Epilogue
“You’re doing it wrong.”
I freeze, my grip tightening on the broom handle. I don’t have to turn around to know he’s leaning against the archway, arms crossed, that infuriatingly perfect mouth quirked in a barely-there smile.
“It’s sweeping, Silas. You drag the bristles across the floor. I think I’ve mastered the concept.”
“You’re missing a spot.” His smooth, deep voice is a caress that sets my nerves alight. “To the left.”
I whirl on him, jabbing the broom handle in his direction. “You have an entire fortress of warriors, and you’re choosing to micromanage my sweeping? Get a new hobby. Or better yet, get bent!”
He doesn’t move. His dark eyes just drink me in, the way they always do, like I’m the only thing worth looking at in this whole godsdamned world. “I like this one.”
A laugh bubbles up from the kitchen doorway. Maeve stands there, a basket of bread under her arm, her copper braid gleaming. Annie is beside her, a soft smile on her face. My friends. My sisters. Back together in this stone fortress that has somehow, impossibly, become our home.
“Leave her alone, Silas,” Annie chides gently. “You’re just asking for it, you know.”
“She’s creating more dust than she’s collecting,” he rumbles, but his teasing gaze never leaves mine.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I snap, throwing the broom down with a clatter. “If you’re so obsessed with how this floor looks, why don’t you—ah!”
He moves faster than I can blink. One second he’s across the corridor, the next he’s got me slung over his shoulder, my world tipping upside down. I shriek, pounding my fists against his solid back. “Let go of me, you thick-skulled moron!”
“I’m correcting the problem,” he says, his voice completely calm as he carries me away from the giggles of my friends. “Personally.”
He shoulders open a heavy door into a dark, deserted side corridor and pins me against the wall. My breath hitches. His body is a solid line of heat against mine, his hands splayed against the stone on either side of my head, caging me in.
“You were saying?” he murmurs, his lips a hair’s breadth from mine.
My heart is thundering, but I glare up at him, all false fury. “I hate you.”
“Liar.” He dips his head, his nose tracing the line of my jaw, inhaling deeply. “You love me.”
A traitorous pulse beats between my legs. He’s right. I do. Every part of me is his, branded and claimed.
“You’re an idiot,” I hiss, but I’m already tilting my head, granting him access to my throat.
“And you’re mine.” His mouth finds my neck and he sucks gently. A bolt of pure, liquid pleasure shoots straight to my core, and I moan, my hands flying to his horns, holding on as my knees go weak.
His hands drop from the wall, one sliding down to grip my thigh, hiking my leg around his hip. The other hand fists in the fabric of my dress, yanking it up. The cool air hits my bare skin, and then his fingers are there, pressing against my damp underwear.
“Always so wet for me,” he growls against my skin, his voice thick with a hunger that mirrors my own. “Even when you’re pretending to be angry.”
“I’m not pretending,” I gasp as his fingers tear the flimsy fabric aside without a second thought. His hand finds me bare, slick and ready. A rough groan rumbles in his chest as he circles my clit, and my head falls back against the stone with a thud.
He fumbles with his leathers, then I feel him, the thick, heavy length of him pressing against my entrance. His eyes lock with mine, dark and burning with a love so fierce it still steals my breath.
“Tell me you’re mine, Beatrice.”
“I’m yours,” I breathe, the last of my fight dissolving into pure, aching need. “Always.”
He pushes into me in one slow, devastating thrust, filling me completely, stretching me in that perfect, familiar way that makes me see stars. I cry out, my nails digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders.
He sets a brutal, possessive rhythm right there in the corridor, his hips slamming against mine; the sound of our bodies meeting echoes off the ancient stones.
It’s raw and frantic and everything I need.
This is us. The fight and the fire and the fucking, all tangled together into something so beautiful it hurts.
“I love you,” I sob as my climax crashes over me, shattering me into a million pieces against him.
He follows me over the edge with a guttural roar, his own release pulsing deep inside me, his big body shuddering as he holds me tight, keeping me upright.
For a long moment, we just stay like that, pressed together in the dark hallway, our ragged breaths the only sound.
His forehead rests against mine, his hands still gripping my hips like he might never let go.
When he finally pulls back, his touch gentles, his hands caressing my hips before he slowly, carefully, fixes my dress.
He brushes a sweaty strand of hair from my forehead, his thumb stroking my cheek. “You still hate me?”
I look up at him, at this silent, fierce, beautiful Bull who almost started a war for me, who offered a king’s ransom for me, who lets me be as furious and as wild as I need to be, and loves me more for it.
A slow, true smile spreads across my face. “Tremendously.”
His eyes crinkle at the corners, that rare, real smile that’s just for me. “Good.”
He takes my hand, his fingers lacing through mine, and leads me back toward the light, toward the sound of our friends laughing, toward our home. And for the first time in my life, every part of me is exactly where it’s supposed to be.