Epilogue
The forest is quiet again.
Moonlight spills through the trees, silvering the clearing where the rogues had gathered hours earlier. Blood still stains the earth in dark patches, though the bodies are gone.
Three figures stand at the edge of the clearing.
The pale-haired woman studies the ground like a scholar examining old text.
“So,” one of the witches murmurs behind her, “The girl got away.”
“Yes.”
The answer comes without irritation. Without surprise.
The pale-haired woman crouches slowly, brushing her fingers through the dirt where Gabrielle had fallen.
The soil hums faintly beneath her touch.
“There it is,” she whispers.
The other witch steps closer, “You’re certain?”
The pale-haired woman smiles. “I’ve never been more certain of anything.”
She rises gracefully, pale hair catching the moonlight.
“The White Wolf has finally begun to wake.”
The words drift through the clearing like smoke.
One of the rogues shifts uneasily. “And the Alpha?” he asks. “He nearly ruined everything.”
The woman’s smile sharpens.
“No.”
She glances toward Evergreen’s distant tree-line.
“He did exactly what we needed him to do.”
The witches exchange a look. Understanding passes silently between them.
“The bond will complicate things,” the second witch says carefully.
“No,” the pale-haired woman says softly. “It will do exactly what it was always meant to do.”
She smiles faintly. “Make her easier to reach.”
A moment of quiet follows.
Then footsteps approach through the trees.
Light. Careful.
A figure steps into the clearing a moment later, dressed too elegantly for the blood and mud underfoot. Pale blonde hair. Immaculate despite the night.
She doesn’t bow.
She doesn’t hesitate.
She simply meets the pale-haired woman’s gaze.
“Well?” the witch asks.
She glances once toward Evergreen before answering.
“The Alpha suspects nothing.” A faint smile curls at the witch’s mouth.
The woman turns her gaze back toward the forest.
“Good,” the witch says softly. “That will make the next part much easier.”
The wind stirs through the trees.
“How long?” The woman asks quietly.
The pale-haired woman tilts her head, considering.
Then she smiles.
“Patience.”
Her pale eyes gleam in the moonlight.
“The White Wolf always comes home.”