The truth of it tears through me, leaving me breathless.
Holt presses a slow kiss to the top of my head. “My mate,” he says. “The mother of my cubs.”
I touch the claim-mark, still tender and throbbing.
“Yours,” I whisper. “All yours.”
EPILOGUE
Four days later, the blizzard is just a memory. The roads have been plowed, the trees stand clean and majestic in the winter light, and down in the valley, the Christmas lights are still glittering.
Up here, the days unroll one after another, each more blissful than the last—the dogs wake us at dawn, tails drumming against the floorboards. Holt grumbles, drags himself up to let them out, and I lie there listening to the scrape of his boots on the porch, the jingle of collars, the soft crunch of snow. The ponies whinny the moment they hear him—spoiled already.
When I join him outside, he’s usually leaning on the fence, coffee in hand, watching them nose through the hay. One of the dogs always ends up with straw in its fur; another sneaks a mouthful of oats when Holt’s not looking.
Inside, the parrot squawks its usual commentary—half insults, half Christmas carols. The cat rules the armchair like a throne, batting at anyone who gets too close.
The cabin smells of woodsmoke, coffee, and fur. There’s always noise—paws on the floorboards, wings fluttering, Holt’sdeep laugh when chaos breaks out. I’ve never known anything so alive, or so perfectly ordinary.
Sometimes, when I catch sight of the faint mark on my neck in the mirror, I still can’t quite believe it. But then, his arms go around me, the world quiets, and I know I’m home.
And, pregnant, apparently. Holt says the baby has taken hold. I have no idea how he knows this, but I’m not going to argue with a man-bear whose senses and instincts are thousands of times sharper than mine. No, I’m going to enjoy the warmth that spreads through me every time he lays his hand on my belly, and growls, “our little family.”
He hasn’t let me lift a finger since that night. Every time I try, he finds a way to distract me that has nothing to do with chores.
This morning, though, he’s already dressed when I wake, tugging on a clean shirt that somehow makes him look even bigger. There’s a faint smile playing on his lips—one of those secret smiles that says he’s up to something.
“What’s that look for?” I ask, pulling the blanket tighter around me.
“Just thinking how good you look right there,” he says, voice lazy as honey. Then his grin turns sly. “But we’ve got something to do today.”
I stretch,still lazy from sleep. “Is this going to involve actual clothes or can I stay like this?”
He glances back at me, eyes flicking over the blanket and the bare skin above it. “I vote for the blanket,” he says after a pause, “but yeah—you might want clothes. We’re going out.”
“Out?” I echo, blinking. “Where?”
His grin widens. “You’ll see.”
I wrinkle my nose. “You realize I’m not built for suspense before coffee, right?”
“Then we’ll fix that first.” He hands me a mug that’s already waiting on the table, steam curling from it. I take a sip, then squint up at him.
“Okay, mysterious mountain man. Where are we going?”
He tugs on his jacket, that little smile never fading. “To meet my clan.”
The words land like a jolt. “Your clan?”
“New Year’s Eve get-together. Happens every year. My brothers, their mates, a couple of cousins. Bonfire, food, way too much whiskey.” He pauses, eyes searching mine. “They’ll want to meet you.”
My pulse jumps. “They know about me?”
“They know I’ve finally found my mate.”
For a second I can’t find my voice. The idea of walking into a crowd of people who already love him—and being introduced as his—feels huge and a little terrifying.
“They’re going to adore you,” he says. “Especially once they find out you can wrangle a parrot, four dogs, one cat and two ponies before breakfast.”
