Epilogue
The crown of autumn leaves gleamed copper and gold in the mirror, nestled against her hair like it had grown there.
"Stop squirming." Willow jabbed another bobby pin. "You're making it worse."
"There's a twig stabbing my skull."
"Beauty is pain." Another jab. "Besides, Gray won't notice. He'll be too busy staring at you to care about your hair."
The black cat jumped onto the bed beside them, circled twice, and settled with her paws tucked beneath her chest.
"I still can't believe you have a cat." Willow shook her head. "Surrounded by wolf shifters and she just... stays?"
"She showed up. I didn't invite her."
"And Gray just... allows it?"
"He tried to kick her out. She ignored him." Lily smiled at the memory. "Then Ryker tried. She scratched him. Shaw chased her once and she hissed at him so hard he actually backed up."
Willow laughed. "So an entire pack of apex predators can't evict one cat?"
"She's stubborn."
"She's a menace." But Willow was grinning. "I love her."
The cat's tail swished once, acknowledging the compliment.
Her cousin grabbed another pin and turned back to Lily's hair.
Willow had grown confident since leaving Iris's fractured coven. No longer the hesitant witch who'd defected, but someone finding her own power. Her snark had sharpened that was for sure.
Heat rushed to Lily's cheeks. Gray's hunger prowled through her awareness, primal and demanding. A week had gone by since he'd claimed her, and Devils Point had recovered enough to celebrate. She'd also had that time to discover exactly how possessive a wolf could be when his mate bore his mark.
The crescent scar on her wrist throbbed. The hand-fasting mark would appear today during the ceremony, replacing the old binding wound from her coven.
Stop broadcasting your thoughts, little witch.
His growl in her mind made her thighs clench. Stop eavesdropping.
Can't help it. You're practically screaming.
I'm nervous.
You're wet.
"You’ve got a weird look on your face. Are you and Gray doing the creepy bond thing again?" Willow snapped fingers in her face. "Focus. We have exactly three minutes before Gray breaks down that door."
A knock interrupted. Mara poked her head in. "How's it going in here?"
"Almost done," Willow said, shoving one final pin into place. "There. You look perfect."
Lily touched the crown of leaves carefully. It did feel secure now, if a bit pokey.
"Good, because Maeve just arrived and she looks—" Mara paused. "Actually, I don't know how to describe it. Determined? Terrifying?"
"Both, probably." Lily stood, shaking out her cramped legs, and walked over to the table near the window. She'd been eyeing the cloth-covered basket the whole time Willow worked on her hair. The scent had been driving her crazy—honey, lavender, butter. Her stomach growled.
"Where did this come from?" Lily lifted the cloth. There were at least a dozen perfect scones, golden topped with visible lavender buds and a crystallized sugar crust.
"I made them this morning," Willow said, suddenly focused on organizing bobby pins. "As a thank you. For everything. The sanctuary, the chance to help you, letting us stay."
Lily picked one up. Still slightly warm. She bit in and moaned. Buttery, sweet, with just enough lavender to be interesting without tasting like soap. The texture was perfect—crispy outside, and tender inside.
"Willow. These are incredible."
"They're just scones—"
The door burst open. Maeve waddled in, looking more pregnant than ever and moving with single-minded determination. Her eyes swept the room, landed on the basket.
"What is that smell?"
Before anyone could answer, she'd crossed the room and grabbed a scone. She bit in. Her eyes closed.
"Oh, my Goddess."
She ate the entire scone in four bites, then grabbed another.
"Maeve?" Mara approached cautiously. "You okay?"
"Who made these?" Maeve's voice was dangerous.
Willow took a small step back. "I did?"
"You did." Maeve stared at her. "You made these?"
"Yes?"
"The texture. The rise. The lavender-to-honey ratio." Maeve took another bite, making a sound that was almost obscene. "This is perfect. No, better than perfect. This is artisan level."
"I just followed my grandmother's recipe—"
"Bullshit." Maeve pointed the half-eaten scone at her. "I've been baking for twenty years. I know technique when I taste it. Where did you learn to bake like this?"
Willow's face flushed. "My grandmother taught me. It was the only personal magic the coven allowed. Baking with intention, putting emotion into the dough."
"You're a kitchen witch." Maeve's expression shifted from interrogation to calculation. "You need a job."
"I—what?"
"A job. Employment. You're staying on the island, right? You need income." Maeve set down the scone and crossed her arms over her pregnant belly. "You're working at my bakery."
"I don't—I mean, I appreciate the offer, but—"
"That wasn't an offer. That was a statement of fact." Maeve gestured at the basket. "Anyone who can bake like this is wasted doing anything else. I'm having triplets in a few weeks and I need someone who won't burn down my kitchen."
"Triplets?" Willow looked panicked.
"Yep. Due any day now." Maeve took another scone. "Which means I need help. You're it."
"But I'm a witch. The pack might not want—"
"The pack will want these fresh scones every morning, trust me." Maeve's voice softened slightly. "Look, you need a place here. A purpose. I need someone with actual talent. This works."
Willow looked at Lily helplessly.
"You should do it," Lily said. "If you want to. Maeve's bakery is amazing, and the pack loves it."
"I don't want to impose…"
"You're not imposing." Faith appeared in the doorway, drawn by the commotion. She grabbed a scone, bit in, and her eyes went wide. "Oh. Oh, these are incredible."
"See?" Maeve gestured triumphantly. "The alpha’s mate approves. That practically settles it.”
"I'm not— I mean, yes, fine, I approve." Faith took another bite. "Willow, you made these?"
Willow nodded, looking overwhelmed.
"Then you're definitely working at the bakery." Faith's voice was warm but firm. "We take care of our own, and you're pack now. If you have a gift like this, we support it."
Allison's voice carried from the hallway. "Is someone hoarding baked goods? I smell lavender and sugar.”
She appeared in the doorway, took one look at the basket, and grabbed a scone without asking. One bite, and her eyebrows rose.
"Willow made these?" At Willow's nod, Allison smiled. "Then you're hired. The bakery's been Maeve's domain, but she needs help. The alphas will approve."
"You can't possibly know that."
"I'm Diego's mate. I can make it happen." Allison took another bite. "Besides, anything that makes Maeve this happy is good for pack morale."
"I haven't said yes yet," Willow protested weakly.
"You will." Maeve moved closer, and despite being heavily pregnant, she was intimidating. "Because you're talented, you need a job, and I make a mean employee benefit package. Plus, I'll teach you my grandmother's cinnamon roll recipe."
"Cinnamon rolls?"
"Secret recipe. Pack secret. Only shared with members." Maeve grinned. "So what do you say?"
Willow looked around the room—at Maeve's determined face, at Faith and Allison's encouraging smiles, at Lily's hopeful expression.
"Okay," she said finally. "Yes. I'll work at the bakery."
"Excellent." Maeve clapped her hands together. "You start next week. Now, can I have another scone?"
"Take the whole basket," Willow said, laughing. "I'll make more."
"Perfect answer." Maeve grabbed the basket and headed for the door. "Oh, and Lily? Your wolf is pacing a hole in the floor out there. You might want to finish getting dressed."
The door closed behind her.
"She's terrifying," Willow said.
"She's perfect," Lily corrected. "Welcome to the pack."
Willow's smile was real and warm. "Thanks. I think. Now let me fix your hair one more time before your mate loses his mind."
Mara shook the bag holding Lily’s dress, demanding attention. "Can we move to the good stuff now? We need to get Lily ready for this ceremony.”
"Right." Willow jabbed one last pin into place. "Hair's done."
Mara unzipped the bag and revealed the dress—deep green velvet sheath with a plunging neckline that would show every mark Gray had left on her throat. "Time to traumatize the pack with how thoroughly you've been claimed."
The dress skimmed over her body, clinging to her curves. No panties—Willow's suggestion. "Trust me," she'd said with a grin. "You’ll thank me later."
"Two minutes," Mara warned.
Lily's magic responded to her nerves. A few rose petals drifted down from the ceiling, autumn colors instead of her usual spring blooms.
"Breathe." Willow grabbed her shoulders. "Channel it through your bond. Let Gray's wolf ground you."
Lily reached for the warm thread connecting them. Gray's presence flooded through—steady as stone, amused by her chaos, and underneath it all, ravenous. His wolf wanted to skip the ceremony, wanted to throw her over his shoulder and disappear.
The rose petals settled, harmless and pretty.
"Good enough." Mara grinned. "Let's go get this done."
The door flew open.
Gray stood there, eyes pure gold, chest heaving. He wore dark pants and a green shirt that matched her dress, but his control hung by a thread. "You're late."
"By thirty seconds—"
He crossed the room in two strides, backing her against the wall. His hand wrapped around her throat, thumb pressing against his claiming bite. "Thirty seconds of smelling your panic. Your arousal." His nostrils flared. "You're bare under this dress."
"Gray, the ceremony—"
"Can wait." His mouth crashed against hers, tongue invading, claiming. She tasted his desperation, his desire to mark her in front of everyone.
"GRAY MOORE." Allison's voice cut through the room. "Altar. Now. Or I let Mara’s grandkids throw poison ivy instead of petals."