I look up at Ryker, exhausted, hollow-eyed, but alive as they load me into the helicopter.
“He needs a name,” I say, my voice barely audible over the rotors.
“Kael,” Ryker says softly. “It means storm-born warrior.”
I close my eyes as the helicopter lifts off, the ground falling away beneath us.
The sky is streaked with pink and gold, the storm finally over.
I think about my first time in a helicopter, the girl who arrived on this island terrifiedand alone, with nothing but a ratty backpack. That girl is gone, replaced by someone whose heart is full of love, life, and family now.
I have everything.
I drift into exhausted sleep against Ryker’s chest as the helicopter flies through the dawn sky, my son’s tiny hand wrapped around my finger, my pack surrounding me on all sides.
Epilogue
ANYA
Four Years Later
It’s Kael’s fourth birthday, and I’m balancing a tray of cupcakes in my hands as I navigate the backyard carefully, which is full of young children.
The garden has been transformed into something that can only be described as a birthday explosion. Every surface is draped in blue and gold, and so many balloon clusters are floating above the patio tables.
A custom cake sits on a table against the far wall, three tiers tall and painted with little wolves mid-howl, easily the size of a small car. Marcus spent four days on that cake. He also, over the past month, single-handedly constructed a miniature playground in the corner of the yard. No contractor. No instructions. Just Marcus in the yard every evening after work, sawdust on his forearms, completely at peace.
Something grabs the hem of my sundress— two somethings, actually. I look down, and there are my twin girls, both of them staring up at me with those wide eyes.
Ellie and Rose are two years old, dressed in matching white dresses with gold glitter at the hems. They look like two tiny princesses, but right now, both of them look panicked.
I crouch down to their level, knees sinking into the soft grass. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong, my loves?”
Rose doesn’t say anything. She just lifts one small, shaking finger and points across the yard, her face a picture of absolute betrayal.
“Him scary.”
I follow her finger to the clown.
He’s perfectly normal-looking, as clowns go. Colorful outfit, floppy shoes, a bouquet of balloon animals in one hand. He’s currently making a poodle for one of the pack pups, who is delighted. But Rose looks like she’s just spotted something from a horror movie.
“Oh, sweetheart,” I say, holding back a laugh. “He’s harmless, I promise. He makes balloons and…”
Then she suddenly burst into tears, with her twin about to follow.
And then Ryker is there, appearing from nowhere the way he always does, his massive frame crouching beside me. He scoops Rose up in one arm, her chubby fingers immediately grabbing at his shirt.
“What did Mommy do?” he says gravely, rubbing her back while cutting me a deeply amused look over her head.
“Mommy did nothing,” I say flatly. “Mommy was literally handing out cupcakes.”
“Mmm.” He makes a skeptical noise, pressing his lips to Rose’s curls. “It’s okay, little wolf. Daddy’s got you.” Rose sniffles against his chest, and Ellie, not wanting to be left out, wraps herself around my knee like a barnacle.
“Who hired the clown?” I ask, looking around.
“I did,” says Alaric, stepping out from behind the food table, holding a bottle of sparkling water, his expression entirely serene. “I thought it was a wonderful idea.”
I stare at him. “We could have had a birthday party without the clown.”
