Epilogue
Aspen
One Year Later
If you had told me a year ago I’d be getting married on a mountain in a haunted Halloween wedding, wearing combat boots under my black velvet gown, holding a bouquet of blood-red roses and raven feathers, I would’ve assumed I had finally snapped and entered my villain era.
Yet here I am—wrapped in onyx lace and fall sunlight, surrounded by pumpkins, flickering lanterns, and the faint sound of polka music because apparently that’s what happens when you let Zane Warner control anything.
Devil’s Peak Lodge looks like a gothic fairytale exploded across the clearing.
Twinkle lights hang from the trees. Floating candles—my idea—drift on invisible fishing lines thanks to Fox and Cal.
Grady built the giant arch we’re about to get married under.
Hunter brewed a potion cocktail that is almost definitely illegal. And Thorne?
Thorne just turned around at the end of the aisle and looked at me like I’m the only thing worth believing in.
My wild, impossible, grumpy mountain man waits there, big and dangerous and heartbreakingly handsome in a black suit with an undone tie and a fresh haircut that makes him look like my personal ruin in human form.
Zane is next to him, holding a leather book, smirking like this is about to be a disaster.
Which is fair, because it absolutely is.
I reach Thorne at the altar, and the moment his hands close around mine, all the nerves vanish. There’s no fear. No doubt. Just us.
“You look dangerous,” he murmurs.
“You look like a bad decision.”
His mouth curves. “Too late to run, witch.”
“Wasn’t planning to.”
We don’t break eye contact as Zane clears his throat dramatically.
“Ladies, gentlemen, chaos creatures of Devil’s Peak…”
There’s laughter across the audience.
“…we gather today because these two individuals decided to terrorize each other emotionally until love happened.”
I groan. Thorne growls. Zane beams like Christmas came early.
“Aspen showed up, glitter-bombed Thorne’s life, ruined his quiet existence, and taught him how to smile again—somehow without sacrificing her own throat in the process.”
The crowd laughs.
“Thorne—well, he tolerated her. At first. Then he fell like a pine tree in a storm and now refuses to let her walk more than six feet away from him—very healthy, very sexy, totally normal behavior for a grown man.”
More laughter. Thorne flips him off. Zane continues.
“They’re fire and gasoline. Fangs and glitter. Rage and joy. They make zero sense—and somehow, they’re perfect.”
He gets serious then. Voice softer.
“Thorne once told me joy wasn’t made for him. That some people are built for loneliness. Aspen proved him wrong. She didn’t just love him. She woke him up.”
My eyes burn. Thorne squeezes my hands.
“And now,” Zane says, eyes shining, “they’re starting forever. And a family.”
A beat.
A pause.
My head jerks up. Wait.
WHAT.
My mouth falls open. So does Thorne’s.
Zane freezes. Goes pale. Then blurts: “Oh fuck–I wasn’t supposed to say that yet.”
The entire clearing gasps. People stand. Whisper. Perry screams. Ruby claps her hands over her mouth. Fox fist pumps. Hunter drops his drink. Cal actually smiles.
Thorne turns to me.
“Aspen.”
“Thorne.”
“You’re—”
“Pregnant,” I whisper. “I was going to tell you tonight.”
Zane slaps both hands over his face. “Oh my God I’m sorry–”
Perry yells, “This is the best wedding ever!”
Winter shouts, “Calling it now–that baby is haunted!”
Grady smirks. “Fifty bucks says the kid shows up with Thorne’s middle finger.”
Cal chuckles. “Aspen’s spells didn’t even cause this one!”
Zane is unraveling. “Okay–I can fix this–just–pretend I didn’t say that–rewind–erase it from your memory like–like–Men in Black–flashy flash–zap–new timeline–”
Thorne drags a hand down his face. “Zane. Shut up.”
“I can’t–this is a career-ending mistake.”
“You don’t have a career.”
Zane deflates. “Fair.”
Thorne turns back to me, and everything else goes quiet. He cups my face. Warm. Steady. Real.
“You’re pregnant,” he says again, voice wrecked.
“Yeah,” I whisper.
His throat moves. Eyes go glassy. And then—my dangerous, unbreakable mountain man—
Smiles.
Big. Brutal. Beautiful.
“I love you,” he says, pulling me closer. “I love you so fucking much. And you—god, witch—you just made me the luckiest bastard alive.”
He kisses me.
Screw timing. Screw vows. Screw order.
He kisses me hard, in front of everyone—lifting me off my boots, wrapping me in a future I didn’t even know I had a right to hope for.
The crowd goes insane. Screaming. Cheering. Someone—probably Fox—howls like a wolf. Hunter shoots fireworks out of nowhere because of course he does. Zane wipes a tear dramatically.
“Okay,” he sniffs, clapping his hands. “Since I already ruined the surprise—and possibly my friendship and legal safety—I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
“Zane,” I hiss, laughing.
“Don’t care. Kiss again.”
Thorne growls. “Gladly.”
He kisses me again—slow this time. Claiming. Forever-level.
And just like that—chaos wins.
Love wins.
And so do we.
Later, as the sun sets orange behind the pines and the fall air turns crisp, Thorne holds me close while our friends dance like absolute feral animals—witches and wolves and denim and flannel and everything messy and perfect about Devil’s Peak.
Zane raises a glass and shouts: “To chaos and love and accidental pregnancies!”
Everyone roars.
Thorne leans down, mouth brushing my ear. “Still think I’m seasonal depression in flannel?”
I grin. “Yeah. And now you’re my sexy seasonal depression in flannel.”
His laugh is rough. Beautiful.
“You ready for forever, Aspen?”
I lace my fingers with his.
“I was made for it.”