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“Parts I love most are still inside of you. A thousand scars could never reach that deep.”

With a tearful smile, I release his hand, allowing him to run his palm over my scar and down between my thighs. At the first prod of his finger, I close my eyes again. But instead of slipping into another place, or sailing off on the placid sea, I stay right here, with Titus.

My anchor.

My mother used to tell me that a woman’s most important role in this world was to bear children, and for some, I believe that’s true. Happiness and completion comes in all forms, and I don’t doubt the joy of creating new life, particularly in a world so ravaged as ours. Of carrying on into the future with new chapters of a story, and generations that will write their parts of it.

For those of us who are stripped of that possibility, whose stories are cut short, either by cruelty, or by choice, our endings may be different, but they don’t have to be any less joyful and happy. They don’t have to be perfect, because sometimes the world doesn’t play that way.

Life on this side of the wall has taught me a number of lessons, but perhaps the most important one of all is to love and be loved. It’s the only role we’re charged to carry out in our time on earth. After all, it’s the heart that drives us to purpose, that gives courage in the face of fear, and that makes us who we are.

And the scars? They’re just a reminder of our strength.

Epilogue 1

Titus

Sitting beside the fire, I watch Atticus turn the spit over the flame, revealing a golden-brown crisp to the rabbit meat. The beaming pride written all over his face is enough to make me want to knock the smug prick upside the head.

“Ah, look at that, Brother. Perfect. Tell me that isn’t a perfect shade of cooked.”

“If it’s your dick you need stroked, go find your woman.”

Atticus chuckles, kicking back a sip of his liquor from a tin cup, and glances back to where Lilith stands talking to one of the women from their camp. There’s a new glint in his eyes. An appreciation that wasn’t there before. “Later, maybe.”

“You and Lilith. You’re …”

“Yeah. When the woman isn’t hating on me. Even when she is, though ... keeps shit interesting.” Breaking his gaze, he throws back another long swill, then wipes the trickling liquor with the back of his hand. “Her mother’s been giving me some rattle root crap that apparently reduces my swimmers.”

“Works?”

“No accidents, so far.” He jerks his chin toward something behind me. “How’s Thalia holding up these days?”

A glance over my shoulder shows Thalia chatting with Freya, as the older woman stirs a batch of herbal medicine she’s concocted--one Thalia hopes will help her sleep better at night. When her eyes catch on mine, they seem to light up, the sight of her making me hard in all the right places. Can’t even look at the woman without my breath getting caught up in my throat and my stomach all twisting up, like I’m about to face off with something wild and threatening. So damn beautiful, it hurts. “Better.”

For weeks after Remus kidnapped her, she woke with nightmares, the kind of soul-destroying screams that took me back to the time of Calico. To this day, there are things she won’t talk about, but I’ve never been one to push, either. She startles awake a few times a week, but it’s just a matter of holding her close, and she settles back to sleep. Suits me just fine, as I seem to sleep more soundly beside her, too.

Nightmares still play with my head, occasionally, waking me up in cold sweats. Sometimes, I’m back in that dark cell in Calico, and other times, I’m watching Cadmus hide away from the mutations, trapped in those tunnels like a mouse in a sealed-off maze. It’s not so much the death itself that bothers me, but the what if. What if the nightshade didn’t work? What if he’s still down there? Alive.

“Here.” Something hits my arm, tearing away those thoughts, and I turn to see Atticus offering the skewered meat. “Try it.”

Groaning, I swipe the stick from the Alpha’s hand, and bite down into tender meat, doing my best to school my reaction so the bastard won’t spend the whole evening gloating. “Best cockabob you’ve ever had in your mouth, admit it.”

I lean to the side to spit the meat out, growling as I toss the skewer onto the flame. Dirty prick. Would’ve been a decent meal, if he kept his mouth shut.

With a chuckle, Atticus bends forward, fishing it out of the blaze. “It was delicious, asshole. Admit it.”

“Needs lime.”

Frowning, Atticus props the meat into the dirt beside him. “What do you mean, lime? Where the hell am I going to find a lime out here?”

“No idea.” I shrug. “Just telling you what it needs.”

With a dismissive wave, Atticus hooks his attention on something behind me.

I twist around, catching the small arm sticking out from behind the tree, where Asher, the boy Thalia and I rescued from the convent, hides from us. Beside him, Yuma sits back on his haunches, a dead giveaway, considering the wolf never leaves the boy’s side.

I wave him over, and the kid reluctantly steps out from behind the tree. “C’mon. Come sit down.”