Epilogue–Next Halloween
Salem
The air carried the faint scent of fallen leaves and pumpkin spice as it rolled over the crowd gathered on the lawn of our once-haunted house. Now, it was nothing short of a dream. The old place had been completely transformed, every last inch of it restored, turning it into the perfect blend of eerie charm and homely warmth.
Today, though, it wasn’t just our home—it was the backdrop to the biggest, most badass Halloween wedding Seville had ever seen.
I glanced down at the tiny bundle in my arms, her wide, curious eyes staring up at me. We’d named her Lilith, after the dark and powerful goddess of folklore. It was fitting. She was our little witchy miracle, born just two months ago with a head full of dark hair like her dad’s and an attitude that already reminded me of myself. And today, she was about to walk—or, well, be carried—down the aisle at her parents’ Halloween wedding.
My dress clung to me like a second skin, a deep, inky black silk that shimmered under the golden glow of the setting sun. The bodice was corseted, with delicate lace trailing up my arms and over my shoulders, the intricate details twisting like vines across my skin. A slit ran up one leg, revealing my combat boots beneath the flowing skirt. My black veil, trimmed with lace and pinned in my curls, hung over my face. The ends of my hair were still dyed in purple and orange, blending into the fall colors all around us.
Pumpkins, carved into all sorts of creepy faces, lined the aisle, their candlelight flickering in the dusk. The guests, a mix of bikers from both the Hell on Heelz and the Seville Slayers, were decked out in their best Halloween attire.
Some had gone all out—Raven was dressed as a fallen angel, with her dark hair spilling over her black wings. Razor had gone for something even wilder—a full-on skeleton costume, complete with face paint that made her look straight out of a horror flick. And Pixie? Well, she was decked out in glittery devil horns and a red dress, winking at anyone who dared make eye contact.
The big porch served as our altar. I spied Floofy, the white puff ball, safely inside, watching from the window. Black candles were placed in every nook, alongside crystal balls, spell books, and jars filled with dried herbs and potions. The front yard had a dark, mystical vibe that made it feel like the veil between the worlds was just a little thinner tonight.
I clutched Lilith to my chest as I stepped in view, her tiny black dress matching mine. The music started up—an eerie, haunting tune that sent a chill down my back, and the crowd fell silent.
Riptide, the president of the Slayers, was standing beside the makeshift arch made of twisted branches and skulls, draped with black lace. He was Heresy’s best man. Rage, president of the Hell on Heelz, stood waiting for me, her fierce gaze softened just for today as she was going to walk me down the aisle. She gave me a nod of approval as I stepped forward.
Heresy stood at the end, waiting for me, looking like the dark prince of my wildest dreams. He was dressed in a black suit, his long hair tied back, his fingers adorned with silver rings that caught the candlelight. His tattoos peeked out from his sleeves.
His eyes locked onto mine, filled with the same magic that had always been between us, but now with something deeper—love, commitment, and the future we’d built together.
Rage and I walked down the aisle with Lilith in my arms, her tiny fingers clutching the lace of my dress. Heresy’s eyes never left me, his lips curving into a smile that made my heart race. This biker, who had once been my curse, was now my everything.
Raven stood by my side as my maid of honor, her eyes brimming with pride. Brat, dressed like some gothic queen, was there too, with her own little family by her side. I could see the pride in my sisters’ eyes—because despite everything, despite the clubs drama, and the fights, we’d made it.
I’d earned my patch, my place, and my family, but more importantly, with the Slayers and Heelz at peace, we were stronger than ever.
When I reached Heresy, he gently took Lilith from my arms and handed her to Rage, who held her like she was already one of her own.
Then Heresy reached for my hands, his grip firm and warm. “You look fucking incredible,” he murmured, low enough that only I could hear.
I smirked. “You clean up pretty nice yourself.”
Arizona, Brat’s famous brother who was officiating, cleared his throat, signaling it was time to start, but there was a softness in his eyes, too.
He gave us a moment, then spoke in that deep preacher voice of his. “We’re here today to witness something no one ever saw coming—these two crazy souls finding each other, surviving everything thrown at them, and coming out stronger. It’s not just about the clubs anymore. It’s about family. And that’s what this is.”
We exchanged vows under the arch, promising to stand by each other, no matter what came next. And when Arizona declared us husband and wife, I grabbed Heresy by the collar and kissed him like I owned him—because I did.
Heresy was mine.
As we walked back down the aisle, hand in hand, the future didn’t seem so scary anymore. Heresy had turned that haunted house into our home, our safe place. He’d even built me a little shop there, where I sold herbs, crystals, and gave tarot readings, just like I’d always dreamed.
Come to find out he had sold his mechanics shop to my sister Raven to buy this property. He still worked there, but he didn’t plan on giving up on a place of his own.
He erected a steel building on our property where he worked on everything from Harley’s to tractors. Heresy was itching to start a farm. I talked about growing my own herbs and running a pumpkin patch.
And when the weekends rolled around, we still spent plenty of time at the Roost and the Lair, surrounded by our brothers and sisters, celebrating the life we’d built.
Our reception exploded with life, laughter, music, and the undeniable energy of celebration. The bonfire crackled, sending sparks up into the cool October night, its warmth radiating across the lawn where bikers, dressed in their Halloween best, danced and drank. The moon hung high, full and luminous, casting a silver glow over everything like it was shining down just for us. It felt like a blessing—like the universe itself had been waiting for this moment, this union between two lost souls who had found their way to each other.
Heresy’s hands rested firmly on my hips as we swayed to the slow, haunting melody playing through the speakers. His touch, warm and strong, anchored me in the moment. Every glance, every brush of his fingers sent a wave of electricity through me. He spun me around, my dress flaring out around me as I laughed, the sound blending into the night air.
I leaned my head against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my cheek. His familiar scent—a mix of leather, cologne, and that underlying hint of motor oil—wrapped around me, comforting, grounding. This biker, my Heresy, had become my constant in the storm, the fire to my wild soul.
I pulled back just enough to look up at him, my hands sliding up his chest, fingers tracing the tattoos I knew by heart. His dark hair, slightly unruly, fell into his eyes, and I reached up to brush it away. Those eyes, though—dark and intense, filled with the same fire that had drawn me to him from the start. The fire that still burned for me, even after everything we’d been through.
“Think we broke the curse?” I asked, my tone playful, though the thought of it still lingered in my mind. After everything that had happened—after all the haunted nights, the fear—was it really over?
Heresy’s eyes locked onto mine, his expression turning serious for a moment before that familiar smirk curled the corners of his lips. He pulled me closer, one hand sliding up my back to rest between my shoulder blades, holding me against him like he was afraid I might disappear.
“Fuck the curse,” he murmured, his voice a low, husky growl. He leaned in, his lips brushing against mine in a kiss that was soft at first, but quickly deepened into something more. It was a promise, a claim, a reminder of everything we had been through to get here. “You’re mine, Salem. Always.”
His words were a vow. A commitment to me, to us. To the life we were building, no matter how many ghosts or curses had tried to stand in our way.
My heart swelled, a wave of emotion washing over me as I held onto him like he was the only thing keeping me grounded. I kissed him back, pouring every ounce of love, of trust, of everything I felt for him into that moment. We had made it through hell together, through curses and haunted nights, through rival clubs and dangerous enemies. But here we were, standing under the same moon, dancing like nothing else in the world mattered. And maybe it didn’t.
As the song changed, we stayed there, lost in each other. Around us, our clubs continued to party—loud, wild, untamed—but in our little corner of the night, it was just us.
I pulled back just slightly, my lips still inches from his as I whispered, “Always, huh?”
He smiled big, that rare, genuine smile that made my heart sing. “Always, witchy.”
In that moment, under the harvest moon, I knew we’d break every curse ever thrown at us.
The End