⊰ 127 ⊱ Coming Home

⊰ 127 ⊱ Coming Home
| Penelope |

The familiar tree line comes into view as we round the final bend, and I feel something in my chest ease for the first time in weeks. 

Home. 

Not the safe house, not Rook’s fortress, not some temporary shelter—home. The mansion sprawls before us, exactly as we left it, the afternoon sun catching the windows and making them gleam like welcome beacons.

“There it is,” Malachi says softly from the driver’s seat, and I hear the same relief in his voice that I feel. We’ve been driving for hours, Elio fussing intermittently in his car seat, all of us ready to be somewhere that belongs to us again.

“It looks the same,” I murmur, though I’m not sure why that surprises me. Everything else has changed so dramatically—we’ve lost people, gained knowledge, been forever altered by what we’ve experienced. But the house stands unchanged, a constant in a world that’s been turned upside down.

Malachi pulls into the circular drive, and I see movement at the front door. Seth and Axel appear, followed by several other pack members, their faces breaking into genuine smiles when they see us. The relief on their faces mirrors my own—their Alpha is home, their Luna is safe, and the nightmare is finally over.

“Welcome home,” Seth says as we climb out of the car. “We’ve been keeping everything ready for your return.”

I lift Elio from his car seat, settling him against my chest as pack members gather around us. There are new faces among the familiar ones—wolves who’ve come seeking sanctuary, drawn by Malachi’s reputation for protecting those who need it. It strikes me that even in stepping away from the crown, Malachi is still leading, still offering shelter to those who have nowhere else to go.

“Any word from Rook?” Malachi asks as we head inside.

“Regular check-ins,” Axel confirms. “The transition is going smoothly. The Council has accepted the new structure, and most packs are falling in line with the reformed system.”

The house feels both familiar and strange as we walk through it. Everything is exactly where we left it, but we’re different people now. The couple who lived here before feels like strangers—younger, more naive, unaware of how much things could change in such a short time.

“There’s something else,” Seth says, hesitating slightly. “Jackson called yesterday. He’s requested a meeting. Said it was important.”

Malachi and I exchange glances. We both know what this is about—the promise made in desperation that now needs to be addressed in the cold light of our new reality.

“Set it up,” Malachi says after a moment. “Tomorrow, if he’s available.”

The day goes as quickly as it came, filled with welcome backs and how are yous. By the time evening comes around, we’re exhausted. Elio is settled in his nursery and the pack has dispersed to their own homes. 

Malachi and I find ourselves alone in our bedroom for the first time in what feels like forever. The space feels enormous, luxurious in a way that seems almost obscene after the cramped safe house and the constant threat we’ve been living under.

“Strange to be back,” I say, settling onto the edge of our bed.

“Strange to be anywhere that feels permanent,” Malachi agrees, moving to the window that overlooks the grounds. “After everything we’ve been through, I keep expecting the other shoe to drop.”

“Maybe that’s normal,” I suggest. “Maybe it takes time to believe that the danger is really over.”

He turns to look at me, and in his eyes I see the same wariness I feel. We’ve been through so much that peace feels fragile and temporary. But there’s something else… something hopeful that maybe, just maybe, we can build something good from the wreckage.

“About what Rook said,” Malachi begins, then stops, running a hand through his hair. “About you making the right choice. He was talking about me and Jax, wasn’t he?”

The directness of the question catches me off guard.

He heard that?

…

Of course, he did.

“Yes,” I say, clearing my throat gently. “He was.”

Malachi nods slowly, his jaw working as he processes this. “I know you're mourning him. I can feel it through our bond, even when you try to hide it.”

Shame floods through me, hot and immediate. “Mal, I—”

“You don’t need to apologize for grief,” he cuts me off gently. “Even… complicated grief. Even grief for someone who…” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “Someone who represented a path you didn’t take.”

The understanding in his voice breaks something open in my chest. For days I’ve been carrying this guilt, this shame about mourning someone I rejected, someone whose death probably made Malachi’s life easier.

…

Who made my life easier.

“I didn’t love him,” I say, the words coming out in a rush. “I need you to know that. What I feel isn’t love. It’s just... sadness. For the waste of it all. For the fact that he died fighting for people who weren’t even his family.”

“I know,” Malachi says, moving to sit beside me on the bed. “And I know that a part of me is glad he’s gone, which makes me feel like some kind of monster. He died protecting you and Elio, and I should be grateful, not relieved that he’s no longer a complication in our lives.”

The honesty in his admission makes my breath catch. Here we are, finally saying the things we’ve been afraid to voice, finally acknowledging the messy reality of our emotions.

“We’re both flawed,” I say softly. “We both have feelings we’re not proud of. But we’re here, together, and we’re choosing each other despite all of it.”

“Despite all of it,” he agrees, reaching for my hand. “Because of all of it, maybe. We know what we could lose now. For a moment, we did lose it.”

His fingers intertwine with mine, and I feel the calluses on his palms, the familiar strength in his grip. Such simple contact, but it sends warmth spreading up my arm and settling in my chest.

“I thought I’d lost you forever when Rook took you,” he says quietly. “And then when Jax marked you, I thought even if I got you back, you’d never really be mine again.”

“I was always yours,” I tell him, shifting closer on the bed until our knees touch. “Even when I was confused, even when the bond pulled at me—I was always yours, Mal.”

He brings our joined hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles. The gesture is so tender it makes my throat tight.

“I know that now,” he says. “But for a while, I wasn’t sure you knew it.”

“I know it now too," I whisper. “I know who I am, who I choose to be. I choose you. I choose us.”

The space between us seems to shrink without either of us moving. His free hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone.

“Penny,” he breathes, and there’s something in the way he says my name—reverent, grateful, full of wonder—that makes my heart skip.

In the next moment, he leans in and kisses me. It’s soft and questioning at first, like he’s asking permission. I answer by leaning into him, my hand fisting in the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer. The kiss deepens, months of separation and fear and longing pouring out between us.

“I’ve missed you,” I murmur against his lips. “Not just because of everything that happened, but... I’ve missed this. Being close to you like this.”

“I have too. So much,” he whispers, his forehead resting against mine. “I’ve been afraid to push. I thought you needed space after everything with Jax.”

“I needed to heal,” I correct. “But I don’t need space from you.”

His hands frame my face, and when he looks at me, I see everything in his eyes—love, desire, gratitude, hope. All the emotions we’ve been too afraid or too tired to fully feel until now.

“Are you sure?” he asks, and I know he’s not just asking about tonight. He’s asking about us, about our future, about whether I’m truly ready to rebuild what we had.

“I’m sure,” I tell him, meaning it completely.

His mouth finds mine again, deeper this time, more certain. His hands slide under my shirt, his palms warm against my skin as he slowly lifts the fabric over my head. I shiver at the contact, at the way his eyes drink me in like he’s seeing me for the first time.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice filled with want. “So fucking beautiful.”

My fingers work at the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel skin against skin. When I finally push the fabric from his shoulders, I take a moment to trace the new scars that mark his chest—evidence of battles fought for our family. He catches my hand, pressing it flat against his heart.

“All for you,” he says quietly. “Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve fought for—it’s all been for you and Elio.”

The intensity in his voice makes my heart stutter. I pull him down to me, needing to be closer, needing to feel the solid weight of him above me. His hands map my body with reverent care, reacquainting themselves with every curve, every sensitive spot that makes me gasp his name.

As his mouth follows the path his hands have traced, I arch beneath him, fingers tangling in his hair. He takes his time, worshipping me with lips and tongue until I’m trembling, until the months of separation and fear melt away under his touch.

“Mal,” I breathe, tugging at his shoulders. “Please.”

He kisses his way back up my body, pausing to lavish attention on the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder—where his mark sits, permanently. The gentle scrape of his teeth there makes me shudder with need.

The rest of our clothes disappear in urgent movements, hands and mouths seeking, claiming, remembering. When he finally settles between my thighs, the weight of him feels so familiar and so perfect, we both pause. His eyes find mine in the moonlight, dark with desire but soft with love.

“I’ve missed this,” he says, voice thick. “I’ve needed this… being this close to you.”

“Show me,” I whisper, my hands framing his face. “Show me how much.”

He positions himself at my entrance, the anticipation electric between us. As he begins to push forward, I lean up to press my lips to his throat, feeling his rapid pulse.

“I love you,” I whisper against his skin, the words a prayer in the quiet darkness.

His response is movement—slow, deliberate, claiming—as he fills me completely, coming home.