“Sure, when you have access to information. You didn’t. You had no reason to think you needed it. And then when you did, you went looking for that information, even though it wasn’t easy to get to.” He sighs again. “I can’t take away your guilt. I think the thousands of years you’ve been atoning are more than enough, but that’s not my call—it’s yours. What I will say is that even if you carry that guilt for the rest of your life, it doesn’t mean you need to live in misery. Raðulfr and I agree on that.”
Faint tendrils of a hope I hadn’t dared acknowledge make themselves felt. “You know everything about me now,” I say shakily. “Does it ch-change your mind?”
He blinks at me in confusion, and then his eyes widen… before narrowing dangerously. “Are you asking me if the fact that you’ve spent thousands of years trying to make up for the fact you were raised in a cult and brainwashed haschanged my mind about loving you?”
Oh, shit. I don’t think I should have asked that. Still… “Does that mean no?”
He throws his napkin at me, follows it up with a shoe, which I duck, and then he’s on me, straddling my lap, his palms bracketing my face and his mouth on mine.
“I love you, Ari,” he whispers between kisses. “And we’re going to have a long and happy life together.”
The promise in his words reverberates through the air, and for the first time in my life, I know what it means to be truly wanted.
“I’m going to spend every second of our lives proving how much I love you,” I swear, and he smiles against my lips.
“I’m holding you to that.”
And he did.
EPILOGUE
Felix
SIX MONTHS LATER
The best thingabout the Community of Species Hockey League? There are only four teams, and because of that, every team makes it to the playoffs, no matter how their season went.
In the past, that’s been a bad thing for me. I didn’t love being humiliated for the whole season and then having it happen all over again for playoffs. This year? Totally different.
We had a great season and finished in second place, which is a long way from our customary last. But even better than that, we had a great playoffs run… and we won.
We won the motherfucking playoffs!
There was screaming. Hugging. Tears. A fuckton of champagne and then other drinks. Vitter clung to me, weeping, for a full ten minutes and vowed to be my best friend for life. Gline pirouetted around the dressing room, blowing kisses and singing “The Boys are Back in Town.” Hellhounds are fucking weird. Everyone knows that the best victory song is “We Are the Champions.”
That was two days ago, and it was one of the best nights of my life. If it had happened before Ari told me he loves me, it would have beenthebest night of my life. But nothing will ever top that, or the way he’s loved me and made me feel every day since.
He squeezes my hand, and I glance over. “You okay?” he asks. “You’re not going to throw up again, are you?”
I grimace. “No, but thanks for reminding me.”
“You threw up?” Dáithí asks with a scrunch of his nose. “Why?”
“I was very, very drunk,” I explain. “What with having won the motherfucking playoffs.” My grin is so wide, it’s possible that my face is going to split.
Ari rolls his eyes. “The team partied hard after the game,” he adds. “Family and partners left a few hours in, but the players and staff kept on. Fe didn’t get home until early afternoon yesterday.” Ari’s assignment to the Warhammers ended in late January when the DEA finally found a PR person to replace him. As much as I miss seeing him at the clubhouse, this is better for us. He loves his job, and I no longer have to hear my teammates make kissy noises when they see him.
“That’s some party.” Jared joins us, lowering himself to sit cross-legged on the grass and then reaching up to take a tray of glasses from Raðulfr. “Thanks, honey.”
Ari’s king settles beside me, a bottle of shifter champagne in one hand and one of fizzy water in the other. “My pleasure. Felix, can your stomach handle bubbles or should I get still water too?”
“Bubbles are fine,” I assure him. “But water, please. I’m pretty sure there’s still alcohol seeping out of my pores. Also,” I turn a glare on Dáithí and Jared, “how come my besties didn’t tell me that elves can heal a hangover?”
“They can what?” Jared demands. “Nobody told me that!”
Raðulfr shrugs. “You haven’t been hungover since we met. It didn’t come up.”
Dáithí smirks. “I don’t believe in healing hangovers. I earned it, so I should live through it.”
