Epilogue. Lucy.
{Six months later}
I mounted the stairs first, the night air kissing my skin and the moon casting cool light over the DemonX compound. My men walked slowly behind me, Xander the nearest with Fallon bringing up the rear.
Punching the code into the new panel above the knob, I unlocked the door and pushed it inward.
I smiled as the heavy entrance swung, a widening gap revealing the warm interior waiting for us.
I loved the slight whine the door made as it moved.
More than that, I loved that I had the power to enter this house first, on my own.
Doing so always reminded me that I belonged here, and that this was my place now, just as much as it was theirs.
When I stepped into the house, the wall clock near the kitchen loudly chimed that it was three in the morning.
Exhaustion dragged at my limbs, but underneath the fatigue, uncomfortable heat pulsed through my abdomen.
I didn’t mind the gentle cramping; in fact, it made me ridiculously happy.
My second heat was starting. I paused in the entryway, watching my five Alphas move around me, their bodies still thrumming with the residual energy of the final Cirque du Sang performance.
Their proximity made the throbbing in my stomach simultaneously intensify and ease, as if they were the cause and the effect, the sickness and the cure.
Six months of shows across the country, and we'd ended where we began, at the Henderson amphitheater. I was glad to be back in Vegas, with its neon heartbeat and relentless rhythm that now felt more like home than any other place I’d ever lived.
Of course, it wasn’t hard to beat out endless hospital rooms, isolation, and watching the world through glass.
The tour journey had felt both endless and fleeting, like a dream I was afraid to wake from.
Only now, there wasn’t a choice. The talent contract had come to an end, though the guys were already in negotiations to do regular appearances in Henderson and to join Cirque’s International tour two years from now.
That was more than a little exciting—the prospect of Paris and Scotland and Spain—but I was glad it wasn’t anytime soon.
I needed a rest, a chance to just be with my men, no outside pressures involved.
"It’s so nice to be home," I whispered. The word home still felt strange on my tongue sometimes.
Home had once been a sterile room with a window that promised freedom but delivered only longing.
Now home was this sprawling compound with its lived-in corners and the scent of five men who had claimed me as thoroughly as I had claimed them.
Behind me, Fallon was closing the front door.
I wasn’t sure why, but I turned to watch.
Through the waning crack, I saw the gate had slid back into position, the tall fence extending outward from it.
This place had walls, but they were made to keep the world out when we wanted; they weren’t made to keep me inside.
I could leave an experience the world whenever I wished it.
Needing support, I moved to lean against the wall, pressing my palm against my lower belly.
The cramping wasn't painful yet. The first heat had caught us all by surprise. We’d eaten late after a show, and I’d just thought it was stomach upset.
But then the other symptoms started. The brain fog, the mounting desire, the shift in my scent, the need to nest. It was a miracle none of us had expected.
This second onset felt like confirmation my body was truly healing, evolving, embracing its Omega nature after years of suppression.
I was doing so well that I didn’t even need the injections anymore, just the daily pill.
Xander glanced at me from where he was sorting through bags, his sharp eyes missing nothing. "Cramps?"
I nodded, watching as all five men paused in their activities, their nostrils flaring subtly as they caught the first hints of my changing scent.
It was still too early for them to be truly affected, but the awareness passed over our pack that the next few days would be spent buried in creature comforts and, after that, mind melting, physical euphoria.
"I'm fine," I said, waving them back to their tasks. "The pain isn’t bad yet. I’m just tired."
It was hard not to be. More than six months ago, these men had decided they couldn't live without me.
Since then, our lives had been nomadic. City after city, performing in different venues.
In every location, my Alphas had made sure I had every tool at my disposal to get healthier, stronger.
They wanted me to thrive, not just survive.
Fallon bought every highly rated tonic available, some foreign with names I couldn't pronounce.
Kane concocted mineral baths in hotel rooms that left my skin soft and glowing.
Asher organized therapeutic spa days, making sure each had an infrared sauna because they were supposed to be rejuvenating.
Nitro forced so many vitamins down my throat that I often joked about turning into a giant multivitamin.
And Xander made me exercise… which I hated.
Just yesterday morning before heading to the Cirque, I'd listened to Asher and Kane discussing plans for a hydrotherapy pool.
"Swimming would be good for her," Asher had said, as if I wasn't standing right there.
"She hates running and you should see her face when Xander tries to get her on the rowing machine. "
At the time, I'd rolled my eyes, but warmth had also bloomed in my chest. Their dedication was overwhelming sometimes, bordering on obsessive, but after a lifetime of being treated like a specimen, being treated like a treasure was incredible. Besides, learning to swim sounded amazing.
I kicked off my shoes and pushed away from the wall, wincing slightly as another cramp rolled through me.
My Alphas were all in the living room now.
That space was littered with the evidence of our touring life—props from the Cirque, motorcycle helmets, discarded jackets, fast food containers we’d been too lazy to toss.
The men were taking care of it all, stowing gear and packing away nonessentials, revealing parts of the coffee table we hadn’t seen in a while.
There’d been a weekend here and there when we’d had time to jet home.
Our quick visits had left it worse each time.
“I’m going to shower,” I said to the room at large. Five heads snapped up, gazes going dark with possibilities. I held up a hand, laughing quietly. “Alone,” I clarified. They frowned and went back to work.
My bare feet made no sound against the steps as I padded up to the pack suite.
I’d found out from the guys that it used to be four separate rooms, but then they’d knocked the walls down and expanded the smaller bathroom.
When I walked through the door, my eyes landed on the giant bed where we all slept together each night in a tangle of bodies.
Each time I looked at it, the memory of our marking and mating came to mind, sending intense waves of desire through me.
I wondered if that feeling would ever fade.
Inside the large bathroom, I stripped off my clothes, grimacing at the lingering scent of smoke and sweat from the show.
I loved these smells when they were fresh, but as hours passed, they grew stale and unpleasant.
When I turned the shower faucet on, hot water burst forth immediately.
I stepped into the glass-enclosed shower.
Wet warmth cascaded over my body, and I tilted my face into the spray, letting it wash away the night's performance.
While I scrubbed every inch of myself, I was struck by how different my body felt now compared to six months ago.
The bones that had once pressed against my skin with alarming prominence were now cushioned by healthy muscle and a layer of softness.
My light grey hair, once brittle and thin, now fell in a heavy curtain down my back.
Even my skin had changed. It was still ghostly white, but the network of purple veins seemed less visible.
When I emerged from the shower in a cloud of steam, I found my five Alphas waiting for me. Sweat and grime still clung to them in heavy layers, but their eyes were fixed on me, their expressions a complex mixture of desire, protectiveness, and something deeper I was still learning to name.
Fallon moved first, unfolding his tall frame from where he'd been perched on the edge of the sink. He held out a towel—oversized, plush, warmed on the rack—and wrapped it around me with careful hands.
"Thank you," I murmured, leaning briefly into his solid chest.
Kane approached next, a second towel draped over his forearms. "Your hair's dripping," he said, his voice gruff with affection. He placed the towel over my head and began to gently dry the strands, his touch firm but tender. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the care.
When Kane stepped back, Xander knelt before me, a pair of black lace panties dangling from one finger.
My cheeks heated, but I placed my hands on his broad shoulders for balance, lifting first one leg and then the other as he slid the fabric up my thighs.
The pajama shorts followed, soft cotton that settled low on my hips.
They were my favorite, ones from the Eros suitcase, courtesy of Doctor Swann.
Nitro approached next, his expression softer than I ever believed possible.
He held a simple t-shirt, white and well-worn.
"Arms up, Lucy-Loo," he commanded, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers through me despite the warmth of the room.
I complied, allowing him to slip the shirt over my head, his knuckles deliberately grazing my sides as he pulled it down.