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I don’t have to ask who she means.
Pete.
The cult has started to disband now, people drifting away in greater and greater numbers. One of the ex-members, a woman I remember called Julia, is even going public about some of the aspects of the cult. I hope she’s found peace.
I hope they all have. Or will.
“Me too,” I say.
“I was a mess back then,” Mom sighs. “I could’ve told you the moment I saw Liam change his hand. Many times, I could’ve told you I’d seen it before that Master... thatheused to torture me with it. Used to taunt me by suddenly changing. That sometimes it was like he was drunk on the power.”
“It’s okay, Mom,” I say, reaching over and touching her hand. “It was a lot to deal with. You were trying to protect me.”
She gives my hand a squeeze and turns, looking over my shoulder.
I turn to find Ramsey loping across the field, his silver fur catching the sunlight, running toward me with a smile on his face.
As my wolf runs, the sunlight melts into him, and I see him as the man, with his smile and his love-filled eyes, then the wolf, the man again.
He runs to the bottom of the steps, then softly pads up, leaning down and gently nuzzling Samantha.
Her little baby smile gets wider, and she reaches up, touching her dad’s bristly jaw, as I lean forward and rest my head against his.
EPILOGUE
FIVE YEARS LATER
Ramsey
I drive up to our house, my heart pounding in my chest, thinking of Samantha, Ruby, and little Liam.
Liam’s only a baby, and I know that Ruby would never let anything happen to him, especially considering what an incredible nurse she’s growing into.
Love brims from every part of her.
But her text has me worried.
Forget the milk. Please hurry home. The kids.
The text seems like it was written hastily, and she hasn’t responded to my replies, as though her attention is elsewhere.
Outside the house, I jog up the porch, my thoughts racing with hunters and savage wolves.
But it’s been almost six years since the barn, since the fight that took part of my ear. Liam and I have closely watched the hunter activity, and it’s mostly moved to the West Coast.
“It’s like they’re scared,” Liam said just the other week. “That fight has become a legend. We killed their prize wolf.”
When I enter the living room, it’s like a regular scene, the one I see so often but still fills me with joy. Ruby sits in the armchair with Liam in her arms, cradling him gently, and rocking him from side to side.
He’s sleeping quietly.
Ruby’s smooth brown hair spills down to her shoulders, her beauty even deeper, even more, compelling with each passing year.
My wife looks up, smiles tightly, then nods to Samantha.
Our daughter sits on the couch, her book clutched in her hand, but she’s staring at it almost blankly.
She’s got black hair, the color mine was before it turned silver, and normally she’s got a soft smile on her face as she reads. But now, her eyebrows are knitted.
