EPILOGUE
Wyatt
The bar door nearly took me out as I stumbled through, my hand slamming against the wall just in time to keep from eating floor. The blur of Dallas’s fucking flashing neon finally started to sharpen as I blinked that shit out of my eyes.
What the hell had just happened? Something had hit me hard out there, but I couldn’t get a grip on it.
I made it to a stool before my legs gave out. The cracked leather groaned as I dropped like a sack of bricks.
“There you go, buddy.” The bartender, patchy ’stache and cheap pity in place, slid me a glass of amber mercy. Whiskey. I should have known his name by now, but didn’t.
I grunted something that passed for thanks and threw it back. The burn cut clean through the fog—then the shadows rushed back in.
“Rough night?” he asked, elbows sinking into the bar top that hadn’t seen a rag since Bush was in office. “Wanna talk about it?”
Not a chance in hell. I tapped the empty glass.
The second pour came fast. I dragged the back of my hand across my mouth, but the images still clawed at me.
So much green it hurt my eyes. A forest that went on forever. Pine, rain, freedom.
I raked my fingers through my hair, like I could physically claw the memory away. But it stuck tight, burrowing in deep, an itch I couldn't scratch.
So I just sat there, glaring at the drink sweating all over the bar, my jaw clenched so tight I'm surprised my teeth didn't crack.
The black space in my head was an old friend. My whole damn past—wiped clean. I’d learned to ignore it, keep my eyes forward. But this new thing, this violent flash, pressed on my lungs, twisted the world sideways. Like I’d woken up in someone else’s life.
The whiskey disappeared faster than sense, but that feeling stayed like a splinter under skin.
My fingers closed around the glass.
Hours blurred, the whiskey disappearing faster than rational thought. But that nagging wrongness hung on like a dog with a bone.
"We'll add it to your tab," the bartender hollered as I wrestled my arms into my jacket.
I hit the street, and the night air damn near took my face off—cold as a witch's tit and twice as nasty. A freak snap of cold that didn’t belong in Dallas, even in January.
I sucked in a breath and the sensation from earlier slammed into me like a freight train all over again.
The colors, the smells, all of it swirling together until I couldn't tell up from down.
My guts heaved, and I lurched for the wall, puking whiskey and bile onto the pavement.
“Fuck.” I spat the taste away and forced my feet to move. The walk home was long and my head too clear. I was struggling even to hold a buzz these days.
The keys bit into my palm as I fumbled to get the right one.
This mind-fuck of a memory was getting to me.
There had to be people out there somewhere.
A family. But damned if I knew where they were or why we weren't together anymore.
The questions circled like buzzards, picking at the rotted carcass of my past.
There had to be more than this. More than neon and shadows and gut-rot whiskey. I could almost hear the words, calling me home.
And her.
In every dream, it was her. Dark hair, eyes sharp enough to cut through bone. Wild, untamed. She haunted every blink, promising I’d be whole again. She’d find my missing pieces and stitch me together with those clever hands, that sinful mouth—
The door creaked open.
“About fucking time,” came a voice from inside.
I hadn’t even crossed the threshold when two small arms and a head of messy curls latched onto my legs. "Daddy's home!"
I scooped her up, buried my nose in her hair, and inhaled deeply, wholly sober. Beneath the bubblegum toothpaste was a scent that lit up every instinct I had. It was well past bedtime, and her weight went slack in my arms as sleep settled over her.
A breeze blew in, and for a second, I swore I caught a different scent. Of her, the dream woman. But I blinked hard, and it was gone.
I held on tight to my little girl instead.
"That’s right. Daddy's home," I said into her hair, the words thick in my throat. For a second, the ache in my chest eased. It was replaced by something primal and fierce and ready to raise hell to keep her safe.
This was it. My life. The only one I got. And no amount of wishing for greener forests would change that.
So I pushed the ghosts down, locked them away, and carried my daughter inside.
I hope you enjoyed reading Rhys and Sable’s story. It’s not over for the Shadow Moon Shifters! The series continues with The Lost Wolf Guardian…
If you want to know when The Lost Wolf Guardian is coming out, join Harley’s Den for early access, or follow her on (click +FOLLOW by her name).
I built a life out of ashes for my little girl. Then the woman who lit the fire came back.
I thought I knew who I was—a father, a protector, a man with whiskey in his veins and a void in his heart. Then she walked in and changed everything.
Hair wild as a storm, tongue so sharp it’s a miracle she’s made it this long. She looks at me like she knows every secret I've ever buried, every sin I've ever committed.
And when she tells me I'm not who I think I am, I almost believe her.
Almost.
I've got a daughter to protect, and a life to keep from shattering. I can't afford to chase ghosts from a past I don't remember. Even if a voice inside me insists that Kenza is my destiny.
Except the shadows are gathering, ancient and hungry, and they’ve followed Kenza right to us. My daughter and I are caught in a curse that won't stop until it's devoured us whole.
I'd walk through hell to keep my little girl safe. But the secrets that could save us are tangled up in the one thing I can’t face—the woman who broke my life before I ever knew her.
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Get ready for:
Fated Mates
Second Chances
Single Dad Shifter
Interrupted Mate Bond
Cursed Bloodlines
"I'll Keep You Safe."
Forbidden Moonlit Trysts
A Love Too Fierce to Deny
…and more in The Lost Wolf Guardian!