Epilogue #2
“You built something beautiful here,” she murmurs. “Not just the food. Not just the garden. The people. These wolves. That boy.”
My chest aches in the best way.
“It’s our anniversary,” I whisper.
“I know. One year since he almost left us,” she says quietly. “One year since you stood in a clearing and changed fate with your voice alone.”
I swallow hard.
“And one year,” she continues, “since you chose him. And he chose you.”
A tear slips down my cheek.
She wipes it away with her thumb, gentle and stern all at once.
“Tonight,” Meemaw says, “isn’t about what you survived.”
I tilt my head.
“It’s about what you built.”
Behind me, footsteps sound—heavier, familiar, warm.
Jason.
Meemaw lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Go on, sweetheart. Your wolf looks like he’s about to pass out from staring at you.”
My heart stumbles. “Meemaw—”
She pats my back.
“Shoo. Go get your anniversary kiss. Maybe more.”
I hear the wink in her voice. And behind me, Jason’s breath catches, soft, hopeful, scared, and so full of love it warms the air around us like a second summer.
Meemaw pats my shoulder, grounding me with that fierce gentleness only she knows how to wield.
“You did good, chickadee,” she murmurs before walking away and calling over her shoulder. “This dinner spread could seduce a man to martyrdom.”
I turn toward the sound of him, toward the way his pulse changes, toward the soft catch in his breath, toward the hush in the garden that seems to hold space for just us.
“It is a bright day,” I say softly, “and I’m glad I get to spend it with you.”
Jason’s fingers find mine, touching softly, as though he’s afraid I’ll slip through his hands if he grasps too hard.
“You always make things brighter,” he whispers.
My heart somersaults.
Behind me, Meemaw mutters, “Oh, for heaven’s sake, someone kiss someone before I throw bread rolls at you.”
Jason lets out a soft, startled laugh, and the tension in him finally cracks open.
He steps closer, warm and steady. And mine.
“Can I?” he whispers, breath trembling just above my lips.
I nod.
And I can feel everything—the garden, the lanterns, the cedar beams, the year we survived, the life we built—glowing around us as he leans in and presses his lips to mine.
“Finally, dinner can start!” Beau hollers, clapping loudly.
I laugh. “Something tells me you’re hungry.”
“My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.”
“Don’t you dare sit at that table, Beau Bergen, until you’ve washed those hands.”
Beau makes it to the house and back in record time. “Bumped into Hattie. She says she’ll be here as soon as she gets off the phone with Mike. Start without her.”
I grin. Hattie and Mike have been dating for about six months. He’s a volunteer at Joe’s Animal Sanctuary, and he is nothing like her narcissistic ex.
We start serving, and I reach over for a roll. Jason stiffens.
“Violet…” His voice changes, turning urgent. “Why do you smell like blood?”
Oh, right.
I grin. “I wanted to show you something.”
His hands run over my arms like he’s searching for a hidden wound. “Where are you hurt?” he demands. “What happened? Violet, talk to me.”
“Jason,” I laugh softly, lifting my sleeve.
He goes still.
I’ve felt tattoos before—raised, warm, tender—but feeling my own still gives me a strange thrill. The skin over my inner forearm is warm and swollen, the fresh ink raised in familiar lines.
A circle. An open door. A wolf’s head. Three marks around the outside.
Our pack mark.
“I got us inked,” I say proudly.
Silence.
Then Meemaw raises her arm beside me and adds, “Me too, darling. Hurt like hell. Ten out of ten, would do again.”
Jason makes a sound that is absolutely illegal for an alpha, half laugh, half sob. His hands frame my arm with trembling reverence.
“You… you got our mark,” he whispers.
“We wanted to match,” I say. “Fiona too.”
Beau inhales. “You too?”
“Actually,” Fiona says. “I got the brand. “I hope that’s okay? I cried so hard the innkeeper offered me a lollipop. I took two.”
There’s a distinct sound of kissing, and Meemaw groans.
Jason’s breath hitches, then suddenly I feel him move off his chair, his hand on my knee.
I blink. “Jason?”
He’s shaking, just slightly, pressing a box into my hand. His scent is wild and soft all at once. He smells like love, fear, awe, devotion, all braided together.
“I was going to wait until dessert,” he says, voice breaking, “but I can’t. I can’t look at you marking yourself with my pack symbol and not—” He inhales shakily. “Open it.”
I do. My fingers whisper over the cold metal. A ring.
My heart stops.
Then starts again, too fast.
“Violet Ashford,” he says, voice trembling like he’s terrified I’ll disappear, “will you marry me?”
The air leaves my lungs.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Yes,” I say louder.
“Yes,” I laugh, sweeping forward into him. “Of course I will. Yes.”
Beau cheers so loudly wolves three counties over probably perk up their ears. Fiona squeals. Meemaw whistles and mutters something about “finally.”
Jason pulls me close, arms wrapping around me tight, forehead pressed to mine.
“You’re sure?” he whispers.
“Jason,” I say, cupping his face, “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”
He kisses me, soft at first, then deeper, one hand sliding to my waist, the other cupping the back of my neck.
When we finally pull apart, Beau slaps Jason’s back.
“Don’t worry, Alpha,” he says proudly. “Beau the Builder will handle all your wedding backdrops.”
Fiona adds quickly, “And I’ll help design them! Beau the Builder Construction Services will be your number one go-to!”
“Beau the Builder?” I tease.
Jason snorts. “I dunno if that’s gonna catch on.”
“It will!” Beau insists. “I got business cards made!”
Meemaw hums. “Do they say competent, housebroken, and good with nails?”
“They will,” Beau says, scribbling notes on his phone.
We all laugh.
Jason slides the ring gently onto my finger. The metal warms instantly against my skin. He kisses my hand, then stands, drawing me into his chest.
The gazebo glows with lantern light. The food smells divine.
The garden hums with the soft rustle of night wind.
Our pack, our tiny, mismatched, perfect pack, fills the air with warmth.
“One year down,” Jason murmurs into my hair.
I smile.
“And many, many more to go.”
He kisses me again.
And this time, it tastes like forever.
Thank you so much for reading My Guide Dog is a Wolf Shifter.