Epilogue
. . .
Gray
One year later
I watch Beck from the edge of the property line, Lily strapped tight against my chest in the carrier, her tiny head tucked under my chin.
The pink onesie looks ridiculous on her—on both of us, really.
Six-foot-five ex-mercenary with a six-month-old in pastel pink babbling against my tactical vest, sidearm still holstered where it belongs.
One hand cradles the back of her downy head; the other stays free, always ready. Old habits die hard. Never will.
The motion sensors blink green as I finish the perimeter sweep. Three layers of security. Cameras, tripwires, pressure plates. Excessive? Maybe to anyone else. To me, it’s the bare minimum required to sleep at night knowing my girls are inside that cabin.
I glance up. Beck’s on the porch swing, wrapped in my old flannel, one hand resting on the round swell of her belly—our second child growing strong in there.
The sight of her like this still stops my heart for a second every damn time.
Mine. Carrying my seed again. Safe. Happy.
Choosing me every day even after she knows exactly what kind of monster I am.
Lily gurgles, squirming. I press a kiss to the top of her head. She smells like baby and innocence—nothing like the cordite and blood that used to be my constant perfume.
“All clear, princess,” I murmur to her. She answers with a sleepy fist to my collarbone. Strong already. Good.
I head back toward the house, boots crunching on the thin layer of early snow. Beck spots me, waves. I lift Lily’s tiny hand and make her wave back. The smile that breaks across Beck’s face hits me like sunlight after years underground.
Who the hell would’ve thought hunting a target would end with this—porch swings, baby carriers, and a second kid on the way?
Beck teases me as I climb the steps. “Security check complete?”
“For now.” I bend, kiss her slow, tasting the mint from her tea on her lips. My beard scrapes her cheek the way she likes. I unstrap Lily carefully, pass her to her mother. “She’s getting hungry.”
Right on cue, Lily roots against Beck’s chest. Beck unbuttons my flannel—looks better on her anyway—and guides our daughter to her breast. I sit beside them on the swing, arm stretched across the back, fingers threading through Beck’s hair while I watch Lily nurse.
Never gets old. The sight of my wife feeding our child—my child—still does something primal to me. Pride. Possession. A fierce, quiet joy I didn’t know I was capable of feeling.
“You just like seeing my boobs,” Beck says, smirking.
“Those too.” My hand finds the curve of her belly, stroking slow. “How’s this little one today?”
“Active. Kicking like he’s already training for combat.”
Pride surges again, sharp and hot. “Like his daddy.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “God help us if he has your temperament.”
“Our son,” I say with certainty. We didn’t find out the gender on purpose, but I know. I feel it. Another piece of me inside her. Another permanent mark. “Proof you’re mine.”
Her breath catches. Even pregnant—especially pregnant—she still responds to that gravel in my voice like it’s a physical touch.
“Later,” she promises, eyes darkening. “After she’s asleep.”
I build the fire while Beck settles Lily for the night. Flames lick up the stone chimney, throwing shadows across the expanded living room. Snow falls heavier outside—good. Keeps the world at a distance. Keeps us contained in our own universe.
The baby monitor carries Beck’s soft singing. Lullaby. Sweet. Gentle. My cock twitches anyway, already anticipating what comes next.
When she steps into the doorway, she’s traded my flannel for a thin nightgown that clings to every changed curve. Fuller breasts. Rounded belly. Hips that flare wider now. She’s never been more beautiful.
“She down?” I ask, pouring her herbal tea.
“Out like a light. Your daughter sleeps like the dead.”
“Not my fault,” I say, though we both know Lily got my combat nap ability. Useful in the field. Disturbing on a baby. I hand Beck the mug.
She settles on the couch, pats the cushion beside her. I sit, pull her legs across my lap, hand automatically finding her belly. The baby moves—stronger kicks, more insistent. Definitely a boy.
“Happy?” she asks, studying my face in the firelight.
The question still catches me sometimes. Before her, no one gave a damn about my happiness.
“Beyond,” I tell her. Honest. Raw. “You? Any regrets about the crazy bastard who hunted you down and knocked you up twice?”
She laughs—soft, warm, washes over me like absolution. “Not a single one.”
Her hand covers mine on her belly. Then she guides our joined hands lower, pressing my palm between her thighs. Heat. Wetness already soaking through her panties.
“Need you,” she whispers. “Need Daddy to take care of me.”
That word still snaps something feral loose in my chest.
I shift her onto her back, growl against her mouth. “Such a needy little girl. Always wet for Daddy.”
She spreads for me without hesitation. Shameless. Desperate. Pregnancy’s only made her hungrier—matches my own constant need perfectly.
I shove the nightgown up, expose her rounded belly. Kiss it once—reverent—then move lower. Beard scraping her thighs as I settle between them. Panties shoved aside. I lick through her folds, taste how ready she is.
“Gray—”
“Daddy,” I correct, voice vibrating against her clit. “Say it.”
“Daddy,” she whimpers. “Please, Daddy, don’t tease.”
I chuckle dark, circle her clit with slow, deliberate licks. Two fingers slide inside, curl to that spot that makes her gasp. She fists my hair, holds me there. Greedy. Perfect.
“That’s it,” I murmur when her thighs start shaking. “Come for Daddy.”
She breaks fast—back arching as much as her belly allows, crying my name. I keep going until she’s tugging my hair, oversensitive and pleading.
I rise to my knees, free my cock—hard, leaking, aching. Stroke myself once while I take in the sight: flushed cheeks, parted lips, pregnant belly round with my child.
“Look at you,” I growl. “Coming so fast on Daddy’s dick..”
I help her to the rug in front of the fire, position her on hands and knees—easiest for her now. Warmth bathes her skin gold.
“Still my baby girl,” I murmur, lining up behind her. “Still Daddy’s favorite toy.”
She glances back, eyes glazed with pleasure. “Always yours, Daddy.”
I push inside with one slow thrust. Groan at the tight, wet heat that still fits me like it was made for me. Hands on her hips—careful pressure. Never too rough now. Not with our child between us.
“Taking me so well,” I praise, setting a steady rhythm. “Such a good girl for Daddy.”
“Yes,” she gasps, rocking back to meet me. “Your good girl.”
My hand slides around to cup her belly—feel our baby move while I claim his mother. The dual sensation nearly undoes me.
“Still my baby girl—Daddy’s gonna breed you more,” I growl, instinct overriding sense. “Never gonna stop filling you. Keeping you round and full of my babies.”
She moans, clenches hard around me. “Please—”
My control frays. “Mine,” I snarl with each thrust. “Mine to breed. Mine to fill. Mine forever.”
“Yours,” she breathes. “All yours, Daddy. Forever.”
I reach around, find her clit, rub rough circles. “Come with me. Let me feel this sweet pussy milk Daddy’s cock.”
She shatters again—arms giving out, cheek to the rug, body pulsing around me. I drive deep one last time, roar low as I come, emptying inside her, grinding to push every drop where it belongs.
I ease out carefully, help her onto her side, curl behind her. Hand back on her belly, stroking slow circles while our breathing evens.
I kiss the back of her neck.
She smiles, drifts toward sleep. Trusting. Safe. Home.
I hold her tighter, feel the two heartbeats under my palm—my woman, my child. My reason.
A year and a half ago I hunted her. Claimed her. Changed everything.
She says I saved her.
Truth is, she saved me. Gave me purpose beyond killing. Gave me a family. Gave me this—quiet nights, firelight, snow outside, and the woman who saw the monster and chose to stay.
As she sleeps, breathing steady against me, I make the vow again—silent, bone-deep:
Nothing touches what’s mine.
Nothing threatens this.
Nothing comes between us.
Hunter and hunted became something else entirely.
Love. Family. Forever.