The need to be alone with my mate. To find comfort and peace in each other’s arms. There may not be a safe place in this world for us except the one we make for each other.
That’s enough.
Anticipation hums through me, then need. Eliza wants this, too. That decides it.
I look at Mags, unable to believe what I’m about to say. “Maybe you could call an official council meeting in the next few days? Where we share insights, experiences, next steps.”
“Not with an outlaw,” someone shouts from the nearly vanished crowd. “And ahuman.”
Ash’s face goes black, jaw tightening.
I stare at the man. He looks familiar, though I can’t recall his name. “Not your business to judge. Or create friction between Wildbloods?—”
“Notyourbusiness?—”
Mags cuts him off. “That’s what the Sentinels want. The government men, too. To keep us so torn apart we can never come together or defend ourselves against them.”
“But two human women? The resonance? This is the stuff of fairytales, not reality,” the redhead growls, stroking his beard, face dark and haunted. “Are we just supposed to let this go? Fall back under the sway of transgressions we’re still being punished for?”
Mags cuts in, voice firm, face hard as granite. “We are all a part of the same family. We fight together. Welivetogether. We stand up for what matters…together.”
It isn’t the answer he wants. His face simmers, but he wheels back around, sauntering away.
“Gonna have more trouble with him,” Ash says.
“Rook,” Mags says with a resigned sigh. “A Redfern cousin. Tempers have always been our downfall.”
“And secrecy,” I whisper just loud enough for her to hear, face hardening.
Her lips press into a thin line, and she shakes her head. “G’night, you two. Jo and Ash, mind walking me back over to the store?”
The blond cowboy and his mate smile, the bond humming between them—pure, unshakeable.
I lean forward, pressing my forehead to my woman’s, my voice soft—for her ears only. “Need you, primrose.”
The corners of her mouth lift. Her eyes melt, but there’s something else there now. Not just longing.
Knowing.
“Then let’s go home, cowboy,” she murmurs. “To our ranch.”
I nod. Home. The word settles differently than it used to. No longer something to fear—like staying—but a choice.
Around us, the few remaining Wildbloods drift apart, voices low, movements purposeful. Heading out in all directions, just as they came.
As I turn toward the ridge, something catches my eye.
The mountains.
I don’t see anything. But the feeling shifts. Subtle.
Like pressure easing. Or tightening. Hard to tell which.
My grip on Eliza’s hand tightens without meaning to.
“What is it?” she asks quietly.
I don’t answer right away. Because I don’t have one. “They’re not done,” I say.
