Epilogue
Khaden
I leaned my shoulder against the weathered timber of the barn, lingering where the lantern light could not quite reach, and watched my eldest brother make a complete fool of himself.
He had become an unapologetic romantic, which was something I never believed I would live to see.
Ripplan, the same stoic male who had spent the last six years scowling at the Colorado sky and barking orders across the pastures, was actually laughing.
His heavy green arm remained curled possessively around Tammy's waist, pulling her flush against his side as she whispered something that made his dark eyes crinkle at the corners.
He pressed a warm kiss to her temple, then lingered against her cheek before taking her mouth with a tenderness that completely ignored the dozen ranch hands grinning around the fire.
The human female had thoroughly dismantled his defenses, and she had done it without firing a single shot.
Seeing him at peace loosened a knot in my chest that I had carried for years.
Ripplan deserved this kind of happiness, and Tammy had earned every ounce of his devotion.
She was small, but she possessed a fierce, quiet courage that had nothing to do with physical power.
She had outsmarted a corrupt pharmacist, stared down her past without flinching, and pulled my brother back from the edge of death when venom should have taken him.
The yard was crowded with visitors who had arrived from North Carolina that morning.
Five human women and their Orc mates had arrived in a convoy of rented trucks, filling the air with bright laughter and tearful reunions.
The eastern mountain males carried the broad shoulders and quiet pride of our kind, greeting us with the easy respect of warriors who understood the weight of surviving the underground.
Ruka, a massive mountain Orc mated to the clan doctor, clapped Ripplan on the shoulder with enough force to rattle his teeth. "Welcome to the mated ranks, brother. Your quiet days are officially behind you."
"They are only beginning, and they are far better than anything you had before," Jordan replied, planting an elbow firmly into her mate's ribs with an affectionate smile.
Watching them move together in seamless harmony stirred a familiar, restless ache beneath my ribs.
The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat, cedar smoke, and Thurlee's fresh honey biscuits.
Brylan held court near the roaring bonfire, regaling a circle of hands with some exaggerated tale about cattle prices.
Maclan stood by the paddock fence, entirely absorbed in an intense discussion about horse breeding with one of the Franklin males.
Near the drinks table, Xrylen was attempting to flirt with a pretty blonde human, looking both earnest and completely out of his depth.
They were building lives filled with warmth and conversation, but the noise of it made my skin itch.
I loved my brothers, yet every gathering reminded me of how differently I was put together.
Brylan was built for ledgers, negotiations, and the steady hum of commerce.
Maclan spoke the quiet language of animals, while Xrylen found purpose in the rhythmic strike of hammer against red-hot iron.
Even Ripplan had discovered his calling as a protector and leader.
I was a tracker and a hunter, which meant my life existed in the quiet spaces between spoken words.
When we lived in the deep subterranean tunnels, I had never suffered from the claustrophobia that haunted my brothers.
Down in the darkness, the stone was silent and expected nothing from me.
The surface world was loud, bright, and crowded with people who constantly sought connection, whereas the high country offered the only true solace I understood.
Up on the timberline where the wind blew clean and cold, the mountains possessed their own voice.
Over the past six years, I had learned to read the subtle signs that others missed entirely.
I knew the specific shift in barometric pressure that heralded an early frost, the faint disturbance in pine needles that marked a mountain lion's passage, and the dull crack in the granite that warned of a coming rockslide.
The wilderness spoke to me, and it never demanded that I pretend to be anything other than what I was.
I looked back at the firelight one last time. Ripplan had pulled Tammy into an impromptu dance, swaying slowly to a tune that was far too lively for the gentle way he held her. She tilted her head back to meet his gaze, radiant and completely safe in his arms.
They were whole, and they would not notice when I slipped away into the dark.
I turned toward the quiet darkness of the stables, the gravel crunching softly under the soles of my boots. The joyous roar of the party faded behind me, replaced by the comforting sounds of shifting straw and the warm, earthy smell of horses.
Granite, my steel-gray gelding, lifted his head from his stall and nickered a low greeting. I stroked the white blaze running down his nose, letting the steady thrum of his pulse settle my racing thoughts.
"Let us get out of here," I murmured to him.
My hands moved with practiced efficiency as I threw the saddle blanket over his back and tightened the cinch.
Beside his stall, Dirt, a sturdy bay pack mare, waited patiently while I secured my canvas bedroll, dry rations, extra ammunition, and my heavy hunting rifle to her pack frame.
I packed enough provisions to last two weeks, though I had no destination in mind beyond the high peaks.
A persistent tension had been clawing at the base of my skull for three days, urging me toward the ridges with an insistence I could no longer ignore.
I led both horses through the rear stable doors and swung effortlessly into the saddle. The ranch lights receded into a warm cluster of gold behind me as I turned Granite toward the northern trail and nudged him into an easy trot.
The transition from domestic land to wild country happened within minutes.
The manicured fences fell away, swallowed by dense stands of lodgepole pine and jagged outcroppings of black rock.
The air turned sharply cold, carrying the clean scent of crushed juniper and the mineral tang of old snow lingering on the upper slopes.
My lungs expanded fully for the first time all evening. The weight on my shoulders lifted, though the strange warning hum in my blood only sharpened as we climbed higher into the wilderness.
Granite navigated the narrow switchbacks with sure-footed confidence under the bright silver glow of the rising moon.
We ascended past the tree line, leaving the shelter of the pines behind until we reached a narrow granite overlook that opened above a massive canyon.
Far below, a glacial river wound through the shadows like a ribbon of polished steel.
Above us, the mountain peaks tore into the star-strewn sky like broken teeth.
I drew back on the reins and brought the gelding to a halt.
Every instinct honed through years of hunting flared to sudden life. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as a sudden draft swept down from the northern pass, carrying an unnatural, bitter scent that smelled like ozone right before a devastating lightning strike.
Granite tossed his head violently, his ears pinning flat against his skull as he danced sideways on the ledge.
"Easy, boy," I whispered, resting a calming hand against his tense neck while my eyes scanned the pitch-black ridges ahead. "I feel it too."
The mountains were whispering a warning, and whatever darkness was gathering in the high passes was already heading straight for our ranch.