Epilogue 2 Hadley
The woods behind our house—yeah, I’m still getting used to calling it that—feel different now.
Alive.
Like they’re welcoming me.
Or maybe it’s just that I’m not alone in them anymore.
I glance over my shoulder as we jog along the narrow trail, sunlight filtering through the trees, dappling Rob’s broad shoulders and the easy, powerful way he moves.
Gods.
He’s so beautiful.
Not just because of the muscles or the size or the way every step looks like it was designed for strength.
But because he’s mine.
And for the first time in my life—I feel like I belong to someone who sees me.
Really sees me.
“Race you to the creek?” I call over my shoulder, already slowing to a stop.
His grin is instant.
Predatory.
Playful.
“Cookie,” he rumbles, “you sure you wanna do that?”
My Bear perks up immediately.
Yes.
“Oh, yeah, Stripes, I’m sure,” I say, lifting my chin.
He chuckles, low and dangerous.
“Alright,” he says. “Show me what you got.”
My heart kicks.
Not from nerves.
From excitement.
From something deeper.
Because this is me.
All of me.
And I don’t have to hide it anymore.
I step back, breathing in the scent of pine and earth and him, letting my Bear rise.
It’s smoother now.
Easier.
Magic hums under my skin, warm and familiar as I let go and let her take over.
Bones shift.
Stretch.
Reform.
And then—I’m there.
Standing on four paws.
Black fur shining beneath the Spring sky.
Strong.
Powerful.
Free.
I turn my head—and he’s watching me.
Still human.
Still standing there.
Those brilliant blue eyes locked on me like I’m the most incredible thing he’s ever seen.
Not doubt.
Not hesitation.
Not judgment.
Adoration.
Pure.
Unfiltered.
My Bear preens under it, lifting her head just a little higher.
Mate, she purrs.
I step closer, nudging him lightly with my shoulder.
He laughs softly, running a hand along my fur.
“God, you’re gorgeous,” he murmurs.
And just like that—something in my chest melts.
Because no one has ever looked at me—human or Bear—and made me feel like that.
Not once.
Until him.
I huff as I approach, bumping him with my ursine head.
His grin turns feral.
“Impatient are you? Alright, Cookie. Here I come.”
Then he shifts.
And it’s—breathtaking.
There’s no other word for it.
One second he’s Rob.
The next—he’s his enormous Tiger.
Striped muscle, and power, and grace.
A Tiger built for dominance and survival and something wild and untamed.
And he’s mine.
My Bear doesn’t hesitate.
She bolts.
I take off through the trees, paws pounding the earth, wind rushing through my fur as I weave between trunks and leap over fallen branches.
Behind me—I hear him.
Feel him.
The heavy, powerful rhythm of his stride as he gives chase.
Not hunting.
Playing.
A dance.
A game of run and hide that sends exhilaration surging through me.
I duck behind a cluster of trees, crouching low, trying to mask my scent, my heart racing in the best way.
Silence.
Then—a rustle.
Too close.
I dart out the other side—straight into him.
A massive striped blur that tackles me gently, rolling us both through the leaves in a tangle of fur and laughter that only exists between mates.
We shift back not long after, breathless and flushed, sprawled beside the creek that runs behind the house.
Water trickles over smooth stones, cool and steady, grounding.
Rob lies beside me, chest rising and falling, his hand reaching for mine like it belongs there.
Like it always has.
For a while, we just breathe.
Exist.
Together.
Then—“I’m sorry.”
The words are quiet.
Rough.
I turn my head.
He’s staring up at the sky, jaw tight.
“For what?” I ask softly.
He huffs out a breath.
“For that day,” he says. “For losing control. For making things harder with the Pride.”
His hand tightens around mine.
“My standing took a hit,” he adds. “Probation. Eyes on me. I should’ve handled it better.”
My chest aches a little at that.
Not because of what he did.
But because of how much he’s carrying it.
I roll onto my side, propping myself up so I can see him fully.
“Rob,” I say, reaching out, brushing my fingers along his jaw until he looks at me.
“It doesn’t matter.”
His brows knit.
“It does,” he insists. “I put the whole Pride at risk—”
“And you thought I left you,” I cut in gently.
That stops him.
Completely.
His eyes search mine.
“And you were scared,” I add. “Because you care. Because I matter to you.”
I squeeze his hand.
“You are the only thing that matters to me, Hadley.”
His expression softens.
Just a little.
“We’re going to get through it,” I say. “Whatever comes next. Together.”
The word hangs between us.
Solid.
Certain.
He exhales slowly, some of that tension easing from his shoulders.
“You sure about that, Cookie?” he asks, voice quieter now.
I smile.
Soft.
Certain.
“I’m sure, Stripes. You’re not getting away from me now.”
I lean in, pressing a kiss to his lips—gentle this time, not rushed, not desperate.
Just real.
He smiles against my lips.
“Gods, I love you,” he says.
“I love you too,” I whisper.
And for once?
There’s no fear in saying it.
Only truth.
Only him.
Only us.