Epilogue

In nearly a month, Grace still hadn't relaxed.

Ashley watched her as she poured tea. The girl gripped her cup with a careful control born of practice, but she still held it like a weapon. Or, rather, like she could smash it against the table and turn it into a weapon in the blink of an eye, if she had to.

"It's good," she said after the first sip. "The tea, I mean. Did Connor get it for you?"

"He did." Ashley hid her helpless smile behind her cup. "I take it he's been after you to give him a list of things you need?"

Grace bit her lower lip, but Ashley swore she'd almost smiled, too. "He said if I don't give him pointers, he'll start buying stuff at random. I don't know how to make him stop."

"You can't. You just have to indulge him." She set down her cup. "He wants to do something for you, Grace. Let him?"

"Why does he want to? He hasn't tried to..." Grace stared into her tea and cleared her throat. "I don't want to give him the wrong idea. I could hurt him."

It wasn't surprising that she would assume Connor's overtures were about sex, or that they were calculated maneuvers in an effort to get something in return. Ashley's heart ached for Grace, but she also knew that nothing as simple as mere words could convince her to let go of her fear.

And for good reason. Her fear had served her well, kept her alive. In time, she would learn that she didn't need it here, but that was what it would take. Time.

Ashley busied herself with stirring a bit more honey into her tea. "Let Connor worry about himself, okay?"

"I don't want to hurt him." The words were soft, almost self-conscious. "I didn't know we could be like that."

"Like what?"

"Sweet. But he is." Grace glanced up. "And you are."

So were Blake, and Lucas, and Jud. "So is Mac."

Grace went still. Her tea cup wobbled, and she glanced down as she steadied it. "I don't think Mac trusts me."

"Mac trusts everyone. Exactly as much as he has to," Ashley added ruefully.

"I stabbed him. He shouldn't trust me, and he doesn't. He's always..." She shrugged helplessly. "When I was on my own, sometimes I'd go into a store and the owner would follow me around and offer to help me, just so I'd know he was watching. But Mac doesn't even offer. He just does things. Like he doesn't want me touching anything."

"That's not you, it's Mac. How he is." The way he expressed his concern was through actions, not words, and he had always been concerned about Grace.

"I don't think—"

What she didn't think remained a mystery, because Blake chose that moment to shove open the door to their room. "Close your eyes, Ash. Your present is coming in."

She squeezed her eyes shut as quickly as possible, but she couldn't resist peeking. Blake backed into the room, carrying one end of a large, heavy bookcase. Mac carried the other end, and winked when he caught her looking.

She shut her eyes again, then covered them for good measure. "I don't need a present, Blake."

"Doesn't matter, you're still getting one. And if you complain, it'll be two."

She didn't need to look to know he was grinning. She heard the happiness in his voice, felt it vibrating through the room in warm waves. "Fine, but that means I'm giving you a present. Or two."

Mac snorted. "Hey, my virgin ears."

"Watch it," Blake drawled, "or you're exiting over the balcony."

An empty threat, belied by his cheerful tone. "Can I look yet?" Ashley asked.

Wood scraped against wood, and the bookcase settled on the floor with a soft thump. "Okay, now you can."

It was even more beautiful at second glance, with delicate scrollwork and a rich, dark stain. Ashley rose and crossed the room because she had to touch it, and tears burned her eyes as she ran her hand over the satiny surface of the wood. "I love it."

"At the rate you pick up books, I'll have to make a second." Blake wrapped his arms around her, drawing her to his chest as he rested his chin on top of her head. "But I think I can keep up with you."

The door closed, and Ashley looked over to find that Mac and Grace had slipped quietly from the room. "Don't worry. I may be slowing down soon."

"On the books?"

"On most things." She touched one shelf of the bookcase again, and it was all she could do to keep the words from spilling out in an ecstatic rush. "Do you think you could build a crib?"

Blake froze. Then one hand spread wide and slid down to span her belly. "Do you mean..."

"Yes." Her heart thumped wildly, and she covered his hand with hers. "I'm pregnant."

Blake swept her up and spun her around, his joyful laughter filling the room until he stopped abruptly. "Wait, I shouldn't be spinning you."

"Yes, you should. I won't break."

Blake nipped her chin, still holding her aloft effortlessly. "How do you know? How long have you known?"

"A few days. Connor must have rush-ordered about six dozen pregnancy tests." She framed Blake's face with her hands. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, but I needed to be sure."

Blake carried her to the couch and sat with her across his lap, his hand drifting back to her abdomen. "You're pregnant," he repeated, grinning crookedly. "We're going to have a baby. Our baby."

"You might not be so excited when our bond means you can't stop throwing up because of my morning sickness."

He huffed. "I'll deal. But I'd puke three times a day if it made you feel better."

"A true romantic." She kissed him and pressed her forehead to his. "I thought I'd be nervous or scared, but I'm so glad that there isn't room for anything else."

He spread his fingers again, stretching her dress taut against her body. "This morning I didn't think it was possible to be happier. Shows what I knew. You keep making me happier every damn day."

And it was just the beginning. They had forever to live and laugh and love, surrounded by their pack, secure in the knowledge that neither of them would ever be alone—or lonely—again.

For now, there was no better way to celebrate their union than with a primal, physical expression of it. Her fever had quieted—satisfied not only by their mating, but by the new life growing inside her—but her desire for Blake would never fade.

So she slipped her fingers beneath his collar and stroked the hot skin between his shoulder blades. "Show me," she whispered.

He rolled her beneath him on the couch, his hands in her hair, his lips on hers, and did. Slowly, carefully, every exquisite second heightened by the way their hearts beat as one, a pounding rhythm that rose and fell in perfect harmony.

Blake was her life, her destiny. Her mate.

End of Part Three.
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