I realize then what seems different about Winter today. She’s not wearing her weapons. Maybe we’re all finding our way to who we really are. Maybe all these battles really were worth it if they led us here, to the places we needed to go.
When it’s time to leave, Ty and I walk hand in hand into the woods.
“I want to show you something,” he says.
I smile at him, still feeling that song—our song—within me. “Whatever you want to show me, I want to see.”
“Run with me,” he invites me.
We shift and take off, galloping higher into the hills above Jacksonville, then looping around to the road that stretches across the crest of Jacksonville Hill. It straddles the road out of town that leads off into the Applegate Valley. Ty leads me farther up into the deeplyforested hill that rises behind Jacksonville, following what appears to be a little-used road all the way to the top.
When we’re nearly there, he shifts back and indicates I should do the same. Then he takes my hand in his, leads me out of the woods, and into a clearing where a grand house sits.
The grounds are covered in snow, but I can see the outlines of raised gardens and flower beds. There are terraces cut into the side of the mountain, some with patios, one with a pool. The view from here is practically the whole of the Rogue Valley—our valley—stretching down toward Ashland.
The house itself makes me think of pictures I’ve seen of places like France. It’s sprawling and beautiful. And obviously abandoned.
“Ty ...” I shake my head at him. “What are we doing here?”
“I heard what your mother said,” he tells me, his dark gaze intent. “What wolf gets to look at the sky—or something like that.”
He takes my shoulders in his hands. I can see the indigo that rings his irises.
“I’ve made my peace with the den,” I tell him.
“You don’t have to make your peace with shit,” he says with a short laugh. “Every star in the sky, every cloud, every scrap of blue and moonlit night is yours.” He nods toward the house. “And so is this.”
I can’t take it in.
He keeps talking. “It’s maybe ten minutes from the den. It’s strategically placed. I’m going to encourage all the lieutenants to find their own places away from the den, because I want wolves in houses all over Jacksonville. I don’t want us hiding in a den. I don’t want us hiding anywhere.” His hands tighten on my shoulders. His thumb grazes my crown tattoo. “Just in case you think I don’t listen to you.”
“I never said you didn’t listen,” I tell him, melting against him. “But this ... Ty. This is dreaming big.”
“That’s who we are, baby,” he says. “Remember?”
Then he kisses me, deep and hard, before we go explore our new home.
And christen it, too. More than once.
And when we settle into our new home, despite the mutterings from the usual places, I know deep in my bones that this was the right choice. Wolves will think twice before bothering Ty—or me—with the small things. But if we’re needed, we’ll be right there.
Meanwhile, we get to breathe.
Over the next few months, more wolves—not only Ty’s lieutenants—claim places to live in the hills above Jacksonville, honoring both parts of who we are. As spring creeps in, it’s not unusual to hear howls from all over. I notice that the humans don’t flinch as much as they used to.
This pleases me too. Ty and I agree that the more connection we have with humankind, along with the rest of the Kind, the better.
I think about all the creatures who showed up at Crater Lake on New Year’s Eve. All of us fought to hold on to the world the Reveal gave us. It shouldn’t take fighting to keep it. It’s dancing in ruins at the Manor. It’s playing pool with gorgons at Gold Rush. It’s learning how to bake cookies with the human librarians who taught me how to read.
It’s one step—foot or paw, claw or tentacle—at a time, and a lot less eating each other.
This is how we build the world I want to give to my children someday. One conversation at a time, even if it’s awkward.
Until then, Ty and I get to sing the song that made us.
We get to take every breath as ours, sing it out into the world as we remake it, and make it shine like new.
29.
