Misty
Crescent Falls
I toss my keys on the counter as I come thundering through the kitchen, sweat lining my brow. “Cole? COLE!”
“I’m upstairs!” he calls out as I sprint around the corner into the hallway where the foyer opens up, spilling wintery sunlight through the bay windows overlooking the curving staircase. Snow falls in thick clumps, covering the ground. Two suitcases rest near the front door, but upstairs, I hear Cole talking to Addy and the sound of zippers closing.
I trip on each step in my haste to get upstairs, carrying a bundle of papers in my arms. A few notes come loose, floating through the air behind me as I rush into our bedroom.
Cole turns to me with another suitcase, arching his brows. “I didn’t think you’d be back until this afternoon–”
“I finished it,” I rasp, breathless, thrusting the stack of printer paper into his full hands. All two-thousand pages, front and back, stare up at him, and he looks down in shock.
“How?”
“I just–I just got it done,” I pant, glancing at Addy, who’s happily gnawing on his fist in his playpen. “I just… something clicked. It’s done. I owe Dad a shit ton of printer paper and ink, but it’s finished–I–”
Cole takes the papers from my hands and sits on the edge of the bed, thumbing through them one by one.
I stand in total silence, my heart beating out of rhythm. This is all I’ve done for three months. Writing. Writing. Writing until the tips of my fingers were raw and my laptop was pleading with me to give up.
I conducted dozens–no, hundreds–of interviews this summer. I traveled to Veiled Valley three times to meet with their strange, ageless historian to learn all I could about the old kings, specifically King Kane and his predecessors. I traveled all over until I’d gone through six notebooks, each of them spilling with sticky-notes, napkins, pieces of leather–whatever I could get my hands on to write our history down.
And now it’s done.
Cole smooths his hand over the title page where my name is printed in bold.
He looks up at me, smiling faintly. “There’s no title.”
“I have no space in my brain to name it. Not yet. But it’s not just about the war last year. It’s about–about everything–everything from the beginning. What Aviva now remembers about the fall of the Firestone witches, how the kings came into power, the veil, how the Goddess played into the use of the water to bring the magic into Maatua so someone could find it again and harness it to help Eastonia. Then, of course, the war. Our story. Stories of the warriors and the families they had to leave behind. The order members who got trapped by Richard’s magic–” I suck in a breath. “It’s all in there. Everything is in there.”
He blinks up at me. I’m sure I’m red in the face. I nearly drove my car into a ditch three times driving back from the castle in my haste to show him what I’d done.
I wring my hands, smoothing out my aching muscles as he rises and presses a kiss to my forehead. Addy sees this and chuckles, which makes me smile.
“I’m so proud of you–”
“Don’t be proud yet. Dad and Ryatt are discussing my options for publishing, of course. I’m tempted to take my name off it.”
“Why?”
“Because it doesn’t feel like it’s mine. It’s our history, yes, our story woven between the pages, but this is the story of everything as we know it to be true. It doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to everyone. It’ll be free. No one has to pay a dime to read it, but I doubt most people would want to…. It’s long, and dry, and boring but–I did it.”
Cole stares at me, his gray eyes slightly glassy. “You did it.”
I take a deep breath, laughing at myself for acting so insane, but I haven’t even begun to process what this means.
But, I don’t have much time because we’re supposed to catch a boat to Maatua this evening to celebrate Solstice with the entire family.
Three hours later, I’m standing on the bow of a ship watching my mate talk to a group of our fellow travelers. Cole has a knack for making friends everywhere he goes these days and dropping into his doctor role the second he thinks someone looks too pale or worn out. Right now, he’s giving the mother of a child who just threw up over the railing some tips about treating seasickness while I hold our son, who's actively tangling his grubby fingers in my freshly blown-out hair.
Addy’s six months old now. We left Silverhide three months ago and traveled for a few weeks, spending some time in Moonrise, then Veiled Valley, then coming home for a week or two before traveling to Tarsian for Georgia and Declan’s wedding.
All the while, I’ve been glued to my laptop, but now I’m watching the shoreline of Crescent Falls drift away as the sky fills with stars.
A day from now, we’ll be in Maatua, soaking in the hot sun and watching the tide roll in while the kids hunt for seashells and track sand through the beach house that once belonged to my grandma and grandpa.
Cole saunters back over to us with his hands in his pockets looking smug. I roll my eyes. “Do you always have to do that?”
“This is the life you signed up for when you married someone who wanted to become a doctor.”
“I was forced into this, if you want to get technical,” I remind him with a cat-like grin.
Now he’s the one rolling his eyes as he leans against the railing to watch the waves rushing against the ship. “It could be worse. I could be the Alpha King of Tarsian.”
“That’s true,” I laugh, blowing out my breath. I honestly can’t imagine how different our life would be if he’d chosen to stay in that role, to rule, be the Alpha he was born to be.
I’m glad he gave that up. He didn’t want it–never did. We’d be spending our nights in the company of his advisors and dealing with conflicts instead of eating take-out and watching whatever new reality show is premiering.
I smile to myself. “I talked to Sarah today. They’re already in Maatua.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“I think Cosette drove them out of the house a few days early. I know the kids drive her nuts.”
Cole laughs, shaking his head. “What do you think she does in that big house when she’s alone? When Sydney, Sarah, and the kids aren’t home?”
“I think she sits in the atrium in the quiet,” I smile. “I know I would.”
Cole reaches out to lay his hand over my belly.
“Am I showing?”
“Not yet. Don’t worry.”
“It better not be twins.”
“There’s just one in there.” His eyes are heavy with pride and excitement I’m still trying to feel. Our marathon that night in Silverhide did, in fact, produce another baby, but I’m only three months along. I’m not feeling sick, thank the Goddess. In fact, I feel totally fine.
“Are you still planning on keeping it a secret for a while?” he asks.
I sigh, turning back to the water while Addy tugs on my earrings. “Well, your mom already knows. So does your sister. Only because they can keep a secret.”
“Your mom will tell the entire world the second she finds out,” Cole laughs, and I nod.
“She can’t help it. She won’t be satisfied until she has a hundred grandkids running around.”
“What if we told her as a Solstice present?”
“What about the other presents we got them?”
“Just add it on. You know they’ll be ecstatic for us.” He ropes an arm around my shoulder, turning us toward the door leading into the ship. “Your cheeks are red, Misty.”
“Well, it is winter.”
“Let’s go inside, get some dinner.”
I follow my mate into the ship, letting my mind wander, finally allowing myself to bring up old memories.
I huddle Addy close–the baby neither of us expected. The baby that unraveled Cole’s heart and stitched him back together again in the end. The baby forged by force and hardship, who ended up being the love of our lives.
And then our girl, because I know it’s a girl this time just like I knew Addy would be a boy. She’s being born into a different world than Addy was, then I was, honestly. She’ll know peace and safety. She was conceived out of the purest kind of love and so desperately wanted it brings tears to my eyes when I think about it.
Because she wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t fought for Cole, and if he hadn’t fought for me, neither of them would.
Our room is a suite, of course, thanks to my dad. While my mate does make a decent living as a resident doctor at the hospital, I still tap into the family funds. I don’t care, honestly. I definitely paid my dues during the war even though Dad titters and groans when his credit card statements come in, and I smirk when Cole opens the door to our suite for the night and takes in the finery of it all.
Next year will be a year of change, but in a good way. Josie will be here in the spring, most likely, if not the early weeks of summer. Cole and Sydney’s fancy pediatric clinic will be done with construction around that same time, and Cole will be done with his residency and moving on to private practice, which means no more late nights at the hospital and days away from his family.
Later that night, in bed, with Addy sleeping in a little crib on the far side of the room, Cole strokes my fingers, drawing lazy circles over the back of my hand while the ship does its best to rock us to sleep. We’ve been talking about my book for an hour in hushed whispers.
“What are you going to write next?”
“Nothing for a long time. My fingers are like an old woman’s, I can barely bend them.”
He chuckles softly. “When you’re ready to get back to it, I am.”
“I’m sure Dad will have me busy with pack history,” I sigh. “And Wellington wants me to teach a few of their entry level history classes, but I haven’t given them an answer–”
“What are you going to write for you, Misty?”
I think about it for a long time. I think about it still as Cole falls asleep waiting for my answer.
I think I’ve always known what story would come next–the story I left out in the book I just finished.
The story that started it all.
I imagine her again, walking up those front steps in that little skirt and her sorry excuse for a suitcase. I think about the secret she kept for so long, and the trails of those early days as a breeder.
She had no idea what the future would hold for the family she started, for her two children and the four grandchildren that came after.
Her story is the most important because Isla’s story both started, and ended, the wars that plagued our kind and paved the road to a future of peace for generations to come.
“I’m going to write her story next,” I whisper to the darkness, to the stars blinking high above the boat and the water all around us. “And it’s going to be a fucking bestseller.”