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EPILOGUE

B eatrix

Armand and I are married in a beautiful ceremony at the old medieval church in Fontlune. My dress is handmade by the women who came to live with us, the survivors of the wars that took my mother, my father, my family, my sense of self and safety. They have worked on it tirelessly while telling me stories of the days gone before, the horrors they endured, and the love they held onto.

They rely on us now, on Armand and me.

As we make our vows, I feel the weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders. We are the alphas of the de Lune pack. We are the progenitors of a new generation… I can feel the squirming of life inside me even as the pastor performs the ceremony.

I am not only promising myself to Armand. I am promising myself to the future, to our babies. To those who will come after us. I am promising that we will never allow the same kinds of war that broke my pack and destroyed my family to come to ours.

It’s all very serious. I never imagined a wedding day would have so much weight to it. I never imagined a wedding at all; even when Armand would talk about it, it felt like something for other people, not for me.

But here I am, a bride, surrounded by her family. True family. People who love me, care for me, want me to be happy, and are excited for the future generations yet to be born.

* * *

Armand

Beatrix is beautiful, radiant in the white lace gown that was stitched by hand by the ladies who constructed every part of it, including the veil, over long nights.

I do not think she understands her beauty the way I do. But I think she understands her power. There is some solemnity in my mate, a ferocity that burns even here, at the altar.

She does not take these vows lightly, nor does she take impending motherhood with anything other than the utmost seriousness. She is young, but she is clear-eyed. I have heard her quizzing the ladies, asking them what happened in the terrible nights of war that took her from her family forever.

Le curé prompts us for our vows, and looks on approvingly, along with all of our family, as we promise ourselves to one another.

“I promise to defend you, to possess you, to love you, to cherish you, to own you, to protect you, and to have and hold you every day of my life,” I vow.

Beatrix blushes. I can see tears forming at the corners of her eyes. I know she is overwhelmed. I am sure none of this feels quite real to her, and yet here we are, finally getting married.

“I promise to love you, to disobey you, to…” She trips over her words as she realizes what she just said, laughter rising from the pack as they dab their eyes. This has been an emotional ceremony for us all, a journey in which I have transformed from a young alpha yet to be tested to the leader of a pack that is expanding rapidly, shedding dead wood and experiencing new growth.

There is no longer doubt in the pack, because there is no longer any doubt in me. I am where I have always been destined to be, and I am with the only woman in the world I would ever want by my side.

She blushes so furiously I think she might faint. I reach for her, clasp her close, and reassure her by stroking her back.

“I love you,” I murmur in her ear. “You can do this.”

“Is it too late to elope?” she whispers back.

“A little.”

The two of us whisper like a pair of naughty whelps at the altar while everybody patiently waits for Beatrix to find her verbal footing.

“I promise to be yours,” she says. “I promise to be true.”

“You may kiss the bride,” Le curé declares.

Cheers go up as I kiss my wife for the first time, happiness suffusing my body, my mind, my soul as I claim her before the eyes of the world, the pack, and all creation.

“We should shift as we leave the church and run away,” Beatrix whispers in my ear.

I grip her arm a little tighter. “There are people here. It is the middle of the day. We cannot expose ourselves…”

“I’m gonna do it,” she whispers, giving me that bright-eyed look of mischief that I know bodes poorly.

“If you want to spend your wedding night being caned in the dungeon, and not getting laid, be my guest,” I growl under my breath. “Start our marriage by defying me, and I will make sure you regret it.”

Her lashes lower and the blush descends from her face down to her chest and the top of her breasts, revealing her arousal upon hearing that threat. My bride adores testing me. Our life together is only just beginning, and not a moment of it will be easy. There will be pain, there will be tears, and there will be more pleasure and love than I could ever have imagined.

I would not have it any other way.

The End