Epilogue
Eight months later
Brea
Our stuff sat in boxes. Most were already in the moving truck downstairs. Only a few stacks remained in the guys' apartment, towering by the door, waiting for one of us to tote it downstairs to the moving truck.
My omega stood among them, hand on her chest, looking around at this apartment that was never really even ours. It could've been, though, and that made letting go of it hard still.
She caught me watching her and gave a small smile. “Okay, one more move, and this time I really mean it.”
I put my arm around her shoulders. “Yep. Just one more.”
She looked around the space. Through the bond, I felt that familiar aching sadness of leaving a place behind. “Walls don’t make a home,” she said.
“Nope,” I agreed. “But it’s okay to want a place that’s home too.”
“And the new place,” Brooks huffed as he reentered the apartment and approached us, “will be home forever because I refuse to do this bullshit again.” Sweat darkened his red tee around the collar, and a few of his curls clung to his forehead, but his smile was radiant. Our beautiful beta.
Taryn laughed, turning to meet him with a happy, sweaty kiss. “What, not a fan of lifting things up and putting them down?”
He scoffed. “Listen, I am very secure in my physical abilities, okay? I do not need to prove them by carrying literally five million pounds of boxes to and fro."
"Literally five million pounds?" Taryn asked as she looped her arms around his neck.
"Yep. At least half of that being your blankies and jammies."
Smiling, I walked by—dropping a quick peck on his cheek, then hers—and grabbed a box. Maybe I purposefully grabbed one labeled Dishes, just to be a dick. “C’mon, Doc, gotta keep those muscles toned somehow.”
“Gahhhhhhh,” he moaned into Taryn’s hair, hands on her hips as he pulled her close. Right before I passed through the doorway, he dropped a kiss on her head and turned toward a stack of boxes, starting in on some flirty joke or another. Both their bonds alight with excitement.
We loaded the elevator with a dozen boxes, Taryn breathing heavy by the time we ran out of space. Her scent felt a little too sharp, and sweat droplets trailed down her chest. Brooks and I shared a look. “Why don’t you go get some fresh air on the patio,” I suggested gently.
“No way,” Taryn said, brushing sweaty strands of hair from her face. “There’s work to do.”
“Sweetnessssss,” Brooks cooed in her ear. “Water and fresh air. Doctor’s orders.”
She huffed, rolling her eyes, but followed him. I smiled at their backs as the elevator doors closed me in with the Stonehenge of boxes surrounding me.
Her first heat since the cabin was nearly upon us, and I treasured the irritability that came with it.
Brooks had been confident her cycle would re-regulate eventually, but the rest of us had been worried.
Sure, she’d escaped the labs before they could do too much damage, but really, wasn’t any damage too much?
I took a deep breath, giving myself the quiet space of the elevator ride to acknowledge the pain, the fear, the anger of all we’d been through.
The instability of uncertainty, not knowing what the future would hold for all of us. For Taryn, her body, her health. Her peace.
How easily all five of us could’ve been lost. Even if only one had been, the rest of us would’ve shattered.
Two months after Caine’s arrest, an anonymous tip came in to Gail’s colleague handling his case.
Someone letting slip that Caine had not been read his rights upon arrest, thus invalidating said arrest and jeopardizing the entire case against him.
The DA hadn’t been interested in pursuing corrected charges, so they were dropped in full.
Vikki left the force and the city soon after that. Before any of us could thank her.
Then, of course, there was the lawsuit.
Gail hadn’t believed we could win a case against Wainwright. Against Phoenix Lab, on the other hand, we had a slam dunk. Within hours of filing the suit, Phoenix offered a massive settlement. More money than we could’ve spent. More money than every tenant in the building could’ve spent.
Taryn told them to shove it up their own asses.
News broke of her suit, and Wainwright Corp. put out a statement disavowing their former partner in progress.
Another settlement offer. Another middle finger from our omega.
Prentiss Hilt—who, unknown to us, had survived Sevrin’s gunshot on the roof of the lab—was arrested and awaited trial, currently set for next year. Sevrin, technically, was also wanted for questioning and potential prosecution, though no one had seen or heard from him since our grand escape.
In the end, justice deferred in the name of perfection had only been hurting our omega. Someday, maybe someone would take on the bigger, badder monster that was Wainwright Corp. Maybe the battles we’d fought and won would make their path easier.
The darkness we’d been living in for months was real, and it was thick, and it wasn’t completely gone yet. But we were together here, and we had a candle. Our light. Our omega.
We’d come through it.
A gentle ding told me I’d reached the bottom floor, and I opened my eyes. Caine and Lin stood on the other side of the opening doors, ready to haul boxes out to the truck.
“How’s it looking?” I asked as the three of us picked up boxes and made our way out to the truck.
Caine grinned ear to ear, a sight that was becoming more common but would never not melt me inside. “Perfect,” he said. “Just need something with your scent for it to be complete.”
“Double-checked everything myself yesterday,” Lin added as we set the boxes into the truck and turned for more. “We should still have a little buffer time if she wants to change or add anything, though.”
“Anything that’s hers will send her over the moon. That’s all she’s wanted the whole time we’ve been on the move.”
Butterflies frolicked in my stomach as we hurried to empty the elevator into the truck, then the rest of the apartment after that.
Because our omega was getting her very first nest today. And she had no idea.
Caine
Amethyst Commons was officially sold.
We’d loved that apartment. The building, the complex—it had been a passion project for all of us. The home Lin and Brooks and I built as our sanctuary from our various demanding realities.
Managing the building, working with the tenants had been my first foray back into the world after hiding from it for so long.
On the whole, people were still assholes and I’d just as soon have nothing to do with the majority of them.
But I no longer felt like I couldn’t handle them, and that was in no small part because of Lin, and because of Amethyst.
Ghosts haunted the building, though. And as much love as we Arceneauxs had poured into it, it wasn't really all of ours. To quote our omega, we needed a home for Pack Arcenox.
So Lin had found a buyer, and we’d house hunted.
Now we drove five people’s entire lives across town toward the older, historic midtown area and the renovated Tudor cottage that would bear witness to our dreams and our woes. Our steps forward and back. Laughter and tears and sighs and moans.
Hopefully forever, because I was with Brooks one hundred percent—I fucking hated moving.
He and Lin drove the moving truck, while Brea, Taryn, and I rode in the car. The omega bounced in the backseat with excitement as we approached.
She may actually pass out with glee when she sees the nest.
Our new home was—there was no way around it—the quaintest, most adorable fucking thing I’d ever seen.
Aged red brick rose up to the iconic plaster and half-timber woodwork.
I usually hated the dark woodwork of Tudors, but these beams were a vibrant red color that matched the brick, brightening the entire facade.
A round-top front door and a sprawling ivy-covered oak tree completed the storybook home.
The moment Taryn had seen it, she’d wanted it.
Luckily, the inside suited our needs too.
Nice open living space with plenty of room for all five of us, functional kitchen with a mid-sized island for congregating.
A primary suite with enough space for a double king bed, and a bathroom with separate tub and shower.
Three guest bedrooms, two of which—considering how seldom we had actual guests—would serve as home offices for Lin and Brea.
The third would be an actual guest room slash library slash I’d like some personal space retreat.
Because more than a few of us were known to want a little space from time to time.
But the piece de resistance was the attic space.
AKA, Taryn’s nest. When we’d toured the house and purchased it, the space was unfinished.
Bare studs and insulation and, we were fairly certain, a furry squatter.
Taryn knew the plan was to finish it and outfit it as her nest, but she thought that would be happening after her imminent heat.
She had no clue the rest of us had already finished the space and outfitted it based on her own sketches and specifications.
Was it wrong to lie? Maybe.
Did I regret it? Not for a moment. Because I had zero doubt that our omega was about to absolutely lose her goddamned mind, and I couldn’t fucking wait.
Taryn
Unloading the truck was a division of labor.
Alphas: Carry boxes.
Beta: Carry boxes.
Omega: Nest the everliving shit out of our cozy new home.
The timing couldn’t have been more perfect, with my preheat in full swing and, therefore, nesting mode in high gear.
Normal chaos-brained Taryn would’ve spent weeks and weeks unpacking (assuming her incredible pack hadn’t gotten it done in the meantime, which they totally would have, resulting in a very frustrated and guilty-feeling omega).
Today, though, I had boxes emptied and items stored faster than my pack could carry them in.
Dishes: Cabineted.
Utensils: Drawered.
Pots and pans: Stowed.
Cute little framed photo set of potted plants with punny phrases: Hung.