Welcome Home
WELCOME HOME
T he portal snaps shut behind us with an icy whoosh, cutting off the frigid air from the Northern Fortress.
Owen set me down on the dry concrete of Main Street, and I shiver, snuggling closer to Tris, who clings to my side like he wants to fuse us into one being.
Not that I’m complaining. I missed him just as much.
“You’re never allowed to leave me behind again,” he says, golden-brown eyes flashing.
“Never again,” I agree.
I look forward to a long, quiet future of never leaving Hartford Cove again.
Owen scratches the scruff on his chin. “You really think that place will last a month before crumbling?”
“I’m not sure,” I admit, chewing my lip. “What do you think will happen to Elias?”
“If we're lucky, the fortress will collapse right on top of his head,” Ambros hisses, blue-green eyes flint-hard.
Delilah nods in agreement. “Good riddance.”
As our group strides up Main Street, people pour out of shops and houses, whooping and cheering when they see that Owen and I have returned safely. The lady from the Pizza Parlor whistles, and Deputy Arden honks the horn of his SUV.
I turn to Tris as he keeps pace beside me. “Does the whole town know what happened?”
“Well, duh. They’re all a bunch of nosy gossips with superhuman hearing.” He rolls his eyes. “Plus, they all saw us caravanning out of the city. Returning through a portal is a big deal.”
I snort. Of course. No secrets in this town, that’s for sure. I don’t know why I ever thought I’d be able to keep Zane and Esme hidden. All the vampires and wolf shifters were probably just pretending not to know.
Frosty winter wind whips strands of red hair across my face as we walk, but it’s not as cold as it was in the north.
As we reach the center of town, I pause before the shiny new statues standing sentinel in front of Nesse’s Diner. The bronze still gleams, depicting a defiant witch with one hand raised, the other resting on the back of a wolf.
I used to hate this statue, seeing it as a reminder of the whispers and sidelong glances that came from being the Wendall witch. Like a town mascot that came with way too much expectation.
But now, I see my ancestor Rowena in the witch’s fierce expression. Like me, she fled home after home before finding peace here.
My fingers trace the smooth metal, and pride swells within me. People have called me by so many names, ones that I’ve rejected and denied and others I have claimed. But I am all of those people, just like Rowena went by many names.
A wolf’s howl pierces the air, raising the fine hairs on my arms. I step to the side, peering around the statues to the hill rising at the end of Main Street, where a grey shape races down the slope.
My heart leaps. Greyson!
Tipping my head back, I howl in return, the wild sound ripping from my throat. Then I’m running, tearing up the street in a mad dash.
Tris keeps pace beside me, his dog collar jingling as he laughs. “Why don’t you just teleport to him?”
“And miss…this dramatic…reunion scene?” I huff. “Not a chance!”
The pavement blurs beneath my wet socks as I sprint toward my mate, every nerve alight with anticipation. This aggravating, stubborn man whose touch and scent, whose growly voice I long for.
I need his arms around me, need to know this is real, that I’m truly home.
We meet halfway, Greyson’s form shimmering from one step to the next, and Haut taking form, now running on two legs. My glorious, unabashedly naked mate.
Only in Hartford Cove would this feel normal.
With a cry, I launch myself at Haut. Strong arms catch me, pulling me tight against his bare chest as I wrap my legs around his waist, clinging like a monkey.
“Rowe,” he breathes into my hair, his voice rough with emotion. “Did you save them?”
“Yes.”
“Good. No more sacrificing yourself for others.” His arms tighten around me. “Be more selfish. ”
A laugh escapes me, because he has no idea how close I came to being very selfish, and I bury my face against his neck.
His large hands sweep over my back, my thighs, as if reassuring himself I’m really here. “No more adventures. I can’t take it.”
“Just one more.” I lean back to meet his moss-green gaze. “I want a baby.”
Haut freezes, shock flaring across his chiseled features.
Beside us, Tris makes a choking sound. “I’m sorry, I must have misheard that. Did you just say…?”
“I want a family,” I repeat, cupping Haut’s cheeks. “I want roots here, in Hartford Cove. I want…I want the messy, imperfect, wonderful stuff I never had before. With you. All of you.”
For a breathless moment, Haut stares at me, his eyes molten with emotion. Then, with a growl that vibrates through my body, he turns on his heel and starts striding purposefully back toward our house on the hill, me still wrapped around him.
“Wait!” I laugh, giddy and drunk on happiness. “What about everyone else?”
His grip on me tightens. “I’m not going to impregnate everyone else. ”
“Yeah, about that…” Tris jogs to keep up, his grin sly. “You’re not putting any baby batter in this oven until that IUD comes out.”
Laughter bubbles up inside me, bright and delirious, as Haut shifts gears, turning to stride toward the vet/clinic.
“Hold up, bad wolf,” I say, petting Haut’s sculpted chest. “As much as I appreciate the enthusiasm, we’ve got some celebrating to do first. The baby-making can wait until tomorrow.”
Haut stares at me with restrained hunger, but he slows his pace. “Fine. But I’m holding you to that promise, bad puppy.”
We return to the crowd still lingering around the statue, their faces alight with joy and relief to be home.
Someone finds sweats for Haut, while tables and chairs appear as if by magic, pulled from the community center and set up smack in the middle of the road.
“Here, baby.” Ambros presses a pair of fluffy, fleece-lined boots into my hands that he liberated from the boutique shop nearby. “Can’t have our conquering hero catch her death of cold.”
Grateful, I swap my socks for the toasty boots, wiggling my toes in bliss .
Soon, the table fills with food from Nesse’s Diner, as servers bring out platters of burgers and fries. Not to be outdone, the Pizza Parlor sends over stacks of pizza boxes, the scent of garlic and herbs rising into the crisp winter air.
My stomach rumbles with appreciation. After a week of prison food, I can’t wait to sink my teeth into something delicious. As if hearing my thoughts, Abony delivers a milkshake to my hands like she’s presenting an award.
The mouthwatering scent of fresh pie wafts to my nose, and I glance up to see Jesse and Mrs. Smith setting out a veritable bakery’s worth of desserts, their feud apparently on hold for the day.
“Rowe!”
A familiar voice cuts through the happy chaos, and I turn just in time to catch Mel as she barrels into me, her hug fierce enough to crack ribs. Over her shoulder, I spot Aspen hanging back.
“I missed you, too.” Untangling myself from Mel, I point at my former mentor. “Now, go hug your man and ask him about the good news coming your way.”
Aspen’s eyes widen in alarm, but then Mel gloms onto him, and his expression softens as he embraces her. It’s only fair that he be the one to break the news about her parents’ impending move to Hartford Cove.
Payback’s a witch, after all.
Laughter and conversation swirl around us as more and more people join the impromptu celebration. Ambros takes one for the team, informing Barron of the sad fate of his new van and promising an even newer one in return.
Aspen finds me a few hours later, his cheeks flushed from the hard cider he holds. He steals the seat Haut abandoned and leans close to me. “I have a proposal.”
I smirk. “Sorry, I’m taken.”
He waves his hand. “ Nooooo, I mean about our project.”
My brow goes up. “The one I fired you from?”
“I was voted back in, remember?” He fumbles to set his cider on the table. “I think we should call it the Branning Foundation.”
Shocked, I stare at him. “How much have you had to drink?”
“I’m not drunk,” he slurs. “Don’t you think it has a nice ring to it?”
“Yes.” My eyes sting, and I blink. “You still want to launch it? After everything that’s happened?”
“It still needs some work, and I think we need to add a section about mentor/apprentice interactions and what is and is not appropriate, but yes.” He nods firmly and lists to the side. “There’s no rule that says we can’t, and it’s a worthy cause to share knowledge with all the witches out there who don’t have covens or are being misled.”
I thrust my hand out. “Promise you won’t change your mind?”
It takes him two tries, but he clasps my hand. “Promise. We’re going to do great things for the witch community.”
We shake. “No takebacks when you’re sober and have regrets.”
“No regrets!” He thrusts to his feet and sways. “Where did Mel go?”
“I’m right here, you drunkard.” Mel appears at his side. “Let’s take you home before you pass out.”
She leads him away to much cheering and his insistence that he’s honestly not that drunk.
Haut slides back into his seat. “Happy?”
I lean against his side. “Happy.”
The celebration carries on, and when the demand rises for a story of what happened, Owen stands on a chair. His blue eyes sparkle with pride as he launches into the tale of our adventure, his hands waving animatedly as he describes how I single- handedly brought the Northern Fortress crashing down.
It makes me blush, and I scoot lower in my chair, but the grin never leaves my face. Clasping Tris’s hand, I lean into Haut’s solid warmth and let the sounds of my town, my people, wash over me.
This. This is what I fought for. This is what I’ll always fight for.
My home. Our home. Pack home.
The celebration carries on into the night, the joyful chatter and clinking of glasses echoing through the snow-dusted streets.
Only when soft, white flakes drift from the starlit sky does the crowd disperse, hugs and well-wishes trailing in their wake.
Zane and Esme approach me, their hands intertwined.
“Owen got me the keys, so we’re going to head over to my old place,” Zane says, his tangerine hair gleaming under the streetlights. “But we’ll swing by in the morning to grab our stuff from your basement. ”
I nod and hug them both. “No rush. We have all the time in the world now.”
Esme’s hand smooths over the slight bump of her stomach, and her emerald eyes sparkle. “This will be a wonderful home to raise our child. Thank you, Rowe.”
As they drift down the street, one by one the residents of Hartford Cove pull me into their embraces, their warmth and affection seeping into my bones. It’s a far cry from the prickly, touch-averse witch I was when I first arrived here, reluctant to make connections with people.
But being locked away, cut off from the world, from the people I’ve grown to love? It made me realize just how much I need this, need them.
I even yank pruny Mrs. Smith into a hug.
She stiffens before patting me on the back. “You missed cards this week. Don’t do it again. It makes Wallace sad.”
I bite back a grin, knowing full well that it’s not just her young charge who missed me.
As the last of the celebrants drift away, Haut, Owen, Tris, Ambros, and I make our way up the hill to our house, our footsteps crunching in the freshly fallen snow.
The moment we step inside, Tris grabs my hand, tugging me toward the stairs. “Come on, you have to see this!”
Curiosity piqued, I let him lead me up to the third floor, my mates trailing behind us.
Gone are the tools for construction, and a new, U-shaped sofa sits in front of a media center, illuminated by moonlight that shines from the skylights overhead. Large windows offer a view of the forest and ocean, with heavy drapes on either side, ready to be pulled shut for a movie night. A plush, cream area rug gives definition to the space.
Without giving me time to investigate, Tris tugs me to the nearest door to the right of the stairs. He throws it open, revealing a brand-new room, the scent of fresh paint and polished wood hanging in the air.
A huge bed dominates the space, piled high with plush pillows and soft blankets. It’s just as enormous as I feared it would be, but after sleeping on a lumpy cot all week, I can’t wait to dive onto the ocean of mattress.
Not before I clean up, though.
Hands still linked, Tris draws me over to the adjoining bathroom, with penny tiles that lead to a claw-footed tub encased within an expansive glass shower. Twin vanities sit off to the side, one at a lower height than the other, so I won’t have to stand on tiptoes to spit.
Tears blur my vision, the thoughtfulness of the gesture hitting me hard.
Tris’s arms wind around me, his breath warm against my ear. “Hey, are you okay, sparky?”
I sniffle, turning to bury my face in his shoulder. “No,” I admit, my voice muffled by his shirt. “But I will be.”
And I will. Because no matter what demons haunt my dreams, no matter what shadows of the past linger in the corners of my mind, I have my mates, my town, my family.
Steaming water sluices over my skin as I stand beneath the rainfall showerhead, washing away the grime and despair of the Northern Fortress’s dungeon. The heat seeps into my bones, thawing the chill that seems to have taken up permanent residence there.
I linger until my fingertips prune, reluctant to leave the sanctuary of the shower. But the siren song of my mates’ presence draws me out, a towel wrapped around my body .
On the bed, I find a pair of pajamas laid out, warm from the dryer. I pull them on and wander out into the new family room where the guys are sprawled across the plush couch, the flickering light of the TV painting their faces in shades of blue.
Haut lifts the corner of a thick, wool blanket in silent invitation, and I crawl over the back of the couch to burrow into the space beside him.
Owen’s fingers find mine, twining together as Ambros combs gentle fingers through my damp hair, working out the tangles. Tris drapes himself across our laps, his solid weight anchoring me in place, safe and cocooned with the men I love.
As we watch TV, we trade soft kisses and tender caresses, affirmations of life and the unbreakable bond that brought us together.
Gradually, the conversation fades, replaced by the slow, even breathing of slumber.
But sleep eludes me, the memories of captivity prowling at the edges of my mind. Restless, I carefully extract myself from the tangle of limbs, tucking the blanket around my slumbering mates.
Tugging on my new fleece-lined boots, I pad to the back of the house, where the stairs lead up to the widow’s walk .
The hatch creaks open, a gust of winter wind ruffling my hair as I step out into the night.
Snowflakes dance on the breeze, kissing my cheeks and eyelashes as I gaze out over Hartford Cove. The hushed town lies beneath a fresh blanket of white, a stark contrast to the dark gray of the Northern Fortress’s dungeon walls.
I let the peacefulness wash over me, the nightmare images of cold bars and sneering guards receding.
This is my home, my haven, the place where I belong.
“Did you really think you’d be able to leave me rotting in that dungeon?”
The malevolent hiss shatters the night, and ice floods my veins. I turn, my heart a wild drumbeat against my ribs.
Elias stands near the railing, his form a black slash against the snow-dusted roof, his eyes twin pools of hatred burning into mine.