The night was pure sweetness and lit by moonlight glittering in the frost. They indulged in a different, playful kind of courtship until the sun began to rise on a new day.
There would never again be claw marks on their floor and walls. There would never be shackles, cell doors, or bars on the window.
The beast and the bear, at last, were free.
Epilogue
An excerptfrom the article “Exploring Lyssa: The Story of Josephine Wyeth,” written by Elise Sasini and featured in The San Francisco Light, May 17th, 2048—
Josephine Wyeth is a woman not to be missed.
She is small, fine-boned like a bird. Her dark hair is streaked with gray and held out of her face in a messy bun speared with a paintbrush missing its bristles. Her eyes and mouth are framed with lines grooved by a life of laughter. When she greets us at the door, she wears slim-fitting black overalls embroidered with flowers over a cable knit sweater and thick wool socks.
Physically speaking, Josephine could not be more different from her daughter. But their aura, that indefinablesomethingthat makes every head turn, is precisely the same.
Her voice is soft, a little shy, as she ushers us into her log cabin palace. Vanessa has no sooner dropped her bag onto the entryway floor before she sweeps her mother up into a bone-crushing hug.
“Mama!” she exclaims, swinging her back and forth as her mother giggles. Her cheeks flush with delight and her striking eyes, dark brown and sky blue, twinkle like the precious stones in her daughter’s rings.
“Hi, baby,” she says. “Did you have a good trip?”
Vanessa assures her she did. Carefully lowering her much more petite mother back onto the floor, she turns to introduce us.
“It’s an honor to meet you,” I say, a little overwhelmed.
Josephine peers at me from under dark brows, watchful and wise, even as her lips quirk up at the corners. “Are you here to ask me a bunch of questions?”
I flush because that’s precisely why I’m there, though it feels a bit impolite to say so. “Well… A bit, yeah. Mostly I’d just like to talk to you.”
“I’m not so great at that part.” Josephine wrinkles her nose and turns her gaze to her daughter, who has lifted her head to scent something in the air. I’m so nervous, I don’t notice the faint smell of something sweet in the air until then. “My mate and children are the talkers, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, hush, Mama. You’re a wonderful speaker.” Vanessa throws her arm around her mother’s slim shoulders and drags her in for another hug. “And don’t worry. Elise is very easy to talk to. She’s fun. Now, do I smell banana bread?”
Josephine looks mildly affronted. The tiniest amount of tartness enters her soft voice. “Of course it’s banana bread. I always make it for you, don’t I?”
Vanessa shoots me an amused look over her mother’s head. “Can we snag a slice? I’mdyingfor some good food.”
We’re led into a spacious kitchen as the two Weres catch up. I trail behind, taking in the exquisite craftsmanship of the home. Every hallway is a honeycomb of alcoves lit with warm, subtle light. Every single space holds a piece of Josephine’s art. Some pieces are framed sketches on rough paper. Some are magazine advertisements from a hundred years ago carefully pressed between glass. Some are book covers, movie posters, still life paintings, scraps of paper covered in a mishmash of children’s doodles and her own quick sketches.
Even the quick jaunt to the kitchen feels like a secret museum tour, an experience I am certain vanishingly few people have had or will ever have.
Josephine stands at the counter and slices off two thick slabs of banana bread for us. Vanessa hands me mine before she asks, “Where’s Dad?”
“In the shop,” her mother answers, nodding toward the window over the sink, which affords a view of a large workshop a few dozen feet from the house. “He’s working on a new frame for me. I imagine he’ll meander in for lunch soon enough.”
I look around the kitchen with wide eyes. “Vanessa told me your mate is a carpenter. Did he build this house?”
Josephine graces me with a slight smile that warms me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. “Yes. Our first den wasn’t what he wanted it to be, so when we moved away from Alliance territory after the war, he went— well, you can see how far he went.” She laughs. “For a while I worried that there wouldn’t be a tree left in Bear Gulch once he was through.”
“Mom was pregnant with my brother at the time,” Vanessa interjects, reaching for another steaming slice of bread. “Shifters get a little nuts when cubs come along.”
Josephine nods sagely. “They do. He worked like a man possessed.”
Recalling the sheer scale of the home, I do a doubletake. “Was it all finished by the time the baby came along?”
“Oh, gods, no.” Josephine waves a hand. Though creeping up in years, her fingers are still elegant — another trait she passed on to her daughter. “He had the kitchen, a bathroom, and one bedroom done by the time the baby came. By then we had to close it all up for the winter anyway. When spring came, he started up again. Hasn’t stopped since.”
“Dad promised to build her a new room every time they ran out of space for her paintings,” Vanessa explains, sounding both sly and a little exasperated.
