Chapter 27 #2
“You’re my beta,” I say. “Not because you’re perfect. Because you’re you.”
He laughs weakly, broken. “You sure you don’t want someone smarter?”
“Smarter than you?” I snort. “Doubt they exist.”
A watery smile flickers across his face.
The innkeeper raises the brand again. “Ready?”
Beau takes a breath. Then another. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I’m ready.”
He pulls his shirt off, turning to show us his shoulder where the old exile mark sits.
“Here,” I say. “Over this.”
“To cover it?” he asks.
“To change it,” I say. “Every time you look at it, I want you to remember: nobody gets to cast you out again. Not without going through me first.”
His jaw trembles.
The innkeeper places the brand.
Beau screams.
It tears through the air, high and raw, bouncing off the inn’s stone walls. His knees buckle. I catch him, wrapping my arms around his chest as the iron does its work.
“Breathe,” I murmur. “I’ve got you. Breathe, big guy. In. Out. That’s it.”
The stench of burning skin is harsher this time, thicker, mixed with the damp salt of his sweat and tears.
When the iron pulls away, Beau is shaking like a leaf.
“Okay?” I ask quietly.
He pants, eyes squeezed shut.
“That was worse than the first time.”
“Scar tissue.”
He nods slowly. “I…” His voice cracks. “I’ll be the best beta that ever lived.”
I huff out a laugh that burns my lungs. “I know you will.”
He turns and suddenly hugs me so hard he nearly knocks the air out of me. We stand like that for a long minute, two grown wolves clinging to each other in the back lot of a shitty inn, branded and burned and finally, finally belonging to something that’s ours.
The innkeeper clears his throat. “You two gonna start crying on my shoes, or you done?”
“Not quite,” I say, wiping my eyes and shrugging on my shirt while Buff does the same.
“You’re not branding me again, are you?” Buff squeaks.
I laugh. “I have something for you. Close your eyes.”
I extract Buff’s mom’s necklace from my jeans pocket. I managed to hunt it down from a traveling salesman and bought it back for three times the price Buff sold it for, but it was worth every penny.
I drop the necklace in his hand. “Okay, you can open them.”
He opens his eyes and takes in the gold glinting in his palm. He looks at me, then at the necklace before tackling me.
“You’re choking me,” I cough, laughing as he clings like a feral koala.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes bright and suspiciously wet. “You’re an idiot,” he says hoarsely. “You know that, right?”
“Yeah,” I grin. “But I’m your idiot.”
He looks down at the necklace again, thumb brushing over the worn gold like he’s afraid it might vanish. “She used to say this was lucky,” he mutters. “Said it kept her safe.”
“Well,” I say quietly, “seems only right it finds its way back to you.”
He swallows hard, then puts the necklace on, tucking it under his shirt where it belongs.
“Thank you. I’m still not letting you brand me again.”
I grin. “Deal.”
He laughs, the sound breaking through whatever knot had been sitting in his chest, and for a moment everything feels… right. Like this is exactly where we’re meant to be.
Family. Even when it’s messy.
The ride home feels different.
Everything digs now. The seatbelt against my chest, the fabric of my shirt rubbing over the new brand, the way the truck hums under my hands. There’s a steady ache with every heartbeat, but it anchors me rather than drags me down. We drop Fiona off, then head to our house. Home.
My wolf relaxes before my brain does. The moment Violet’s scent threads into the air—citrus, soap, warm skin, faint traces of coffee and herbs—something inside me unclenches.
Home.
Beau shifts uncomfortably. “You think she’ll be mad we were gone so long?”
“She told me to come home,” I say. “We’re coming home.”
The truck stops.
We step out.
Violet is waiting on the front path.
She’s not pacing. She’s not panicking. She’s standing, hands folded around her cane, head tipped slightly toward us, like she can hear every crunch of gravel under our boots.
“You’re late,” she says.
Emotion crashes through me so hard I have to laugh just to keep from choking on it. “Traffic,” I say. “Brutal this time of day.”
She smiles.
Then her expression shifts, softening, concern bleeding through. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I say. “No. But… getting there.”
She steps forward, reaching out. I take her hand and press it flat against my chest, right over the bandage-covered brand.
Her brows knit. “Oh.”
“Pack mark,” I say quietly. “Mine and Beau’s. We… made it official.”
Beau shuffles closer and guides her hand to his shoulder. She touches the bandaged skin gently.
“Does it hurt?” she asks.
“Yeah,” Beau says frankly. “But, like… in a good way? Is there a good way to hurt? Because if there is, it’s that.”
She smiles. “Sometimes,” she says. “Sometimes pain means something.”
Her arms open, and we both move at the same time.
She laughs as we envelop her, one on each side, a ridiculous wolf-sandwich. Beau sniffs loudly right by her ear.
“Are you crying again?” she asks him.
“No,” he lies badly.
“Liar,” she says kindly.
We finally let her go, and she taps my chest once over the brand. “I’m glad you’re both home.”
“Me too,” I say, voice low.
She turns toward the house and waves a hand. “Well, come on then. Dinner’s ready.”
Beau perks up instantly. “Food?”
“Yes, food.”
“What kind of food?” he asks, already halfway up the steps.
Violet tilts her face toward me, smile teasing, knowing. “You tell him, Jason.”
The scent hits me the moment we step inside.
Red wine, garlic, onions softened in butter, slow-cooked beef, herbs.
Warm bread.
My heart stops for a second.
“Is that—?” I start.
“Beef bourguignon,” she finishes. “I had a very good teacher once. A slightly deceptive one, but… competent.”
I laugh, the sound breaking around the edges. “How’d it turn out?”
“You tell me,” she says. “But no lying this time. Alpha’s honor.”
Beau inhales deeply. “I’m gonna marry this stew,” he declares.
“Get in line,” I say.
We gather around the table. Me, still aching from the brand; Buff, sniffling but smiling; Violet, relaxed and glowing in that quiet way she does when she knows she’s nailed something.
I take the first bite.
The rich, layered flavor floods my tongue. Comfort and memory and future all simmered into one perfect mouthful.
I close my eyes.
“Well?” she asks.
“It tastes like home,” I say.
She exhales, a little shudder of relief and pride.
We eat, we talk, we laugh.
Outside, the world is still dangerous. There are still enemies. There are still old alphas and old grudges and old ghosts to deal with.
But inside this house, at this table, with this woman and this wolf and this new burn over my heart, I have a pack. I have a place. I have a life that isn’t running.
And as Violet’s knee bumps mine under the table and Beau drips sauce everywhere and complains about it, I realize this isn’t just a good start to the rest of our life. This is our life.
And for the first time, it feels like enough.