Maybe understanding the “enemy” is the first step toward a solution that serves everyone.
I can’t help but wonder what my pack would think if they could see me now. I’d convinced Alpha Thorncrest to let me bring the Porkwell’s onto our land, promising it was just a strategic move to show them what they’d be destroying.
My plan worked—the brothers are seeing Wolfstone differently—but the twist in the plan was how I’d come to see them.
This intimate connection wasn’t part of the strategy I’d presented to the pack.
Would Alpha Thorncrest see this as a betrayal of trust?
Would the elders who reluctantly agreed to my plan question my loyalty, my judgment, my very place among them?
The pack has been my foundation, my family, my identity since birth. We protect each other, stand together against threats. And the Porkwell’s have always been the biggest threat.
Yet lying here, I realize that if building bridges rather than walls could save our territory, wouldn’t the pack eventually understand? Or would they see only betrayal in my intimate connection with their historic enemies, regardless of the outcome?
The thought of potential rejection by my pack creates a physical ache in my chest. But, I feel the possibility of a new kind of pack forming.
“Well,” Percy finally says, breaking the silence. “That was unexpected.”
I snort with laughter. “Understatement of the century, Porkwell.”
Prescott chuckles, his fingers idly tracing patterns on my arm. “I believe that qualifies as a team-building exercise.”
Even Hamilton laughs at that, the sound unfamiliar but not unwelcome.
My life has officially gone off the rails.
But as Percy’s hand finds mine, as Prescott’s gentle breathing warms my shoulder, as Hamilton’s arm drapes almost protectively across my waist—I can’t bring myself to regret it.
12
Epilogue
Color me shocked—and mildly turned on. I never thought I’d see the day when Hamilton Porkwell, CEO of Porkwell Corp. and general pain in my ass, would be standing on my grandmother’s porch with actual pig ears sprouting from his head, arguing with his brother about the correct way to install a porch swing.
Yet here we are, three months after I dragged three city-slicker pigs into the wilderness, and somehow ended up with all of them as… what? Boyfriends? Partners? Co-conservationists?
Whatever label you want to slap on this weirdness, it’s working better than anyone—especially me—ever expected.
“You’re drilling it too deep,” Hamilton snaps, his curly pig tail twitching with irritation. “The structural integrity will be compromised.”
Percy, sporting similar porcine features but with a more relaxed set to his shoulders, just rolls his eyes. “It’s a porch swing, not a skyscraper. Your control issues are showing again.”
“My control issues are what keep this family from total chaos,” Hamilton retorts, but there’s no real heat behind it.
Not anymore.
I lean against the doorframe of the cottage, my wolf ears twitching at every sound from the forest surrounding us.
My sanctuary.
Our sanctuary now, I suppose.
The place that changed everything.
“You’re both wrong,” Prescott calls from where he’s setting up some complicated-looking tech system at the end of the porch. His pig snout wrinkles as he squints at his tablet. “According to the specs I pulled up, you need to offset it by another two inches if you want optimal swing trajectory.”
I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. “Optimal swing trajectory? I just want somewhere to drink my coffee while watching the sunrise.”
