I fluff a pillow and ease myself down. The heat is a beat in my chest, a cresting, crashing wave.
This is right. Everything is aligned. The moon is rising. My wolf can sense it.
I move onto my knees and arch my back, opening my chest, welcoming the bond. I close my eyes.
Killian comes to me. His steps fall heavy on the stone. My mate is strong and tall. He’s vicious, and wise, and he belongs to me.
I bend deeper, showing him that I’m ready. Inside, I blush, but I’m not only Una. I am Una and her wolf. We are shameless and demanding.
We’ve waited for this moment for a very long time.
Killian covers me. His cock prods my slick opening. I moan.
He whispers in my ear, “Everything I’ve ever done, I’ve done for you, Una Hayes.”
And he sinks inside me, plunges deep, and my pussy is already fluttering, urging him on, to seed us with our pups and to make him ours again.
Epilogue
UNA
Change is hard.
That’s why there is a leather sofa half in and half out of our front door and a very pissed off Killian pacing in the kitchen, trying not to lose his shit.
He’s going to lose it.
We’ve been together for eighteen months, and relationships are hard. Especially with males who have always gotten their way and previously only used one way to settle an argument.
Tye is supposed to be helping me get rid of the sofa, but Killian gave an alpha command to “stop,” so now Tye’s standing at the top of the ramp Killian built to replace our front steps, blocking me from shoving the foul thing the rest of the way out of our cabin.
Of course, if I try to do it myself, Killian will restrain me. Very gently, but effectively. He’d never hurt me, but I haven’t been able to convince him that manhandling me is harmful. If he doesn’t like the look of something, he hauls me up like a sack of potatoes.
He doesn’t like the looks of most stairs, hills, freshly mopped floors, or trails with too many roots showing.
And he’s definitely not cool with his almost-ready-to-pop pregnant mate moving furniture. He’s caught me doing it a lot these past few weeks. It’s a sign the pup is coming soon if the aching hips, the ginormous belly, and the permanent indigestion weren’t enough advance notice.
I’m past ready. My ankles are swollen, my boobs are leaky, and I’m horny and mad at the same time—all the time. I’m not in the mood to suffer fools, and that’s what Killian is if he thinks I’m going to tolerate this repulsive thing in my space for another day.
“What’s wrong with the sofa again?” Killian’s using that “reasonable” tone of voice that I want to smack out of him.
“It stinks.”
“You never had a problem with it before.”
“It didn’t stink before.”
Tye bends over and takes a whiff. He shrugs at Killian like I’m nuts.
“It’s dead cow carcass treated with smashed brains, urine, and chemicals. I’m not nuts.” I hike my chin. My mate moves so the breakfast bar is between us.
“Where am I gonna sit, Una?”
“Sit on this.” I flip him the middle finger. I’ve picked up the habit from the males at the gym. When we were first mated, Killian liked me to hang out with him a lot—and I wanted to be around him all the time, too. I picked up tons of useful, new cuss words, and I was starting to learn how to fight when Killian caught a whiff of me one day, declared me preggo, and forbade me from doing anything more dangerous than weeding.
He’d probably be pissed if he knew the girls and I have dedicated the locked backroom of the old greenhouse to growing mandrake, hemlock, and henbane. The more I learned about Killian’s defensive efforts—the patrols, the contingency plans, the bunker under the commissary—the more I realized the threat from Last Pack and Moon Lake isn’t as far-fetched as I thought. If they are ever dumb enough to come for us, we’ll have more than fangs and claws to greet them.
Banning me from the gym was our first major fight, though. It ended with Killian buying me a Subaru and building me a raised garden in our backyard. I don’t remember exactly how it unfolded. I was shifting to my wolf a lot, and we were not using our words.
On the porch, Tye sighs, sinks to the sofa, and takes out his phone. “We’ve got a reconciliation match in a half hour,” he calls over his shoulder.
Those were my idea. You can’t leave ten males in the proverbial doghouse forever. You need to provide a path back to the pack’s good graces, or they stop bathing, spend too much time as wolves, and terrorize the chickens.