Page 55 of All Saints Day (Lucifer and the Saints #2)

Dennis

L ouise handled herself with incredible grace throughout the entirety of the television interview.

We were not allowed to give many specifics or any details at all regarding Louise's powers.

We were urged to be as open and truthful about the corruption within the government extending to the Windmill as we cared to be otherwise.

Louise confirmed that her parents had developed the Zeitnot prime in an effort to not only change designation, but to create a new designation entirely for the purposes of government defense.

She explained that once their work had been deemed too dangerous in the early 90s—after the testing that would see Louise both infected and cured by Zeitnot prime, her designation switching from omega to sigma in the process—the government abandoned the project while the Windmill continued to pursue her parent’s goal for many years to come.

I did my part to confirm that Compton, Lowry and the other bad apples within the organization were the exception and not the rule—that new anti-corruption practices would be developed and put in place.

The Attorney General informed the public that while I had been offered the opportunity to return to the Bureau after so nearly losing my life and the lives of my packmates, that I would be stepping down from my position within the BSU while still maintaining a relationship with the Department of Reproduction in a support capacity in regards to their research on the omicron designation and the Penny’s research into early designation testing along with indicators for fated mates, to ensure proper regulatory practices rose up around the new industries that would undoubtedly wish to serve a population eager to know early designation as well as the possibility of fated mates.

Louise similarly announced that she would be stepping down from her former position at the Bureau, but would continue to work in tandem with the Department of Reproduction as the official spokeswoman of the new omicron designation to help guide and inform the bedrock of new programs that must be developed to provide support, and resources to new individuals who may present with the new designation.

Of course, everyone was very anxious about the prospect of the omicron designation becoming more prevalent.

There was the matter of the Windmill strain of the Zeitnot virus not being 100% accounted for even after the destruction of the Alaska facility.

The scientists who had developed the virus for the Windmill were also still at large.

Not to mention, there was the matter of our pack and its future; of any children that Louise might bear. Would they potentially carry on her omicron lineage?

Any others who might eventually come by the designation after treatment for the Windmill strain of the Zeitnot virus would be similarly afflicted.

Though it had been keenly avoided in polite conversations between us, the Attorney General, and the new head of the Department of Reproduction; Neither Louise nor I were so na?ve as to think that the military would simply overlook the possibility of a unit of all omicron soldiers.

While Louise had been definitive in her refusal to become a weapon wielded by the United States government—and the current administration along with the rest of the federal institution respected her wishes for the time being—there was no guarantee that these terms would not change with the passing of time and politicians.

After so much unbelievable change in the past year, it was hard to believe that once we stepped through airport security and into the business class airline lounge—we were truly on our way to a mostly private life out of the public eye.

One where we did not have to live on the run.

In secret, we had begun to explore the extent and the nature of Louise's powers.

Though none of us wanted to skew toward paranoia, the consensus was that we would find somewhere remote to put down our roots—to figure out what life as a pack looks like for us, and to keep discovering each next step from there.

Looking at her now, curled against my body in the narrow double seat on the airplane, it's hard to believe she's the same as that glowing, effulgent creature that tore apart the Alaska facility, leaving bodies and wreckage in her wake at the flick of a wrist.

With her gentle snores, and the little diamond birthmark like a tear high on her right cheekbone—as if she could be just Louise still.

Even if I know better.

I can feel the humming excitement on the other end of the mating bond as Caz and the others anticipate our arrival, and where our journey will ultimately take us now that we are no longer captive to the whims of the criminal underworld, the Feds, or the Zeitnot virus.

I feel Frank, still tentative, still laced with shame and guilt as he carries the deeds of Rook—of Frank Stone along with him.

Even though he's been bitten into our pack, he'll likely always carry the weight of his sins with him.

Reaching along the bond, I find him—my very being reaching out to hold that piece of Francis Castle close to my metaphorical heart and feel his tension ease slightly.

Our flight destination may be ?Liberty City, but our reservation at the Liberty Club suite at the Plaza Hotel only carries another few days until the end of the week. After that, we’ll be free to go anywhere.

Freedom. What does that even mean? Even now, I'd like to sit and keep watch over her for the rest of the flight. Alas, the sounds of her gentle breathing and the feel of her heartbeat against my own chest, call me into the land of slumber along with her.

In the dream I stumble down the paths of desire to a beautiful craftsman house in the woods, with Frank in the garden out back working the ground with his calloused hands; coaxing tomatoes, cucumbers, peas, and fluffy heads of lacinato kale from the dirt as if it were magic.

Inside, Sébastien makes dinner in copper pots adorned with brass handles shaped like acorns, and the whole kitchen smells of rosemary and peppermint beneath the sweet woody notes of oud and spicy ginger.

I cross the hand-painted tiles Caz laboured over—bright paisley patterns to catch the light of the sun in the summer, to remind us of warmth through the snowy winters—on ground stained feet to feed her strawberries from Frank’s garden before all of us collapse onto the sofa with Caz and his sketchbook to watch the cat and the dog sleep on the hearth.

Louise’s crimson hair smells lovely, like all our scents combined into one as it hangs over my sweaty face as we move together in the dark—her hips rolling like the ocean, holding fast to one another in the sea of cotton sheets.

The craftsman becomes a chateau in the south of France, then a farmhouse in a cornfield, a splendid old Victorian, a classic colonial, an Oceanside estate, before settling back on the craftsman cottage. Though the surroundings may change—one thing always remains the same.

My pack is what makes each one safe.

Our love is what makes each house a home.

I know before I wake—that wherever we end up, wherever we roam—together is where we are meant to be.