I look back at her and grin. There’s no winning that one. I cross to the long mirror by the door and look myself over. The tunic, the pants, the sandals—the whole getup’s giving Amir, and I fight down a shudder. But kings dress different. I roll my shoulders and move on, then catch my own eyes in the glass and almost laugh. What the fuck am I doing? I’m not Eric. Since when do I care how a tunic hangs?
A small hand slides into mine. Samara’s looking up at me with those big eyes. “Can I come?”
I nod and squeeze her fingers. “Course you can.”
I take us there with a thought, and Wintermoon comes up around us, warm and gold and so familiar it aches. I haven’t stood on this ground in too long. Crushed grass, pride-musk, the smell of home. I tip my head back at that wide Wintermoon sky and just smile.
I let go of my sister’s hand. “I miss it here.”
“Wintermoon misses you too,” Samara says. “It hasn’t been the same since you left. Just quiet now, like something’s missing.” She leans into my arm. “You, brother.”
She gasps. I bring my eyes back down, and Mara’s standing right there in front of us.
She’s huge. Round and glowing with it, one hand on the swell of our son, the other wrapped around a loaf of bread she’s halfway through. She swallows her mouthful and gives me a sheepish shrug.
“Sorry.” She rubs her belly. “I got hungry.”
I forget how to breathe. I just stand there and take her in—all of her. It’s more than I can hold.
Samara looks up at me like I’ve lost my whole mind. Then she waves. “Hi.”
Mara smiles around her mouthful. “Hi.”
I start toward her, one foot and then the other, careful.
“You look so handsome,” she says.
I reach her and go straight down. My knees hit the grass, and I lift my hands to her belly—they’re shaking, both of them, as I lay them gentle against the curve of our son. She looks down at me, still chewing, and her tail comes around to brush warm against my cheek. I laugh.
“I miss you too,” I tell her tail.
I look at her tail, still loving on me even with her mouth full of bread. “I built you a hunting ground. In the Glen. For you and our cub. I can’t wait to watch you teach our son how to hunt.”
Her tail goes soft against my face and falls, submitting, and that undoes me. Then I feel it—a thump against my hand, small and strong and mine. My son, kicking out at the world from the inside.
I lose it.
I press my forehead to her belly and weep, both hands spread wide to hold as much of him as I can. “I’m here. Son, I’m finally here. I missed you so much. So damn much, both of you.”
I stay down there until I can breathe again, and when I push to my feet, her amber eyes are wet as mine.
“I hated every day of waiting.” Her tail winds tight around her legs, holding something back, and she won’t quite lift her eyes to mine.
I catch the tear off her cheek before it falls. “I know, baby. But look what the waiting bought us.” I tip my head toward the Glen on the other side of the air. “You gave me a reason to put it all back together. Every inch of it is yours now.” I hold her gaze. “Did you get to say your goodbyes?”
Her eyes drop from mine. “Yeah. My dad...” She can’t get the rest out. “He took it the hardest.”
“Then I’ll carry you back to him, as many times as it takes. He’s going to hold his grandson, Mara. I promise you that.”
She believes me. Her whole body softens, and she leans her cheek into my hand.
I search her face. I have to ask it, even with my son’s kick still buzzing in my hand. “Are you sure about this? You’re letting go of all of it. Your whole world. Just for me.”
“Yes.” No hesitation, none. “I tried, Aaron. I really tried to love Wintermoon without you in it. I couldn’t do it.” The rest comes harder, like she has to drag it up. “So are you going to reject me, or not?”
A laugh punches out of me. I cup her face in both hands, lean in, and kiss her. It’s been too long since I last had her mouth, and when my lips touch hers something lights up between us, the mate bond hauling itself back together strand by strand after half a year strung out thin across the distance. I feel it knit—that torn, missing place in me, gone since the day I left her at her father’s line, going quiet and full at last. I pour every cold lonely night into her, every dawn I woke reaching for a side of the bed that wasn’t warm, and she breathes my name into my mouth. “Aaron...”
I pull back and sniffle like a child, and I don’t care. “Sorry, baby. I just...” I rest my forehead to hers. “You don’t know how bad I wanted this. How long. I was so afraid that when I finally came for you, you’d take one look and change your mind.”
