Epilogue
Two months later…
The morning sunlight spilling across wilderness that reminded Baylin, in some ways, of the lands his pack had once roamed.
Two months. It seemed impossible that so much time had passed since they’d arrived in Port Cantor, exhausted and uncertain, with nothing but the clothes on their backs and a small creature who’d decided humans made acceptable companions.
Now the city felt almost familiar—still overwhelming for Liora at times, still noisy and crowded and chaotic, but no longer terrifying.
But it was the estate that had become home.
Ember’s country property sprawled across several hundred acres of carefully maintained wilderness, close enough to the city for easy access but far enough removed that the noise and press of humanity faded to a distant memory.
The main house sat on a gentle rise, surrounded by gardens that Liora had immediately claimed as her own.
Outbuildings dotted the grounds—storage facilities, a guest cottage, the small converted structure that had become their private space.
He stood on the porch of that structure now, watching the sun climb higher as he sipped the bitter tea she had introduced him to. Vultor rarely drank such things, but he’d developed a taste for it over the past weeks, much as he’d developed a taste for so many things that had once been foreign.
She changes everything, he thought. Without even trying.
The restlessness that had plagued him for years—that constant, gnawing itch that had driven him from his pack and across half the continent—had finally quieted.
Not vanished entirely; he suspected it never would.
But here, with Liora, with purpose, with something worth protecting. .. the beast inside him found peace.
He finished his tea and set the cup aside, then stretched the tension from his shoulders before heading towards the main house.
She would be in the laboratory by now, as she was every morning.
The small building Ember had converted for her sat behind the main house, hidden from casual view by a carefully cultivated hedge maze.
A fitting precaution, given what she studied there.
Her blood.
His jaw tightened at the thought. He’d watched her pore over her father’s notes for weeks, deciphering the careful documentation of experiments performed decades ago. The old man had known about her gift, had studied it in secret, had hidden her away to protect her from those who would exploit it.
And now she studied herself with the same scientific detachment.
It unsettled him, though he tried not to show it.
The idea of her blood being drawn and tested, catalogued and analyzed—it felt too close to what slavers and criminals would do if they ever learned her secret.
But this was her choice, her research, her way of understanding the abilities she’d been born with. He had no right to object.
You could never restrict her freedom, his beast reminded him. Not even to protect her.
No. He couldn’t. And he wouldn’t.
The hedge maze had been designed as much for beauty as security, its twisting paths lined with flowering bushes that released sweet fragrance into the morning air.
He navigated it without thinking—he’d memorized the layout within days of their arrival, his hunter’s instincts automatically mapping every possible route of escape or attack.
The laboratory came into view as he rounded the final turn: a small stone building that had once served as a groundskeeper’s cottage, now fitted with equipment Ember had sourced through contacts who asked no questions.
The windows were dark, obscured by heavy curtains that kept out both light and prying eyes.
He could smell her before he reached the door.
That warm, indefinable scent that his beast had recognized as mate from the very first moment—honey and green growing things and something uniquely her own.
Pip’s sharper musk overlaid it, along with the chemical tang of whatever substances she used in her work.
He pushed open the door without knocking. She’d told him long ago that he didn’t need to, that her space was his space, that nothing between them required permission.
“You’re early.” She didn’t look up from the microscope she was bent over, her blonde hair escaping its careful braid to fall around her face. Pip sat on the workbench beside her, gnawing contentedly on something that looked like dried fruit. “I thought you were hunting this morning.”
“I was. The deer were uncooperative.”
“They usually are.”
He crossed the room to stand behind her, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her body. “What are you looking at?”
“My own cells, magnified several hundred times.” She made a small sound of satisfaction and finally sat back, rolling her shoulders to ease the tension that always accumulated during her work. “I think I’ve figured out why my blood only works when given willingly.”
“Oh?”
“It’s not just the blood itself—it’s something in the giving.
” She turned to face him, her blue eyes bright with excitement.
The gold flecks in them seemed to dance in the laboratory’s dim light.
“When I’m frightened or threatened, my body produces different hormones.
They actually suppress the regenerative properties.
But when I’m calm, when I’m choosing to help.
.. the opposite happens. The healing factor is enhanced. ”
He considered this. “So the protection is built into you. Not just an accident.”
“Exactly. My father theorized something similar in his notes, but I’ve confirmed it. Anyone who tried to force my blood from me would get nothing useful. It would heal surface wounds, maybe, but nothing significant.” A smile curved her lips. “My body literally refuses to help people who hurt me.”
“Clever body.”
“I thought so too.”
She was beautiful like this—flushed with triumph, mind racing with discoveries, so vibrantly alive that it made his chest ache.
In the tower, she’d been lovely but contained, her curiosity trapped within walls she couldn’t escape.
Here, she bloomed like the flowers in her garden, growing stronger and brighter with each passing day.
“You’re staring,” she said.
“I’m admiring.”
“Same thing.”
“Not at all. Staring implies rudeness. Admiring implies appreciation for beauty.”
She laughed, and the sound filled the small space like music. “When did you become such a diplomat?”
“I’ve been practicing. Ember says I need to learn subtlety if I’m going to navigate human society.”
“And what did Rykan say?”
“That Ember should stop trying to civilize people who don’t need civilizing.”
She laughed again, and he felt the familiar surge of warmth that her joy always provoked.
Two months of waking beside her, of sharing meals and conversation and the quiet intimacy of building a life together, and the feeling hadn’t faded.
If anything, it had deepened, settling into his bones like marrow.
Mine, his beast purred. Ours. Forever.
“Are you done for today?” He reached past her to shut down the microscope, his arm brushing against her shoulder. “You’ve been in here since dawn.”
“I had to finish this phase of testing. The samples degrade after a few hours.”
“The samples can wait. You need food.”
“I ate breakfast.”
“Half a piece of toast doesn’t count as breakfast.”
She opened her mouth to argue, then seemed to think better of it. She knew by now that arguing with him about food was pointless. His protective instincts wouldn’t allow him to watch her skip meals, no matter how absorbed she became in her work.
“Fine. But only because you’re insufferably persistent.”
“I prefer ‘devoted.’”
“You would.”
She stood, stretching the stiffness from her limbs, and Pip immediately scurried up to his favorite perch on her shoulder. The little creature chittered something that might have been agreement, though Baylin suspected he was just angling for more dried fruit.
Without warning, he swept her up into his arms.
She yelped, her hands clutching at his shoulders for balance. “What are you—”
“Carrying you home.”
“I can walk perfectly well.”
“I know.” He kicked the laboratory door open and stepped into the morning sunlight. “I just enjoy carrying you.”
“Insufferable,” she muttered, but she was smiling as she said it. Her arms settled around his neck, her body relaxing against his chest with the ease of familiar intimacy.
The walk back to their cottage took only a few minutes.
He prolonged it deliberately, taking the scenic route through the hedge maze, pausing to point out a bird’s nest he’d discovered in one of the flowering bushes.
She exclaimed over the tiny speckled eggs with the same wonder she’d shown when she first saw the ocean, and something in his heart cracked a little wider.
She finds joy in everything, he thought. Even after everything she’s been through. Especially after everything she’s been through.
Their cottage came into view—a modest structure of local stone, with wide windows that let in the light she craved and a small porch where they often sat in the evenings, watching the stars emerge.
It had been a storage building before Ember converted it, but now it held everything they needed: a bed large enough for two, a kitchen where she experimented with recipes from the books Ember provided, a sitting area where they could read or talk or simply be together.
Home.
The word still felt strange in his mind.
He’d lived in pack settlements, in temporary camps, in a hundred different places that had served as shelter but never felt like anything more.
Even his original pack—before Lysara’s manipulations had torn everything apart—had felt like his pack’s home, not his own.
This was different.
He pushed through the cottage door and finally set her down, though he didn’t release her entirely. His hands settled on her hips, holding her close.