Epilogue – Scarlet Sage
Three weeks later
Wes wakes me by purring against my back.
The vibration travels from his chest through my spine, heavy and warm.
His arm tightens around my waist, drawing me into the curve of his body while morning rain taps against the bedroom windows.
Roman is sprawled in front of me, one hand tucked beneath his cheek and the other resting over mine. Between them, there is nowhere cold.
I stretch carefully, aware of every place our bodies meet beneath the blankets. Wes makes a rough sound when I press back against him.
“Good morning,” Roman says without opening his eyes.
“You’re awake?”
“I’ve been awake.”
“And you didn’t rescue me?”
His hazel eyes open. “From our alpha purring you back to sleep?”
“He’s very controlling.”
Wes kisses the bond mark on my neck. The connection between us warms, heavy with devotion. It moves through the bond with the same inevitability as his cedar scent, surrounding me before I can brace against it.
“You climbed on top of me twice during the night,” Wes says.
“I was cold.”
“You have six blankets.”
“I wanted the heated one.”
Roman’s mouth curves. “You called him your giant alpha furnace.”
“That sounds like a private conversation.”
“You said it through the bond, love.”
I bury my face against his chest.
The bond has required adjustments.
Wes feels every time I grow frightened and tries not to respond by checking every lock in the cottage.
Roman recognizes when I’m hiding hunger and appears with food before I admit I’ve skipped lunch.
I’ve learned Wes’s quiet frustration feels different from anger, and Roman’s humor brightens before he ever laughs.
Some emotions cross between us before we understand them ourselves. I can’t hide as easily as I once did. I thought that might terrify me. Instead, being known feels like warmth.
Wes’s mouth moves along my bond mark again, slower this time.
Need curls through the connection. His. Mine. Roman’s answering warmth.
I lift my head.
Roman watches me, his sleep-soft expression changing as the bond carries my desire toward him. “Both?” he asks.
The question has become less about permission and more about reassurance that no one will be left beyond my reach. “Always both.”
Wes rolls me beneath him. He braces his weight above me, careful of the marks even though they healed more than a week ago. His hair falls over his forehead, and the morning light turns his eyes warm brown instead of the near-black they become when his alpha takes control.
“You still choose this?” he asks.
I know what he means.
The bond. The boxes unpacked downstairs. The boots beside mine at the back door. BESTF files locked inside the room that used to hold greenhouse supplies. Roman’s sketches mixed with my grandmother’s maps.
The life we share.
I touch the mark I gave him, hidden near the joining of his neck and shoulder. The bond between us pulses. “I choose us today.”
Wes’s face softens.
“And tomorrow?” Roman asks.
I reach for him. He moves into my hand, kissing the center of my palm before settling beside us. “Ask me tomorrow.”
Roman smiles.
Wes lowers his forehead to mine.
Forever is not a promise made once and left to harden around us. It’s a curiosity asked again, the answer freely given.
Wes kisses me with the reverence he usually saves for touching my bond mark. Roman’s hand moves along my side, tracing familiar paths until every place he touches feels awake.
I turn my face toward him.
He meets me halfway.
Wes’s mouth travels down my throat as Roman kisses me, and the bond fills with overlapping sensations: cedar and spice, Wes’s restraint thinning, Roman’s tenderness sharpening into hunger. My own need rises between them.
The town is quiet beneath the morning rain. The public fountains remain closed while BESTF and the state trace the contamination. Sullivan and Myrtle are awaiting trial. The larger GatorX operation remains open, but for this morning, no one needs anything from us.
Wes settles between my thighs and looks up my body. “Tell me.”
There is no uncertainty in his voice, only the alpha who loves hearing me claim what I want.
“My mouth first,” I say, touching Roman’s lips. “Then yours.”
Roman laughs softly.
Wes’s eyes flare. “Greedy omega.”
“You knew that before you moved in.”
“I was counting on it.”
They take their time with me. Roman holds my gaze while Wes draws pleasure through the bond in slow, powerful waves. Then they trade places, passing kisses along my skin and each other’s mouths until I can no longer tell where one man’s touch ends and the other begins.
Their affection for each other flows through me too.
Roman’s love for Wes is warmer than his humor, deep and enduring.
Wes’s devotion to Roman carries the steady weight of years spent choosing each other before either of them knew what our pack would become.
I’m part of the connection they opened to receive me.
Roman draws Wes close and kisses him over my shoulder.
Their bodies press together, hands moving between the three of us. The sight sends heat through me, and the bond answers before I make a sound.
Wes looks at me. “You like watching your mates.”
“Yes.”
Roman’s forehead rests against Wes’s. “She likes being surrounded.”
“I love being surrounded.” The words still feel new in my mouth.
They shift me between them. Roman enters my body first, moving slowly while Wes holds me against his chest. I keep one hand in Roman’s hair and the other over Wes’s heart, feeling their pleasure rise through the bond beside mine.
Roman kisses me each time I tighten around him. “Beautiful,” he whispers. “You feel like home.”
The words carry more weight through the bond.
I feel the truth beneath them.
When he withdraws, Wes takes his place behind me. Roman remains close, holding my face and kissing me as Wes fills me.
They never leave me alone inside the pleasure.
We change positions without breaking the circle of our bodies. Pleasure travels through all three bonds. It builds differently now, not as three separate currents but one tide.
Wes’s control begins to fracture, and his growl vibrates through my back. “Scarlet.”
I turn my head enough to find his mouth. “Alpha.”
“What do you want?”
The answer rises from the safest part of me. “Your knot.”
His eyes close. Roman cups my face, keeping me anchored as Wes moves behind me. The bond carries his restraint, the fierce care beneath every stroke, and the fear he once held that loving me too strongly might become another kind of cage.
I send my answer back through the connection: trust, choice, love without surrendering myself.
Wes’s forehead drops between my shoulders. “I love you,” he says.
Roman presses his mouth to mine. “We love you.”
Wes’s knot locks us together as pleasure breaks through the pack bond.
The room disappears beneath cedar, spice, sage, and rain. I feel Roman’s joy, Wes’s relief, and my own heart opening without fear of what might enter.
When the intensity passes, Roman settles in front of us, and Wes keeps me against his chest. Our legs tangle beneath the blankets. Roman strokes my hair away from my face. Wes presses a kiss to the bond mark on my neck.
I touch Roman’s mark, then reach behind me for Wes’s. Three promises written into skin. Three choices that remain alive because we keep making them.
Rain darkens the windows. Downstairs, a delivery truck pulls into the drive. Wes tenses automatically, and the new security system chimes.
Roman glances toward the clock. “That will be the rest of our books.”
Wes groans. “We agreed on one more shelf.”
“We agreed the built-ins would hold everything.”
“They don’t.”
I laugh between them. The bond fills with their answering affection.
Soon, we will get dressed. Wes will insist I eat before helping with the boxes.
Roman will unpack books according to a system no one else understands.
Pepper will probably arrive with another plant for the greenhouse and pretend she didn’t come to check on us.
BESTF will call. The town will need answers.
But not yet.
For now, I remain in the center of my nest with my alpha wrapped around my back and my beta holding my hands.
I spent years believing I stood too close to endings.
Now I understand that noticing when a bond breaks doesn’t make me responsible for the fracture.
Love is not proven by how tightly we hold.
I turn my hand over, and Roman threads his fingers through mine. Wes covers both of us with his palm. Affection moves warm and steady through our bonds.
Outside the bedroom window, I can see the marigolds along the cottage turning their faces toward the house instead of the morning light. My grandmother used to say they did that when someone beloved was coming home.
I settle deeper between my mates. Tomorrow, they will ask me again.
And tomorrow, I will choose them again.
The answer is easy.