Page 34

The ceremonial shirt feels stiff against my skin, unfamiliar after years of avoiding pack formalities.

I adjust the collar for the dozenth time, studying my reflection in the mirror.

The man looking back at me bears little resemblance to the solitary wolf who prowled Silvercreek's borders alone for six years—there's life in his eyes now, purpose in his stance.

"You're going to wear a hole in that collar if you keep fidgeting," Nic says, leaning against the doorframe of what was once my cabin's bedroom.

In the month since Maisie and Edward and everything changed, I've barely been here, spending nearly every night at Fiona's cottage.

Our cottage now, really, though today makes it official.

"Is it obvious I'm nervous?" I smooth down the front of the shirt again, a useless gesture.

Nic grins. "Terrified would be more accurate. Which is ridiculous, considering you've been practically living with them already."

"This is different." I turn away from the mirror, giving up on further improvements. "This is forever."

"Wasn't it always?" Nic steps forward, holding out the small wooden box containing the ceremonial binding cords. "From that first summer with her, weren't you always hers?"

The truth of it settles in my chest, solid and certain. Everything that came between—Edward's threats, six years of separation, the lottery that brought her back to Silvercreek—was just delay, not denial of what was meant to be.

"Here." Nic presses the box into my hands. "A gift from Luna and me. Traditional silver cords would burn, so we had these made with white gold instead. Safe for even the most sensitive shifter skin."

I open the lid to find three braided cords nestled on dark velvet—one white gold, one deep red, one honey brown. "Three?"

"One for each of you." Nic's expression softens. "Luna's idea. Maisie is part of this binding, too."

Emotion clogs my throat. In just one month, my solitary existence has expanded to include not just a mate but a daughter. It still blows me away.

"Thank you," I manage, closing the box carefully. "It's perfect."

Nic clasps my shoulder in the traditional gesture of pack support. "May your binding strengthen not just your bond, but the pack that surrounds you."

The formal blessing feels right in this moment, grounding me in traditions that stretch back generations. I'm about to respond with the traditional acknowledgment when the door flies open, a small whirlwind in a cream-colored dress bursting into the room.

"Daddy! Daddy! Is it time yet?" Maisie spins in an excited circle, her dress flaring around her. "Mama sent me to check if you're ready!"

My heart swells at the sight of her—my daughter, still a miracle to me after just a month of knowing her.

She has adapted to the changes in her life with remarkable resilience, accepting me as her father with a child's wholehearted enthusiasm.

Her shifting abilities have progressed steadily under our guidance, her control already impressive for her age.

"Almost ready, pup." I crouch to her level, straightening the flower crown sitting slightly askew on her dark curls. "How about you? Ready for the big ceremony?"

She nods solemnly, then breaks into a grin that's pure Fiona. "Elder Victoria let me practice carrying the binding bowl. I didn't spill even one drop of water!"

"That's my girl." I pull her into a quick hug, still marveling at how perfectly she fits in my arms, how natural it feels to be her father. "Are you nervous?"

"Nope!" She rocks back on her heels. "Mama says we're just telling everyone what we already know—that we're a family."

From the mouths of children comes the simplest truth. I look up to find Nic watching us with a smile, his own mate and son waiting for him beyond these walls.

"Well then," I say, standing and offering Maisie my hand. "Let's not keep our family waiting."

The Hollow has transformed under ceremonial preparation.

What was once a place of tension—the site where Fiona's name was drawn in the lottery that started everything—now shimmers with celebration.

Lanterns hang from ancient trees, casting golden light over gathered pack members.

Flower garlands wind around the natural stone formation at the center, where Elder Victoria waits in ceremonial robes.

I take my place at the entrance to the sacred space, nodding to familiar faces as the pack assembles in a circle around the central stones.

Ruby stands near the front, James at her side, their fingers discreetly intertwined.

Even from here, I can see the way they lean toward each other, a new bond forming as mine becomes official.

A hush falls over the gathering as the music begins—a traditional pack melody played on wooden flutes and drums. I turn toward the forest path and lose my breath entirely.

Fiona walks toward me, luminous in a simple dress the color of moonlight. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders, adorned with small white flowers. She moves with the grace of her wolf, confident and sure, her eyes finding mine across the distance between us.

Beside her, Maisie skips, unable to maintain the formal pace, circling back to her mother and then rushing ahead toward me in her excitement. The pack chuckles warmly at her enthusiasm, tradition softening to accommodate a child's joy.

"Mama looks pretty," Maisie whispers loudly as she reaches me, slipping her small hand into mine. "You look pretty, too, Daddy."

A laugh escapes me as tension dissolves under my daughter's artless compliment. Fiona arrives before us, her smile holding secrets and promises meant only for me.

"Hi," she says softly.

"Hi yourself," I reply, suddenly tongue-tied like a teenager instead of a grown man about to claim his mate.

Elder Victoria raises her hands, silence falling over the gathering.

"We come together in the sacred Hollow to witness the binding of Thomas Ennes and Fiona Wright, and to welcome their daughter Maisie Ennes-Wright into our pack."

The formal words wash over me as Nic and Luna take their places as our witnesses. Luna winks at Maisie, who beams back at her favorite "almost-aunt."

"The binding ritual acknowledges what already exists," Victoria continues, her voice carrying to every corner of the Hollow. "A connection of souls, recognized by wolves who found each other despite all obstacles."

She gestures for us to step forward into the circle of stones. Maisie moves with us, naturally included in what would traditionally be a ceremony for two. No one suggests she step aside—this binding is as much about creating a family as it is about uniting mates.

"Thomas Ennes," Victoria says, "speak your vows to your mate."

I take Fiona's hands in mine, all prepared words fleeing in the face of the emotion swelling in my chest. What emerges comes straight from my heart, unfiltered.

"Fiona. Six years ago, I made the hardest choice of my life when I left you, believing it was the only way to keep you safe.

Every day without you was a day half-lived, my wolf searching for its mate in forests too empty to hold your scent.

" My voice catches, steadies. "I vow never to be separated from you again—not by threat, not by fear, not by misunderstanding. My place is with you, always."

I turn slightly to include Maisie, who watches with wide, solemn eyes.

"Maisie. I missed the first five years of your life, a loss I can never reclaim.

But I vow to be present for every moment that follows—to guide your wolf, to celebrate your victories, to catch you when you fall.

Before our pack, I claim you as my daughter, my blood, my greatest pride. "

Maisie's smile could light the night sky. Fiona's eyes shimmer with unshed tears as Victoria nods for her to speak.

"Thomas. When I returned to Silvercreek, I carried years of hurt and misunderstanding alongside our secret daughter.

I thought I knew the story of us—abandonment, betrayal, endings.

Now I know the truth—sacrifice, protection, love that never died.

" Her fingers tighten around mine. "I vow to trust in that love, to rebuild what was broken, to create a future that honors the pain of our past without being defined by it.

My wolf has always known you as mate; now my heart reclaims that truth without reservation. "

She reaches for Maisie, bringing her closer to our joined hands. "Together, we vow to raise our daughter in strength and compassion, to teach her that family comes in many forms, and that love, once truly found, can overcome any separation."

Elder Victoria produces a shallow wooden bowl filled with clear water, the surface reflecting the lantern light like stars captured in liquid. "Water, like pack bonds, finds its way around any obstacle, adapts to any container, yet remains itself—fluid, strong, essential."

She holds the bowl between us. Traditionally, Fiona and I would each place a hand in the water, symbolizing our willingness to adapt and flow together. Without prompting, Maisie reaches out, adding her small hand to the bowl alongside ours.

Victoria's eyes crinkle with approval at this unplanned addition. "The wisdom of children," she murmurs, then continues the ritual. "As your hands join in these waters, so too do your lives merge—not losing individuality, but creating something stronger in combination."

Nic steps forward with the box of binding cords. Victoria takes them with reverent care, her expression softening when she sees the third cord.

"Three strands," she says, "for the family being bound today."

She weaves the cords around our joined wrists—white gold for new beginnings, deep red for passion and blood ties, honey brown for hearth and home. Maisie watches, enraptured, as the cords form an intricate pattern connecting the three of us.