“Me.” He grins. “I’m very loud.”
“You are.”
Silas makes a low rumbling sound that might be a laugh. His eyes are still closed.
The door opens again, and Archer walks in, already dressed. “Sophie’s on the phone.”
I sit up, reaching for the cell he offers me. My sister calls every few days now. Her voice is stronger each time. Less of the haunted whisper I remember from the cottage, more of the Sophie I grew up with. Not all the way back, not yet. But getting there. I step out onto the porch as I answer.
“Hey, Soph.”
“Moira.”
I still hate that name. But I don’t tell her to stop. She’s the only one allowed.
“How are the gardens?”
“Beautiful. The tomatoes will be ready soon. You should come see.” She pauses. “He shifted yesterday. For a few minutes.”
My breath catches.
“Just once. And then he shifted back.”
“Soph, that’s…”
“I know.” I can hear her smiling. “I know.”
We talk for a few more minutes. The greenhouse is going up. The pack is holding together, and Cassia visits her once a month. “I’ll visit next week,” I tell her.
“Bring the boys. All of them this time. I want to meet your silent giant properly.”
“He’ll like you.” I pause. “He’s been speaking more. Not a lot. But more. Yesterday, he said thank you to Archer for something, just out of nowhere, and we all pretended not to notice so we wouldn’t scare him back into silence.”
“Mo, that’s incredible.”
“Yeah.” My throat gets tight. “It is.”
We say our goodbyes. Making my way back inside and handing the phone back to Archer.
“Sophie sounds good,” he says.
“She is. She’s…” I search for the word. “Returning.”
That’s the best way I can describe it. Not healed. Not fixed. Just coming back, one piece at a time, the same way I did.
The door opens one more time, and Darius enters with an armful of firewood. He sets it by the stove, brushes sawdust off his shirt, and looks at us. All four of us, tangled together on a bed that was always too small for this many people. His expressionsoftens in that way it does now, the way I didn’t think his face was capable of a few months ago.
He crosses the room in three strides and sits on the edge of the bed. His hand finds the back of my neck, warm and steady, and he presses a kiss to my temple.
“Mo,” he says quietly.
“Darius,” I say back.
He smiles.
I look at them—Silas, still half-asleep beside me, his arm a warm weight across my ribs. Elias, sprawled on my other side, stealing sips from my drink Archer, at the foot of the bed, his hand on my ankle. Darius, at my shoulder, his fingers in my hair.
Four alphas who chased me through a forest and made me their mate.