“I know we’re weird, and broken, and I’ve probably ruined every surprise you ever hoped for, but…” I knelt beside her, feeling every eye in the place. “I’d like to spend the rest of my life with you, little bird. I know I’ve already claimed you, and you’ve already claimed me, but I’d like to make it official with a ceremony. What do you say? Can we make it official? Will you take my name?”
The room went dead quiet.
She stared at me, eyes huge, lips trembling.
“Yes,” she said. Not loud, but with so much certainty I thought I might die from it. “Yes, Eli Leonard. I will.”
Somewhere, someone started clapping, and it turned into a roar.
Parker hauled me up and kissed me hard, her hands in my hair, and this time there was nothing but joy.
I looked out at the crowd—my pack, my people, my family—and felt the mate bond burn through me like a fuse, wild and bright and endless.
For the first time, I didn’t dread the future. I wanted it.
I held her tight, and in that moment, it was all I needed.
After everything, after all the killing and losing and almost dying, I finally had something to live for.
It was her. It had always been her.
And this time, I wasn’t letting go.
Epilogue
Big Papa
The best part about being the Iron Valor’s chaplain was never the Sunday services, and it sure as hell wasn’t handholding the half-drunk prospects through their first come-to-Jesus talk. It was these moments, right before “church” officially started, when all the club officers crowded into the conference room, each man carrying his own brand of quiet.
We met every Monday, rain or shine, in a room that was too clean to belong to a biker compound and too battered to ever pass for professional. The table had gouges and burn marks, and every chair was a different height—Wrecker had sawed an inch off Gunner’s chair legs as a joke two months back, and nobody had bothered to fix it.
This morning, the whole place smelled like burnt coffee, and the ghost of last night’s pulled pork. Sunlight cut stripes through the shades, landing square on Bronc’s knuckles where he sat at the head, frowning into his third cup of black.
Juliet had arrived early and put out donuts. She lingered by the window, arms folded, profile sharp as a scythe. Her mate had finally claimed her in a way that didn’t let her out of his sight, but she still liked to haunt the perimeter, like a wolf circling the herd. That woman had been to the pits of hell and came out the other side stronger than steel; a Luna we proudly would die for.
Next to me sat Gunner, slouched back so far his boots nearly propped against the table. He nursed his coffee with two hands, eyes half-lidded and chin speckled with stubble, cowboy hat lowon his head. The big Texan’s voice was slow and syrupy, but the brain behind it was sharper than most gave him credit for.
Wrecker, our newly named VP, paced at the back, restless as ever. He ran a thumb along the edge of his patch, occasionally pausing to glare at his phone. There was a rumor he slept with it under his pillow, and I’d yet to see him go five minutes without checking it.
Doc had arrived late, as always, sliding into his seat with a nod and a tired smile. The man looked like he belonged at a university, not a biker club, but he fit here better than most. He’d been up all night with a broken arm and a birth; he had the exhaustion to prove it. He adjusted his black-framed glasses when he sat.
Arsenal had arrived first, as always, and sat patiently nursing his coffee.
Bronc waited until the last chair creaked before he spoke.
“Let’s get this started,” he said, voice dry as gravel. “Anyone wanna open with a prayer?”
A few snickers circled the table. I raised my hand. “Lord, grant us the patience to deal with each other, the wisdom to out-think our enemies, and the humor to get through whatever the hell dad joke Gunner throws at us this morning.”
Gunner grinned and tipped his hat to us. “Amen.”
The laughter died quick. Bronc set his cup down and steepled his fingers, the blue in his eyes gone hard and cold. “Rafe’s called a Council. It’ll happen in a few days. He’s not letting any grass grow under this one. It’s priority one.”
Juliet let out a low sigh, her gaze shifting to the floor. She hated the politics of the packs, but it was her burden now, same as Bronc’s, especially when it came to our territory king.
“What’s his angle?” Wrecker asked, arms crossed. “He hasn’t called one in ages.”
“To get to the bottom of the Greenbriar attempted massacre,” Doc said, tapping a finger against the table. “He wants to see if he can make Maltraz and Otero squirm. And to make sure nobody tries to come back on us for wiping out Greenbriar.”
