Chapter 89 90_END OF SEASON ONE
Marigold POV
By the time we reached the borders of Gregor’s pack, I was so tired I could’ve faceplanted into a rock and called it a nap.
But the moment the first howl echoed through the pines — that deep, thunderous call of home — something in me snapped awake.
The mountain opened up into a sprawling valley, the kind of wild beauty that looked stolen out of a dream. Pine trees dripping with frost, rivers gleaming like glass threads, and in the middle of it all… the pack village.
Not huts. Not tents. Actual stone houses and mansions wrapped in warm golden light. Smoke rising from chimneys. Laughter spilling into the crisp morning air.
We were home.
And when I say they welcomed us, I mean it — they welcomed us.
Wolves in their human forms ran to meet us, cheering, hugging Gregor like he’d risen from the grave (which, honestly, wasn’t far from the truth).
“Alpha Gregor!”
“Long live our Alpha!”
“Luna Marigold!” someone shouted, and I froze mid-step, half-sure they meant someone else.
But nope. Dozens of eyes turned to me. The next thing I knew, I was surrounded — a blur of hands, smiles, tears, and food.
Because apparently this pack’s way of celebrating was feeding people until they exploded.
Tables appeared like magic. Roasted meats. Berries. Steaming bread. Someone even brought a pot the size of a bathtub filled with stew that smelled so good my wolf practically drooled.
“Eat, Luna,” one of the older women said, handing me a plate stacked so high it defied physics.
“Oh, trust me,” I said, grinning. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”
Gregor chuckled, his arm sneaking around my waist. “You’ve earned it.”
“You’re damn right I did,” I said, shoving a piece of bread into my mouth. “I’ve been surviving on wild potatoes and trauma for days.”
The crowd laughed — laughed — and for the first time in what felt like centuries, I wasn’t surrounded by death or running for my life. Just warmth.
Gregor’s pack was huge — warriors, healers, pups running between legs — and yet every single one of them treated me like I’d always belonged.
One of the pups tugged on my torn jacket. “Are you really our Luna?” he asked with big, hopeful eyes.
I crouched down, smiling. “If that means I get to eat all your cookies, then yes, absolutely.”
The pup gasped. “We don’t share cookies.”
Gregor laughed behind me. “Then you’ll fit right in.”
The pack roared with laughter, and I rolled my eyes, pretending to be offended. “Wow. My introduction to the North: food theft and insults. Great start.”
Barbie fluttered onto the table, her tiny wings glittering faintly like someone had dipped her in starlight. “You forgot sass,dear. You can’t start a new era without it.”
I nearly choked on my stew. “Oh gods, you’re still here.”
“Of course,” she said, crossing her little arms. “Someone has to make sure you two lovebirds don’t start another war by accident.”
Gregor leaned in, smirking. “We’ll try to behave.”
Barbie wiggled her brows. “Please don’t. I live for drama.”
The pack laughed again — some nervous, some outright howling — and Gregor kissed my temple, his warmth grounding me through all the chaos.
And for one blissful moment, everything was perfect.
But as the night deepened and the fires crackled, Barbie floated closer to me, her glow dimmer now.
“Hey,” I said softly. “What’s wrong?”
She gave me a tiny smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Nothing tragic, love. Just… time.”
“Time?”
“I’ve been away from the mountain too long. My magic, my home — it needs me. The forest is calling.”
I stood, heart twisting. “You’re leaving?”
Barbie hovered higher, wings trembling like tiny moonlit leaves. “Just for now. You’ve got your pack, your wolf, your… overgrown Alpha. You’ll be fine.”
I snorted through the lump in my throat. “Don’t make me cry, glitterbug.”
She winked. “Cry and ruin that gorgeous face? Please. You’re Luna now. No puffy eyes allowed.”
And before I could answer, she leaned close and whispered, voice like the hum of starlight,
“Remember, Marigold — the forest never forgets its warrior.”
Then, with one last sparkle, she vanished.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the faint shimmer left in the air. Then Gregor’s arms came around me from behind, solid and strong.
“She’ll be back,” he murmured against my hair.
“I know,” I said quietly. “Fae always love an encore.”
He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the side of my neck. “You belong here now, Marigold. With us. With me.”
I turned to face him, my hand finding his jaw. “I’ve been running my whole life, Gregor. Maybe it’s time I stop.”
His lips found mine — soft at first, then deeper, hungrier, like the whole mountain might melt from the heat of it. The pack howled somewhere in the background, but I didn’t care.
Because right then, under the northern lights and surrounded by laughter, I knew.
The war wasn’t over.
The world wasn’t safe.
But for now — I was home.
And damn it, the stew was amazing.
ASA Main HQ
The office smelled of burnt coffee and gun oil. Screens flickered across the wall, flashing red with MISSION FAILURE in bold letters. Shattered glass lay near the liquor cabinet where a half-empty bottle of scotch had met its violent end against the marble floor.
Director Seymour stood by the window, fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned bone-white. His reflection in the glass—a tall man with silvered hair and eyes like frozen steel—looked back at him with disgust.
“They were wolves,” he muttered under his breath. “Wolves, fae, and traitors. And somehow, they burned a forty-billion-dollar facility to the ground.”
The intercom buzzed once. “Sir… HQ just confirmed the loss of the Black Fang unit. No survivors.”
His jaw flexed. “And the Queen?”
“Dead, sir. Killed by the Alpha and his mate during the breakout.”
He turned, slow and dangerous, the air thick with wrath. “And the samples?”
“Destroyed in the explosion.”
For a moment, there was only silence—the kind that preceded storms. Then the sound of a desk slamming echoed through the entire floor. Papers flew. Coffee spilled. The junior agents outside his office froze as the Director’s roar shook the glass walls.
“Do you have any idea what this means?!” he bellowed. “We lost our only leverage! The Fae escaped, the wolves are in hiding, and the King’s son—” He stopped mid-sentence, inhaling sharply as realization dawned. His voice turned dangerously calm. “The King’s son. Prince Leon.”
He walked toward his desk, clicking open a secured line. The sound of static hummed before a smooth, low voice answered from the other end.
“Director,” the voice drawled. “I was wondering when you’d call.”
Halvorsen’s lips curled into a cruel smirk. “No time for games, Doctor Vale. The wolves are gone. Your ‘Queen’ is dead. The only card left on the table is the Prince—and his little lover.”
“Ah,” the voice replied silkily. “You mean the heir and his bonded mate. The one the King tried to hide.”
“Exactly.” The Director leaned over his desk, his tone ice and venom. “I want them erased. No body, no trace, no fairy tale ending. I want the world to forget they ever existed.”
There was a pause. Then a faint chuckle. “Consider it done.”
Halvorsen hung up, staring out into the night where lightning flared across the clouds over the distant mountains. Somewhere out there, the wolves howled in victory. But he wasn’t finished—not by a long shot.
He turned back to his desk, eyes narrowing at a blinking red file labeled:
PROJECT: SERAPHIM – REBOOT
His lips twisted into a cold, satisfied smile.
“Let them celebrate,” he whispered. “Because when the next phase begins... even their gods won’t be able to save them.”
Lightning struck outside, splitting the sky in half as the Director pressed his hand to the screen—activating a new round of terror.
END OF SEASON ONE