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Hunter’s mouth curves into a wicked smile as his eyes rove over my body and up to Conall’s face. “We’re going to have a lot of fun with this,” he says. “Especially when it comes to torturing Little Red.”

I try to glare at him, but it’s half-hearted at best. I’m too sated and exhausted to muster up anything resembling actual anger.

Conall’s fingers tweak my nipple, making me jump, and I turn to glare at him. “I told you not to use the bond against me,” I growl out.

My Lycan leans over me, kissing my lips. “Even if we use it for your pleasure?”

When he pulls back and sees the expression on my face, he laughs louder than I’ve ever heard before. “I see you haven’t considered it.”

“I am now.”

Hunter’s laughter joins ours, and I realize I didn’t fear marriage or mating. I feared being trapped with the wrong man.

But this isn’t a trap.

It’s a home. One I never want to leave.

Epilogue

Hunter

Heston stumbles out of the tavern, his shirt half-buttoned and his belt undone. It’s clear he availed himself of one of the prostitutes who work in the upstairs rooms. His wedding ring winks on his left hand as he struggles to close his shirt. The burns on his face and upper body are healed, likely by Scarlett’s mother.

Johanna might not acknowledge her magic the way Vera, and now Scarlett, do, but she still has it. Despite Johanna’s resistance, Vera trained her in the ways of a witch. Just as Vera is training Scarlett since her magic has manifested.

Conall tenses beside me, pulling me from my thoughts, but I put a hand on his arm to keep him from moving.

“Not yet,” I whisper, nearly silent.

Scarlett’s stepfather may be drunk, but he’s close enough to hear me if I speak any louder. At least until he belches, long and loud, as he ambles into the alley next to the tavern.

There’s an outhouse behind the building, but Heston, in his drunken state, decides the alley is the perfect place to piss. Which is excellent because it’s exactly where we want him.

Nice for him to be so accommodating.

Conall and I move to the mouth of the alley and wait for him to finish. When I hear the clink of a belt, we slip into the shadows behind him on silent feet.

As soon as we reach him, Conall reaches out and grabs him by the scruff of the neck, dragging him further into the narrow space, deeper into the darkness. I clap a hand over the man’s mouth when he opens it to shout, squeezing his jaw tightly.

“Not a sound,” I snarl out. “Or I’ll break your jaw.”

A muffled reply escapes him, but he doesn’t try to scream.

We reach the end of the alley and shove him against the wall. He lists to the side, almost going down to the ground, but catches himself with a hand on the wall.

“Wha’dya wan’?” he asks, his words slurred and thick.

“Hello, father-in-law,” I greet, stepping close enough for him to see my face in the dim moonlight filtering through the narrow space.

Heston flinches at the sight of me, but there’s nowhere to run. When he tries to back away, his head hits the window frame behind him. I don’t worry much about the noise because Conall sniffed around earlier and said the house was vacant.

The man’s bleary eyes shift over to Conall when he comes to stand at my side. He blanches, some of the stupor draining from his expression. I don’t have to look to know that Conall’s wolf is coming to the surface.

Through our bond, I can feel the way his claws extend from his fingertips, and his fangs drop from his gums. Even his eyes feel hot, which means they’ve probably shifted to the deep, glowing gold of his wolf.

Heston cowers back against the wall, lifting his hands. “Why’re ya here?” he asks.

“You know why,” Conall answers. His voice is deep, nearly demonic. It’s the voice of his wolf, and it’s terrifying.