing myself to his control.
My breath hitches as my mind conjures the image of zip ties cutting into my wrists, the cold bite of concrete against my knees, and his voice commanding me to take whatever he gives. The fantasy draws a whisper of sound from my chest, small and needy, barely more than air.
His eyes sharpen. He heard it.
No. We have to find Ricky.
I step back, giving myself space from the heat emanating from his body, and focus on finding my troublemaker. The worry crashes back over me, sharper now.
“I can’t find Ricky. I just finished the evening check, and he wasn’t there.” I cross my arms, trying to look calmer than I feel, but my voice betrays me.
His mouth quirks up in that half-smile I love. “Luna, he’s probably somewhere causing maximum chaos while looking completely innocent.”
“That’s not helping.” But despite my worry, Damien’s presence steadies me. He has this way of making everything seem manageable, even when I’m spiraling.
“When’s the last time you saw him?”
I think back through the day. “This afternoon, when I gave him his snack of apple slices. Tate was on the porch with him when I left to run to the post office. I didn’t see him when I got back.
I just assumed he was around somewhere. Tate didn’t say he was missing.
Maybe I should call Tate. He left around four. ”
I reach for my phone on the counter, babbling to myself, but Damien snatches it from my hands before I can dial.
“Don’t bother Tate. He would’ve told you if Ricky was missing. We’ll find him.”
I run a hand through my hair, tugging at the messy knot that’s been annoying me all day. The elastic band snaps as I pull, releasing the strands from their confinement. The summer heat is getting to me, and I swipe a small bead of sweat from the back of my neck.
“What if he got out somehow? There are coyotes out there, and mountain lions, and—”
I’m starting to spiral, and I hate it. This isn’t me. I’m steady and calm under pressure. But not lately. Not with my best friend missing, the news I still have to give Damien, and the changes happening in my body.
“Hey.”
His voice snaps me back—dark and calm and reasonable. That tone of absolute authority makes my pulse stutter and more warmth spread between my thighs despite the knot of worry in my chest.
“Let’s think about this. Where would a bored raccoon go if he wanted to cause trouble?”
My mind races through possibilities. “I’ve checked all his usual spots…” I trail off, realizing I haven’t checked every single space in the building.
“Or?” Damien follows me, unhurried and not as concerned as I wish he’d be. Ricky’s obsession with my breasts tests his patience, but right now I need him to care more. “Maybe he figured out how to get into the house. You know how food-motivated he is.”
I stop and stare at him. “The house? But how would he—”
“Luna, that raccoon has the problem-solving skills of a toddler with an engineering degree. If he wanted to get to your kitchen, he’d find a way.”
The logic makes sense, but worry has sunk its claws in deep. “But what if he’s hurt? What if something happened, and he crawled off somewhere to die—”
“What if he’s currently raiding the refrigerator and getting fat on leftover Chinese food?”