Chapter 160 Destiny's ink
Epilogue
Five years later.
"Congratulations to anyone who had really come this far", that was the exact words Malia Mooncrest had planned on saying when she began her story.
The scratching of a fountain pen against thick, cream-colored parchment was the only sound in the sun-drenched study. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the Northern Valley was awash in the golden hues of late afternoon. The jagged peaks of the Mooncrest range stood like sentinels, their caps dusted with the first snow of the season, but inside, the air was warm, smelling of old leather, expensive ink, and the faint, lingering scent of sandalwood.
Malia let out a long, slow breath. She lowered the pen, her fingers slightly stained with a smudge of midnight blue. With a steady hand, she reached out and slowly closed the heavy, leather-bound book.
The silence that followed was profound.
For months, she had lived in these pages. She had reached back into the archives of her own memory, pulling out the threads of terror, the sparks of silver light, and the roar of the wolves that had once threatened to consume her. Every word had been a reclamation. Every chapter had been a bridge between the girl who had arrived at Mooncrest College with nothing but a suitcase and the woman who now held the keys to the kingdom.
Malia stood up, stretching her limbs with a fluid, feline grace. At twenty-four, she was no longer the waifish, trembling girl of the courtyard. She had matured into a breathtaking beauty, her features sharpened by authority and softened by peace. Her hair, once a tangled mess of chestnut, was now a long, wavy waterfall of auburn that tumbled past her shoulders, glowing like polished mahogany in the sunlight.
She walked to the window, looking out over the sprawling Mooncrest Estate. In five years, so much had changed that it felt like another lifetime entirely.
She had moved between the supernatural and human worlds with the ease of a bridge-builder. She had taken her seat as the Heir to the Mooncrest legacy, turning the estate into a sanctuary and the college into a beacon of progress. But more than the titles, she had found her footing in the quiet moments.
She thought of the others—the ones who had walked through the fire with her.
Rowan was a constant presence, the brilliant strategist who still visited every few weeks, his mind always three steps ahead of the High Council. He had become her most trusted advisor, the man who helped her navigate the complex legalities of her empire with a sharp wit and a protective eye.
Cian, ever the warrior with a heart of gold, called almost daily. He was the one who asked if she needed anything—usually using it as an excuse to bring over some rare artifact or a box of the specific pastries she loved from the city. He had found his place as the commander of the Mooncrest Guard, ensuring that no one ever lived in fear on their lands again.
And then there were the friends who had been her anchors.
July had become a household name in the human world, a famous lifestyle and social justice blogger who used her platform to subtly advocate for the "unseen" and the marginalized. She was currently blissfully engaged to her human boyfriend, a kind-hearted architect who had no idea his fiancée’s best friend could level a building with a thought—though he did find it strange that their wedding invitations were printed on paper that seemed to glow in the moonlight.
Freddy had followed his heart into the wild. He was a renowned explorer and traveler now, sending postcards from the Amazon, the Himalayas, and the Siberian tundra. He lived the dream he had once whispered about over burnt marshmallows, returning to the estate once a year to tell stories that made everyone laugh until they cried.
And then, there was the shadow in the story.
Lydia.
The name no longer sparked anger in Malia’s heart, only a cold, distant pity. After the scandal at the college, Lydia’s parents had disowned her to save their own reputations. In a desperate, final attempt to tie herself to power, she had tried to abort the child she was carrying—a child she had hoped to use as leverage—but the procedure had gone wrong.
She had lost her womb and her status in a single, tragic stroke. Now, she lived a quiet, anonymous life as an elementary school teacher in a remote town, far away from the world of Alphas and Mooncrests. She taught children the alphabet, her face a mask of the woman she might have been if she hadn't let hate consume her.
Malia turned away from the window, picking up the leather-bound book from her desk. She walked toward the grand mahogany shelves that lined the study, her bare feet silent on the plush rug.
She found a place of honor among the ancient texts and legal ledgers. She slid the book into the gap, its spine facing out. Embossed in gold leaf across the leather were the words:
Fated to the three Alphas of Mooncrest College
She smiled, her fingertips lingering on the title. It was a story of survival, of love, and of the terrifying beauty of destiny. It was her truth.
A soft knock echoed at the door, and the room’s energy shifted instantly. The air grew heavy, charged with a familiar, intoxicating power.
Aiden stood in the doorway.
Five years had only added to his legend. He was taller, broader, his shoulders filling the frame of the door. He wore an expensive, charcoal-black suit that fit his muscular frame perfectly, the white silk of his shirt stark against his tan skin. He looked every bit the Alpha of the Moonfall territories—powerful, commanding, and utterly lethal.
But when his eyes found Malia, the predatory edge vanished.
"Hello, babe," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that sent a shiver of heat down her spine.
Malia didn't say a word. She crossed the room in three strides, throwing herself into his arms. Aiden caught her effortlessly, lifting her off her feet as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. He smelled of the cold mountain air and the expensive cologne he only wore for high-level meetings.
He set her down but didn't let go, his large hands resting on her waist as he pulled her flush against him. He leaned down, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was both familiar and a revelation—passionate, deep, and filled with the possessive love that had only grown stronger with every passing year.
Malia laughed into the kiss, her hands sliding up his chest to rest on his shoulders. "I missed you," she whispered against his lips.
"I was only gone for four hours," he teased, his amber eyes dancing with light.
"Four hours too long." She stepped back slightly, gesturing toward the bookshelf. "I just finished it. The book. It’s done."
Aiden looked at the golden title on the shelf, a proud, tender smile touching his lips. He pulled her back into his embrace, his chin resting on top of her head.
"I bet the whole world would get to read it," he said softly. "They’d want to know how a girl from the woods became the sun they all revolve around."
Malia leaned back, looking up at the man who had been her heart through the darkness.
"Yeah," she said, her silver eyes shimmering with a final, peaceful brilliance. "I think they would."
Aiden didn't answer with words. He leaned down, capturing her mouth once more. It was a long, slow, and passionate kiss—a seal on a journey that had begun with a collapse in a courtyard and ended in the arms of an Alpha.
The ink was dry. The story was told. And as the sun finally dipped below the horizon, bathing the room in the soft, silver light of the rising moon, the book of their past closed, leaving the rest of their lives as a blank, beautiful page.
The End... Or the beginning? Who knows.