A tear escaped, trailing down my scarred cheek. Rooster reached up and brushed it away with his thumb, his touch infinitely gentle despite his massive hands.
Butch turned to me. "Liam?"
Three months ago, I'd managed just a few words during our private bonding. Now, with dozens of eyes on me, I took a deep breath and found my voice.
"I survived fifteen years by watching," I began, the words coming slowly but steadily. "Never participating. Just observing from shadows." I swallowed hard, forcing myself to continue despite the weight of so many gazes. "Rooster saw me when I didn't want to be seen. Fed me when I was hungry. Waited when I needed time."
I heard a few surprised murmurs from those who had never heard me speak more than a word or two. Bear's eyebrowshad nearly disappeared into his hairline. Bug was beaming with undisguised pride.
"I choose you," I continued, echoing the first words I'd written to Rooster months ago. "Today. Tomorrow. Every day. My voice is yours. My heart is yours. My life is yours."
By the time I finished, several of the toughest bikers were discretely wiping their eyes, and Rooster looked like he might crush me in his embrace. The mate bond between us hummed with emotion too powerful for words, sending waves of love and pride back and forth between our connected souls.
Butch cleared his throat, visibly affected but maintaining his dignified role. "The Soldiers of Fortune recognize this mating bond and welcome you both as formal, acknowledged mates within our family."
He gestured to Bear, who stepped forward carrying a small wooden box. Inside lay two leather wristbands, black with the MC insignia tooled into the leather in gold. Below the club symbol, our names had been carefully worked into the design—"Rooster & Liam" encircled by a pattern of flame and vine that represented our individual natures perfectly intertwined.
Rooster fastened mine around my wrist first, his fingers lingering on my pulse point. I returned the gesture, securing his band with hands that no longer trembled when all eyes were upon me.
"What has been claimed in private is now acknowledged by all," Butch declared. "Let no one challenge this bond."
A cheer erupted from the gathered crowd, the sound washing over me like a physical wave. Three months ago, such noise would have sent me bolting for cover. Now I stood steady, Rooster's arm around my shoulders, feeling for the first time since I was seven years old that I truly belonged.
Food and drinks flowed freely after the ceremony ended. I sat at a table near the edge of the pavilion, watching the celebrationunfold through golden lynx eyes that missed nothing. The familiar weight of Rooster's leather wristband against my skin felt right, like it had always belonged there.
Three months ago, I would have been hidden in the shadows, tracking movements and cataloging potential threats. Now I sipped a beer and let the warmth of belonging wash over me as club members stopped by to offer congratulations.
Rooster had been pulled away to hear Bear's latest bawdy joke, his booming laughter carrying across the pavilion to where I sat. I didn't mind the brief separation. The mate bond hummed between us even at a distance, a constant reassurance that I was never truly alone anymore.
My attention caught on Sammy, the young fox shifter prospect, who was watching me from across the gathering. Unlike the casual glances others threw my way, his stare carried a focused intensity that reminded me of myself—the watchfulness of someone who had learned to observe before engaging.
I'd spoken more words during the ceremony than I typically did in a week. My throat felt raw from the unaccustomed use, but not painfully so. Progress, like Rooster always said. Small steps forward.
Sammy approached my table with careful movements, his red-gold hair catching the last rays of sunlight. Despite being part of the MC for months now, he still carried himself with the wariness of someone who expected to be sent away at any moment. I recognized that look.
Had worn it myself not so long ago.
"Can I sit?" he asked, gesturing to the empty chair beside me.
I nodded, then added, "Yes," because words were gifts I could now give, even when they weren't strictly necessary.
He settled into the chair, fidgeting slightly with the prospect patch on his cut. "That thing you do," he began, his voicedropping lower, "with the plants. Bug told me about it. He said you..." he trailed off, as if unsure how to phrase his question without sounding offensive.
"Talk to them," I finished for him.
"Yeah." His eyes widened slightly, perhaps surprised by my direct acknowledgment. "Is that... can you teach someone?"
The request caught me off guard. No one had ever asked me to share this ability—this connection that had kept me alive when everyone else had died. It had been my secret, my advantage, my private comfort in fifteen years of isolation.
But that was before Rooster. Before the MC. Before I'd discovered that sharing didn't always mean losing.
I set my beer down and stood. "Come with me."
I led Sammy away from the pavilion, toward a quieter corner of the riverside property where herb gardens and native plants grew in carefully tended beds. The landscaping had been my project, suggested by Butch after I'd redesigned our security systems.
"Might as well make it beautiful as well as functional," he'd said when I'd proposed incorporating plants that would serve as both early warning system and food source.
We reached a quiet spot where rosemary, basil, and thyme grew alongside native wildflowers. I stopped, kicking off my boots and socks without explanation. Sammy watched curiously, but followed my example when I motioned for him to do the same.
