“Be my wife.” It was stark, clear, showing that his heart belonged to her. “My beautiful wife.”
Her breath hitched, the turquoise heart gleaming between them like proof she had never been unchosen. She blinked through tears, a shaky laugh breaking free. “You’re bossy, Locklear. Seeker, CIA, now FBI, and you think you can just claim me?”
His mouth curved, the faintest ghost of a smile. He was claiming her as his. “Not think. Know.”
Her mischief melted, leaving only the raw truth. She pressed her forehead to his, whispering against his lips, “Then know this. I’ve been running all my life. From my people, from shame, from you. But not anymore.” Her fingers tightened around the band, her tears wet against his skin. “Yes, Dakota. I’ll be your wife.”
The Ancestor Fire Wedding, Open Field, Sleeping Wind, Bonita, California
Night gathered around Sleeping Wind like a warm cloak, the sky deep and velvety above the ridgeline. The stars were bright tonight, sharp enough to pierce the darkness, steady enough to feel like witnesses. Bailee stood barefoot in the cool grass, her dress brushing her ankles, her heartbeat a soft drum in her ears.
They had been joined legally for California laws, but this was their true joining.
The fire Bear had built glowed at the center of the clearing, low and steady, its flames rising and falling as if it breathed with them. Sweetgrass curled in the smoke, mixing with the scent of the ocean carried up from the cliffs below. She felt the land settle around her, attentive, remembering.
She had stood here before as a daughter of the people. Tonight she stood here as a woman joining her life to the man she loved.
Their family and friends gathered around the flames, his team, his brother, Than, Mom, Chay, and Ayla, along with Flynn Gallagher, Cormac Kavanaugh, and Indigo Fisher. Her family, grandmother, aunt, and uncle. The circle felt whole, warm, made of blood and bond and shared history. The night breathed around them like a living spirit.
Bear approached the fire from the opposite side, the firelight warming the bronze of his skin and catching the deep shine of his hair. He wore a simple shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, dark pants, his feet bare. Nothing ceremonial. Nothing ornate. Just him. Exactly as he was when she found him, when he found her, when they healed the broken and silent places in each other.
He paused at the fire’s edge, the glow washing across the strong line of his jaw, across the quiet certainty in his eyes. The flames leaned toward him as if in recognition. Bailee felt a slow shiver move through her, not fear, but the profound sense of witnessing something sacred, something ancient stepping into the world through the man she loved.
Bear lifted his gaze to hers, and the rest of the scene softened into shadow.
It was only them. Fire. Sky. Earth. Spirit. The promise waiting between them.
Flint trotted out of the shadows and sat at Bear’s heel with perfect stillness, as if he understood the weight of the moment. Bailee’s throat tightened. This dog had stood beside Bear through hell and was here now to witness his peace.
Bear held something carved in his hand. Cedar, smoothed and shaped, a small piece of the land he once prayed to in silence. Bailee held a braid of sweetgrass, bound earlier with her own ribbon.
For a moment neither of them moved. The night felt sacred. The ancestors felt close.
Bear stepped around the fire toward her, the flames casting shifting gold across his chest. He stopped in front of her with that quiet steadiness she had loved even before she understood it.
“We stand where our ancestors walked,” Bear said softly. His voice blended with the wind. “We join our lives under their witness.”
Bailee swallowed, her heart full enough to ache. “I stand with you,” she whispered. “Always.”
He offered his cedar piece to the fire. She followed with her sweetgrass braid. The flames reached up, accepting both offerings, curling smoke into the night sky in thin silver ribbons that lifted their intentions upward.
A hush fell around them. A breath of spirit. A stirring under her skin.
Bear turned toward her again, and she felt the earth shift under her feet.
He reached into his pocket and retrieved the rings. The medicine wheel bands caught the firelight, red, black, white, and yellow glinting like captured sunrise. The turquoise heart on hers shone bright as a star, held between eagle wings. Her chest tightened with emotion.
“Hold out your hand,” he murmured.
She did, her fingers trembling slightly.
He slid the ring onto her finger, slow and reverent, the metal warming instantly against her skin. “Bailee Thunderhawk,” he said, voice deep with everything he never used to know how to say, “you’re my compass. My quiet. My truth. Walk with me.”
Tears blurred the fire into molten gold. “Dakota,” she whispered, “you’re the place my spirit finally stopped running.”
She took his ring, the matching band broad and strong, a shape that fit him perfectly. She slid it onto his finger and felt the moment settle through both of them like a blessing. “You’re my balance,” she said softly. “My strength. My home.”
Flint gave a low rumble in his chest, almost like approval.
