Epilogue #2
“Copperhead Station always has an open bunk,” I told her. “You have a seat at our table whenever you come back.”
“I’ll be back,” Mia promised, a sharp, confident grin breaking across her face. “Tell Brann his Huntress is on the board.”
She turned and vanished through the side exit, moving with silent grace.
A long horn blast echoed up from the valley below, deep and resonant, signaling the start of the Sovereign’s Assembly.
Nadia took charge of the nursery immediately. “Cal, you and I stay in the shade gallery with the newborns. Everyone else out to the balcony. The world has waited long enough to see its leaders.”
I took Avaline’s hand, and we walked out through the grand archway onto the high terrace.
The Caldera was filled to capacity.
Thousands of shifters from across the continent stood shoulder to shoulder across the stone terraces—packs from the Cascades, Bitterroot, Great Lakes, and Appalachian ridges.
Beside them gathered Lodestone Underground witches with ash marked across their brows, avian clans wheeling in majestic arcs through the clear mountain sky, fae emissaries in shimmering moss-woven mantles, vampire coven elders in ceremonial velvet who had come to formally repudiate the rogue syndicates and renew ancient treaties, mountain troll chieftains in polished basalt armor, river and sea shifters, and human agency emissaries standing in the open without fear.
Every race had sent delegates to prove their innocence of the Conclave’s crimes and swear loyalty to the restored Compact.
The roar of the crowd rose up to meet us.
Brann Torres stepped to the edge of the stone balcony.
He wore the mantle of the Sovereign Bloodline over his broad shoulders, his granite eyes calm and commanding. The mountain itself seemed to answer his presence, a deep harmonic hum vibrating up through the bedrock of the fortress.
The vast assembly fell completely silent.
I took one step forward, stood at my King’s right shoulder, and dropped to one knee on the cold stone.
I tilted my head to the side, baring my throat to Brann in full view of the assembled nations—not swearing a new oath, but reaffirming the allegiance I had given him when he was a King in exile. Now, he was taking his true throne.
I heard Avaline move beside me. Her dress rustled as she knelt at my side, baring her neck alongside mine.
Across the vast caldera, thousands of wolves dropped to their knees in a cascading wave, baring their throats to the King who had finally come home to rule.
Brann looked out over the sea of bowed heads, the true weight of the crown settling upon his broad shoulders. He reached down and took Wren’s hand, drawing his Queen forward so they stood shoulder to shoulder at the edge of the stone terrace.
“Rise,” Brann’s voice carried across the stone without amplification, deep and steady as bedrock. “All of you. We do not kneel in the world we built today.”
Wren’s voice rang clear and fierce into the mountain wind.
“For hundreds of years, the corrupt told us that our strength lay in cages. They hunted our Dormant sisters, stole our Lost Ones from their cribs, and forced our Hidden bloodlines into the dirt to hoard life. They called our sacred bonds with mate and wolf a resource to harvest.”
Brann tightened his grip on her fingers, his eyes sweeping across the thousands below.
“They were wrong. Wolf power is sacred. To every Dormant who spent years in the dark believing she was broken: you were never empty. You were waiting. To every Lost One scattered across the diaspora: your names are carved into the living stone, and your pack is here to welcome you home.”
“The cages are smashed,” Wren declared, her chin lifted, tears of fierce pride shining in her gold-ringed eyes.
“The Harvest is over. And for the monsters who built them—justice has been served, swift, absolute, and without mercy. But for everyone else standing on this mountain: you are free. We do not rule above you. We stand with you.”
The valley erupted into a deafening cheer.
I rose, pulling Avaline up with me and gathering her into my arms. I buried my face in the crook of her neck, breathing in the scent of sun, rain, and milk. Her arms locked around my ribs, holding me tight against the roar of the crowd.
“You’re holding me tight, hotshot,” she murmured against my ear.
“Not a hotshot anymore,” I replied, resting my forehead against hers. “Just your mate.”
“Just mine.” She pressed her palm flat over my racing heart.
Nothing in this world will ever take you from me again,” I told her, looking into her glowing, gold-ringed eyes.
We are home, my wolf whispered, his spirit completely at peace in the sun. Forever.
“Then hold on to me,” Avaline said, pulling me down into a deep, unhurried kiss.
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Thank you so much for reading The Obsidian Wolf’s Sacred Mate and for joining me for the final book in the Hotshot Wolves series!