Page 23 of Can’t Get No Satyrfaction (Mated to the Monster: Season 3)
EPILOGUE
T wo months later…
Sylvie stretched her legs, careful not to disturb Bront’s peaceful slumber as he snored beneath the desk Thorn had built for her. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she searched for the right words to describe the delicate unfurling of the moonflower she’d photographed last night.
A gentle breeze rustled through the leaves, carrying the sweet scent of late summer blooms. Her latest blog post waited, half-finished, the cursor blinking beside a photo of dewdrops caught in a spider’s web. Each image told a story of the Elderwood’s magic, though she kept its deepest secrets safe.
Bront’s ears twitched as he chased something in his dreams. She smiled, reaching down to scratch behind the closest set of ears. The big dog leaned into her touch for a moment without waking before she returned to her blog.
Her readership had grown steadily over the past weeks. Comments poured in about her unique perspective on forest photography, the intimate glimpses of wildlife that few had captured before. She’d found her voice here, among the ancient trees and hidden glades.
The screen saver on the laptop showed her latest piece—a young deer drinking from a crystal-clear stream at dawn, sunlight slanting through the mist surrounding it. But it was the smaller details that made her heart sing—the tiny purple wildflowers that dotted the banks and the way the light caught the droplets on the deer’s whiskers.
She typed a few more words, then settled back in her chair, gazing out over the clearing in front of the cabin. This porch had become her favorite spot to work, where the boundary between forest and home blurred into something magical. A vine twisted down from the roof, gently stroking her cheek before withdrawing, and she smiled. She would never have Thorn’s connection to the Elderwood, but it had shown its acceptance of her in hundreds of small gestures.
A ladybug landed on her screen, its red shell bright against the white background. She watched it explore the edge of her laptop, remembering how she’d once chased similar moments in city parks and manicured gardens. Now she lived surrounded by raw, wild beauty—exactly where she belonged.
Her gaze suddenly shifted to the far side of the clearing. Even though she hadn’t heard a sound, she knew Thorn was approaching even before his massive figure appeared on the path leading to the cabin. As always, her breath caught at the sight of him. Sunlight caught the silver streaks in his dark hair, gleaming off his curved horns. Two months of waking up beside him hadn’t dulled the effect he had on her.
His eyes met hers, dark with the intensity that still made her skin tingle. No words passed between them, but none were needed. The air crackled with unspoken heat as he moved towards her, and the laptop screen dimmed, forgotten, as he reached her.
That magnetic pull between them had only grown stronger with time. Sometimes she wondered if this tension would ever fade—if she’d ever look at him without feeling that delicious flutter in her stomach.
Bront stirred at her feet, one head lifting to acknowledge his master with a sleepy huff before settling back down. She smiled, leaning back as Thorn bent down to kiss her, his lips gentle despite that electric tension. She closed her eyes, drinking in his nearness as he lifted her into his arms and settled back down with her in his lap. These quiet moments had become her favorite part of living here, where the forest’s ancient rhythms shaped their days. His presence grounded her, made the whole world feel steady and right.
His thumb traced lazy circles on her wrist, the calloused pad of his finger raising goosebumps along her arm. The touch sent little sparks of electricity through her veins, making it hard to focus on anything else.
“Marsh and Rorie are coming for dinner tonight,” she murmured, though she made no move to pull away. She and Rorie had become close friends over the past few months and that had also helped ease the relationship between Thorn and Marsh. She didn’t think his lingering guilt would ever disappear completely, but she knew how important that family tie was to him.
His grunt of acknowledgment rumbled through his chest, but something felt different in the way his fingers kept moving against her skin, distracted and almost nervous.
“How was your trip to town?” she asked, suddenly concerned that something had happened during his visit.
He never liked going to town, but he had accepted that it was occasionally necessary and even developed a cautious respect for a few of the humans who lived there.
“Fine. The conviction was upheld.”
The original trial had been an ordeal, and even though her photographs had helped convince the jury, the poachers had appealed the results. The fact that he wouldn’t have to go through that again was a huge relief. So why did he still seem so uncomfortable?
She twisted around in his arms and gently poked his chest.
“Tell me what’s going on.”
He reached into his travel pouch, his movements uncharacteristically hesitant. Her heart skipped a beat when he produced a rectangular package wrapped in plain brown paper, twine wrapped around it in neat loops.
He held it out without meeting her eyes, but his fingers brushed hers as she took it—warm, steady, grounding. The package felt light in her hands, and she gave him a curious look as she tugged at the string.
The brown paper crinkled and fell away to reveal glossy pages beneath, and her breath caught in her throat. The familiar masthead of Wild Haven magazine stared up at her, but what made her pulse race was the photograph splashed across the cover.
Her photograph.
Sunlight streamed through ancient branches, catching the gossamer wings of a dragonfly in mid-flight. The image shimmered with all the magic she’d felt that morning when she’d crouched next to the stream waiting for the perfect shot. Every detail was exactly as she remembered—the way the light fractured through the leaves, the delicate veining in those translucent wings, the sense of something ancient and beautiful captured in a single moment.
Her hands trembled as she turned to the story, each page revealing another of her photographs. The fairy circle shimmering amidst the leaves. A rare spotted jay preening in dappled light. The hidden waterfall where Thorn had finally claimed her. Wadslow laughing as he waved his hat at her.
Her throat tightened. These were the shots she’d dreamed of capturing her whole life—proof that magic still existed in quiet corners of the world. But she’d never submitted them. Never even mentioned wanting to.
“I t-thought…” Her voice broke. She swallowed hard and tried again. “I thought you didn’t want anyone to know what’s out here.”
He shifted beneath her, the porch boards creaking.
“I don’t,” he said, the words low and rough. “But I know how much this mattered to you.” His gaze dropped to the magazine, then lifted back to her face. “I wanted you to have this—to be happy.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks before she could stop them. Even though he knew the original purpose of her visit, she’d never mentioned her dream to him once she’d decided to stay, but he’d seen right through her, had given her the one thing she thought she’d have to give up to stay.
Her heart thundered against her ribs as she stared up at him, overwhelmed by the depth of what he’d done for her. Without warning, she flung herself at him, nearly knocking the chair over as her lips found his jaw, his temple, the corner of his mouth. Each kiss was a thank you she couldn’t put into words.
“I love you so much.”
His deep groan vibrated through her as his arms locked around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. The magazine slipped forgotten from her fingers as she wound her arms around his neck.
“Marsh and Rorie,” he muttered against her hair, but his hands were already sliding lower, cupping her ass and pulling her tighter against him.
She laughed, the sound bright and breathless.
“They’re not coming for hours.” She pressed closer, feeling the rapid thud of his heart matching hers, and brushed her lips teasingly against his ear. “And I always have time for you.”
He growled approvingly and rose with her in his arms. The wild scent of him surrounded her, making her head spin as he carried her inside. The vines draping the porch burst into flower as the heavy wooden door swung shut behind them, leaving the ancient trees to keep their secrets.