Page 26 of The Hunt

“Yes, Leo. Oh, Gods, I feel you,” she sobs, hips trying to buck beneath me, and every subtle movement pulls another thick rope of come from me. I fill her to the brim, overflowing in our combined mess, and it’s a beautiful feeling to be loved by this glorious woman.

We stay like that for a while, tangled in the sheets with her half-lying on my chest as I stroke my fingers through her damp hair. The world feels quiet. Right. At peace.

“These are the moments I live for,” I murmur, voice low. “I could never live without you.”

Her lips brush my chest, soft and sure. “Good. Because you never will.”

I hold her close after. No more words needed.

Just mine. Just us.

Always.

Minutes pass, and just when I think she’s asleep, Anaya whispers, “Do you like the cabin? I bought it from an old rogue couple Isa knows…”

That’s as far as she gets.

Next comes the tiniest snore, and I don’t have the heart to wake her.

EPILOGUE

Three days later, beneath a gentler moon, the world breathes again.

No more warning. No trembling pulse of danger or the craving for blood.

Only hearth light, warmth, and the soft hum of magic lingering like smoke in the air.

At the werewolf king’s home in England, the night settles with the presence of family.

Outside, the children play—all cousins—laugh unburdened. They’re free to be wild and explore, while the gods seal their future. A path already claimed.

They chase fireflies and shadows with the fearlessness only a sacred bloodline can give.

Inside, the men gather.

A warlock.

A wolf.

A vampire.

Ancient power wrapped in flesh and mortal ease, each holding a glass as the world bends to please them. Their wants. Their needs. Their queens. Two drink scotch, while the latter has dark blood, gleaming ruby-rich inside a crystal glass.

They exude a quiet rumble of pride beneath their casual words.

They’ve claimed and kept. Hunger sealed into devotion, beast into bond.

Then the air shifts. Soft footsteps. All three women in sync, steady, and excited—the moment they cross the threshold...

Conversation dies mid-sentence, and every head snaps toward them, instincts slamming awake. Their possession is no longer primal, yet no less absolute. This is reverent. Honest and pure. Male eyes track curves and power, hunger softened by the devotion they’ve earned through battle and blood.

Muscles tense. Throats tighten.

For a breath, the world narrows to the three queens stepping into their dominion.

They’re not prey, but the true masters. The reasons why these monsters kneel and kingdoms tremble. Magic glows beneath their skin—ancient, fertile...chosen.

Moreover, their mates feel it before they see it.

The pulse of new life, quiet and undeniable. Another generation forms on a single breath.

A gift created beneath the next full moon and born to the three Wiccan royals...

The End…Or is it?