I sat on the porch with Parker, our little scrappy dog between us, and watched the last of the sun drag itself under the world.
“We made it,” she said, leaning her head on my shoulder.
“Together,” I replied.
I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her close. The cold bit at my skin, but for once, it felt okay.
Inside, someone played music—old country, the kind you’d hear at a truck stop at 2 a.m. It was perfect.
We sat in the dark, and for the first time in a long time, we’d earned this small, battered piece of peace. We didn’t know how long it would last, but we’d take what we could get.
The snow hadn’t let up, but the world was brighter, anyway. By Christmas morning, the field outside the compound was crisscrossed with the tracks of wolves, kids, dogs, and the half-buriedfootprints of yesterday’s nightmares. I woke early to the sound of Rocket barking. The ugly little beast was already tracking breakfast from the kitchen. I dressed in the dark, muscles aching, scars from the last battle all but healed. It felt good to get out and walk the perimeter just to breathe the crisp morning air.
Parker found me by the barn, strolling out in jeans and boots, hair wild from sleep. She looked at the fields with a strange peace, as if every horror of the last year had been ground down into so much mulch and left to freeze.
“Today’s the day,” she said, voice soft.
“Yeah,” I said. “The Run.”
The Christmas Toy Run. Every year, Iron Valor MC delivered presents to every kid in the county, human or shifter or anything in between. Before, it was just a couple of pickup trucks and a box of wrapped toys. It’s grown every year until this year; it was a caravan—every truck, bike, and SUV the pack could cobble together, all loaded to the gills.
Pearl was at the civic center, marshaling her army of helpers. We had followed Menace and Savannah who had just pulled up to the civic center with a trailer filled with toys that had been delivered from the Midwest packs. Gunner and Arsenal sorted the gifts by age and gender, though Gunner had to keep shooing the little ones from sneaking early looks. Even Bronc’s son Tyler, who was still home, was on wrapping duty, cursing his own lack of skill while Juliet patted him on the back.
“Don’t worry, love,” she said, watching his mangled ribbon job. “The kids care more about what’s inside.”
Pearl had baked enough cookies to choke a linebacker, and Maddie kept the cocoa flowing until every surface was sticky with sugar. The entire pack was there—every survivor, every child. Even Papa made an appearance, swaddled in a blanket and with Pearl fussing over him like a prize heifer.
The run itself was chaos. We lined up the cars, kids shrieking as the first truck honked the signal. The MC officers led the pack,Harleys screaming down the roads. I loved the feel of Parker pressed against my back. Down the county roads, out to the trailer parks, through every dusty neighborhood in Dairyville, we delivered. Some families came to the doors in pajamas, others in full Sunday best. Every house, every handoff, was a victory. I watched the faces of the kids, some wolf, some not, and felt something in my chest break and knit together at the same time.
Parker ran the tech side, cross-referencing addresses and names to make sure no one got missed. She even rigged a drone to follow the procession, streaming footage to the clubhouse where the smallest kids—too sick to travel—could watch the parade in real time.
By the time we got back, the sun was high, and the snow was turning to slush. Pearl’s Christmas dinner was already underway, the smells of ham and turkey and every imaginable pie filling the hall. The new clubhouse, built bigger than the one we’d lost, was brighter, and somehow more alive. I’d never seen it so full.
We ate at long tables. Nobody had to dress up, but Parker wore a red sweater and the boots I got her before everything went to hell, and for the first time since we’d reconnected, she didn’t seem haunted by anything. She even smiled—really smiled—when I handed her the present I’d been holding since the second time I snuck into her house. When I was her stalker.
She opened it at the table, eyes wide. It was a locket—silver, with a blue stone in the center. Inside was a picture of her family, the old one, and a new photo we’d taken at our house, a selfie of me, her, and Rocket. She traced the edge with her finger, mouth trembling.
“I love it,” she said. “Thank you.”
I shrugged suddenly feeling choked up. “You’re welcome, little bird.”
She kissed me, quick and hard, and the entire table erupted in hoots andwhistles.
After dinner, Bronc stood at the head of the room and raised a glass. He waited for silence, which took a while.
“We’ve lost a lot this year,” he said. “Too many. But we’re still here. And we’re family. So tonight, we honor the ones who didn’t make it, and we count every single blessing we’ve got. Including,” he paused, eyes glinting, “the new ones on the way.”
There was a ripple of laughter. Juliet, blushing, took his hand and held it up.
“Juliet and I are expecting,” Bronc said, pride rumbling in his voice. “So I figure it’s time we do the thing right. Next month, we’ll have an official claiming. You’re all invited.”
The room cheered, clinking glasses, someone howling from the back.
And maybe it was the whiskey, or the way the light hit Parker’s eyes, but I felt something spark under my ribs. I stood, glass in hand, and banged it against the table for attention.
Bronc grinned. “Wrecker wants the floor.”
I cleared my throat. “If he’s getting official, then I want to do the same.” I turned to Parker, who suddenly looked mortified and delighted at once.
