The way it helped me find mine.
Epilogue 3-Gunner
I swear to the gods, if I had to witness Menon and his mate making out one more time, I was going to throw myself directly into the sea surrounding Northumberland Island.
Seriously.
How could two people possibly be that obsessed with each other?
They’d been apart for maybe seven minutes.
Seriously.
And somehow I still walked in on enough eye contact and heavy breathing to traumatize me permanently.
“Take your time,” I’d muttered while backing out of the office. “Really. No one else works here or anything.”
Neither of them listened.
Of course not.
Mates.
Ugh.
Apparently once supernatural creatures found “the one,” they lost all remaining common sense and immediately developed a compulsive need to touch each other every five seconds.
Disgusting.
Honestly concerning.
I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets and wandered through the moonlit streets surrounding Runevald, muttering under my breath about celestial idiots and emotionally codependent Witches.
The night air smelled like saltwater and magic.
Above the Institute, auroras shimmered across the sky where ley lines crossed through the multiverse itself, ribbons of silver-green light bleeding between stars.
Asgarheim always felt strange at night.
Ancient.
Alive.
My Wolf liked it here more than I cared to admit.
Too bad the rest of my life had turned into a paranormal romance novel against my will.
I snorted to myself.
“What makes mates so special anyway? Aside from the Fates favoring them and everything,” I grumbled aloud.
My Wolf immediately lifted its head inside my mind.
Interested.
Annoying.
“Shut up. You don’t even know anything,” I muttered at it.
