Epilogue
Hollis ran his hand over the swell of Ellen’s stomach. Their child kicked and rolled inside, stretching her skin. “That was a foot,” he said, pressing her stomach. “It’s getting crowded in there.”
“Yes, I noticed.” Ellen laughed. “You’re distracting me.”
“You’ve been working all morning,” Hollis argued.
“Yes.” She glanced up at him. “You could help.”
He grinned, packing up her tools and carrying them back to the cabinet.
She cradled the bone in her arms, treating it as the precious heirloom it was. He’d brought it from the vault to surprise her. And she’d spent the better part of the last month studying it. After three days of reading, she’d made diagrams, jotted notes, and packed it away to continue her research online. Kim had been eager to help. Her natural curiosity made her an exceptional assistant for his very pregnant wife.
What she’d learned was both impressive and overwhelming. In his years of testing and research, he’d never come close to what she’d discovered. And today she was going to share it with the pack.
“I’m ready,” she whispered, running her hands over her stomach.
“I have your notes.” Kim followed, a well-used spiral in her hands.
“They’re waiting for you.” He took her hand and led her into the great room.
In under a year, they’d almost doubled the size of their pack. Anger and fear had been replaced with only good things. Love and hope—things he used to demean were first.
“If you say we’re from Transylvania, I’m leaving,” Mal sounded off. “I’m no vampire’s guard dog.”
“Vampires don’t exist.” Olivia patted his arm.
“As far as we know,” Anders teased, moving over to make room for Kim. He slid an arm around her shoulder. Kim’s only reaction was the bold color staining her cheeks. Hollis still didn’t approve of the match but appreciated the two were moving slowly. Maybe, if they were both lucky, this was only a passing flirtation.
“Not funny.” Dante shook his head.
“Maybe a little?” Tess asked, smiling up at him.
All that stood between Tess and Dante was her father. Dante had turned Tess, and Tess was recovering well. And as grateful as Brown was to have his daughter with him, he was in no hurry to have her leave his side. Luckily, Tess and Dante understood and were doing their damnedest to keep their wolves in check. How long that would last was anybody’s guess.
“I appreciate the time and energy you’ve put into researching this.” Finn smiled from his place on the floor, offering Oscar another block for his tower.
Ellen smiled. “It’s been interesting. I think you’ll be fascinated. I’ve spent many hours reading—almost talking to him—”
“It’s a man?” Jessa asked, rocking Diana.
Ellen nodded. “Pascual Otero of Argentina.”
The room was instantly silent.
“Am I the only one freaking out it—the bone—has a name?” Anders asked.
“No,” Dante agreed.
“Argentina?” Jessa looked up from her place on the floor. Oscar was busy stacking blocks and Diana watching him from her bouncy seat.
“Go on, please,” Finn sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“He was born around fifteen sixteen, the seventh son of a seventh son. There is a myth that probably evolved from his family—or some earlier relative. Under a blood moon he fell victim to bloodlust and killed every member of his family.”
Finn’s jaw locked. He was infected under a blood moon and attacked them. It was a miracle he hadn’t killed them all. Or, as Ellen put it, maybe it was fate.
“He was devastated. The village assumed he’d been dragged off by whatever had killed his family, so he ran, hiding until he’d learned to control his wolf and his ability to shift. Then he went where he was needed.”
“Needed?” Mal asked.
“Call it survivor’s remorse. Even guilt. So many wars were fought since the fifteen hundreds. He championed the weak with everything he had and moved on. Always moving.” She turned to face the map. “Portugal. Spain. Italy. Rome. Then America. America was undiscovered and wild. The Revolution, the Civil War, then west into Indian Territory and met a woman.”
“Of course, he did.” Dante sighed. “So there are other offspring from Pascual?”
“No, he met her after she was married. Her husband beat her, but being a woman of faith, she wouldn’t leave him. He stayed, alone and hidden, to protect her. When her husband saw her speaking to Pascual, he went into a rage and murdered her. Pascual killed him. The woman’s young son stabbed Pascual with his father’s bayonet—silver—and he crawled off to die.”
“He was a good man.” Jessa took Finn’s hand.
Ellen nodded. “A noble wolf. There are still Oteroes left in Argentina.”
Finn looked at her. “Wolves?”
“I’ve searched every way imaginable and keep coming up empty. If they are, they’ve learned how to cover their tracks.” Hollis shrugged. “The myth could have been created to hide their very real existence.”
Finn sat back, his gaze distant.
“Are we going to Argentina?” Jessa asked.
Finn smiled, kissing her knuckles. “Maybe someday. Not while they’re young. Not until after you’ve been turned. Thank you, Ellen, for giving the pack a heritage they can be proud of.”
She nodded. After the pack had peppered her with questions, taken the map off the wall to track the places Pascual Otero had traveled, and read through the entire myth of the seventh son of a seventh son, Hollis had enough.
She was trying hard to hide it, but she was tired.
He crept up behind her, wrapped his arms around her, and cradled her belly. “You’re amazing.”
She leaned against him with a groan. “I am,” she agreed.
He kissed her temple. “Enough about Pascual for today.”
She turned. “What do you have in mind?”
“I want to hear more about you, Ellena Vasiliev. And your pack.”
“You do?” She turned to face him, smiling widely.
“I do.” He kissed her, a whisper of a kiss.
They’d started reading the leather book a month ago, not long after the fire. Every evening, the words of her ancestors pulled him into a past he’d never imagined. He admired her scribes, their attention to detail had left a wealth of knowledge for those that followed. Lists of names, places of birth, parents, birthdays, and dates of death. Each had their own narrative. Some included only facts and figures, others included everything from herbal medicine recipes, routes traveled through specific mountain ranges, rites and ceremonies from the old country, to personal observations and anecdotes.
Interesting as it was, some notes mattered more than others to Hollis.
Ellena Vasiliev was her full name. She teased him about their age difference—now that they knew she was over four hundred years old. Hollis didn’t care. He loved knowing she and her pack were German. Their nomadic existence was cut short when they were driven from their native country, for witchcraft, in seventeen eighty-five. She’d stared at her name for almost an hour, her eyes filling with tears, and a smile on her lips before she’d turned to him.
“I remember my mother’s face.” There had been so much joy in her eyes.
The more they read, the more her memories began to resurface. She recorded them all. Flashes, sensory memories, voices, or places. Each day she added something to her notebook. And each day she grew rounder with their child.
“Maybe I’m done with books and research for the day.” Her mismatched gaze blazed with a need he understood far too well.
He buried his nose in her hair and breathed deep. Would this hunger ever ease? Even now, safe in his arms, he craved more. “My wolf agrees.”
“Oh? What else does your wolf say?” Ellen asked, her fingers tangling in his hair.
“That he loves you,” he whispered. “And you love me.”
“That is true.” She nodded. “And?”
Hollis shook his head. “He’d rather I showed you.” He took her hand in his and led her to their room.
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