Epilogue Plague
The warmth reaches me first, and then the fragrant cinnamon from the roasted chicken and toasted nuts on the table.
Everyone's home.
It's a Friday evening, so that makes sense.
But I don't remember driving here.
I don't remember a flight, either, or a door, or even saying hello or getting a hug from Yamma. It must have happened, of course. She always hugs me, and holds me until I squirm. I just don't remember.
I'm just here, at our table in the house on the hillside, the sun going down gold over the distant sea beyond our terrace, and the table is so crowded, there's nowhere to put my elbows.
"Elbows off the table, habibi," Yamma says, serving herself olives.
She has to tilt her chin to say it.
Strange. I don't remember ever being taller than her.
Azhar grins, his shaggy dark hair in his eyes, and kicks me under the table for it before I can lift my elbows. I kick him back, but nothing ever hurts him. My big brother is untouchable.
And I know he's the reason half my pomegranate seeds are missing.
His fingers are stained red.
But it's okay. There's enough for both of us here. There's enough for everyone, and someone is petting my hair, so who cares about a few pomegranate seeds?
Everyone is here tonight.
Nobody is missing.
My aunts and uncles are waving their hands, laughing so hard they have tears rolling down their cheeks. Even my cousins are somewhere down the hill, shrieking, chasing each other with skinned knees.
The hand in my hair keeps stroking, crown to nape, even and endless.
And I know everything is going to be okay.
I lean into the hand in my hair without thinking, closing my eyes. It's a big hand, and warm. I don't know whose hand it is, and I don't care.
There's a voice, low and rumbling, directly under my ear, somehow.
Am I resting my head on a pillow?
The pillow laughs.
I jolt awake.
Okay. Fuck. I was dreaming again.
One of those dreams about my family, only this time, it didn't end in an explosion. They just… faded off, into wherever they are, if they're anywhere at all.
And I'm in the pack house, laying on the couch, my head on a pillow.
No, not a pillow.
Whiskey's stomach.
I keep my eyes shut, staying exactly where I am, because he's soft and warm and comfortable, and he's the one who's been petting my hair.
Because I "rested my eyes" for a second.
And I must have dreamed about fucking roasted chicken because Whiskey smells like cinnamon, too.
Great. He's infiltrating my dreams now.
"—third goal, bro, the Soldier was literally climbing him. Climbing him. And Wraith just… BAM!" The hand in my hair stills while his other arm flails violently in the air. "Shed him! I almost felt bad."
From the direction of the armchair comes Wraith's gravelly huff laugh.
"How many times is he gonna tell this story?" Thane asks from wherever he's holding up a wall.
"Until somebody stops me," Whiskey says. "And nobody's gonna stop me, because my boy got a fuckin' hat trick."
Ivy makes an excited, happy little sound.
The fingers in my hair keep stroking, the same rhythm from my dream, and everything in me goes loose and stupid all over.
Nobody was missing in my dream. And nobody's missing here, either.
My eyes open.
Whiskey's face is above mine, turned toward the armchair where Wraith and Ivy must be, Shadow's latest scratch still healing pink on his cheek. My arms are wrapped loosely around his torso, my body turned toward the back of the couch and toward him.
He isn't paying attention to me at all.
"I love you."
It comes out on my exhale.
It's barely a sound at all.
I don't even know I've said it until his hand stops.
Then it starts moving over my hair again, and his voice keeps rolling without a hitch, too loud, too steady.
Shit.
He heard me.
He absolutely fucking heard me.
Is Whiskey sparing me? Pretending not to hear so I can pretend I didn't say it? That's worse. That's so much fucking worse.
The last thing I want from Whiskey is mercy.
Across the room, over Whiskey's shoulder, Valek is leaning in the entrance to the kitchen. His eyes come up from his phone to watch Whiskey for a moment. Then they slide to me, and his lips curve slightly.
"Come and look," Valek announces suddenly, glancing back over his shoulder toward the kitchen table. "Shadow is asleep in Whiskey's motorcycle helmet. You can only see her ears. She looks like a bowl of black soup."
"OH MY GODS." The armchair creaks hard. I hear Ivy scrambling off Wraith's lap, fast footsteps, then slower, heavier ones behind her as seven feet of feral alpha unfolds to go fawn over our cat in a helmet with everyone else.
Including Thane, who pretends he's being forced to go even though he's become the cat's most doting servant.
I listen to every single one of them abandon me, and I briefly consider grabbing Ivy's ankle for help as she passes.
Because Valek heard me too.
And this is him clearing the room.
As he herds them all into the kitchen to ooh and aah over Shadow, he glances back over his shoulder at me, silver eyes glinting, before disappearing after them.
I groan and press my face into Whiskey's stomach.
Whiskey's head snaps down so fast it's scary.
"You LOVE me, bro?"
He's got me pinned under both arms before I can roll off the couch, and the look on his face is excited derangement.
"Let me up."
"Say it again."
"I love you less when you call me bro," I snap, thrashing.
"There it is again! You fuckin' love me?!"
"I take it back. Fully, Whiskey. Consider it unsaid—"
He hauls me up and kisses me.
I make a humiliating sound, but I fist a hand in his shirt anyway, tugging him closer and pinching the fuck out of him with my other hand as punishment. He yelps against my mouth.
If I'm going down, I'm going down fighting.
He pulls back half an inch, grinning against my mouth.
"You love me."
"Yes, Whiskey, I heard you the first three times."
"You LOVE me," he says again, delighted, louder, and kisses the corner of my mouth, and my cheek, and comes back to my mouth before I can formulate anything more than a growl. "I love you, too."
And for the first time in my life, I have nothing to say.