Tonight we remember the dead.

I mutter it out loud in Spanish as we pick a path through brush and rock, the packs slung on our shoulders lurching with us as we hike to the one of the few spots where the mountain's leyline rises close to the surface.

"Your accent sounds a lot better," says Odalis. Her face is painted to resemble a grinning skull, making her real smile hard to see, but I can hear it in her voice. I picked a wooden mask to wear instead, the bottom edge carved into thick, blunt teeth that end just above my upper lip. Even though the night air is cool with coming autumn, now and then I lift the mask from my face to wipe away sweat.

"Nervous?" says Nohemi, adjusting her own mask to make sure her hair hasn't escaped.

When I nod, it's Maya who answers. She doesn't wear anything on her face, paint or mask. "Don't be. Been a long time since any spirit reached through the fire to make contact."

After some more walking, the faint glow of flames grows visible through the brush, and Odalis bounds ahead, our lamps flickering over the outlines of vertebrae painted on the back of her neck. I hear voices, and after a few more steps, one becomes clear enough to understand.

"Desmond, you lazy fucker, you call that a fire? It's shit. You're shit. Yeah, this is for showing the dead we still remember them, that we respect their memory, and you think this is good enough? The wood is fucking wet. It won't bring them in, it'll smoke them out, you dick. Get out of the way, I'll do it. Yeah, get out of the fucking way."

I always thought I was good at swearing, but Odalis' new guy takes it to a level all his own. He's another Saint wolf; many of the traveling ones have visited here for the last four months, brutes and bitches, ever since word got out among skin witches about the pack's role in shaking down INKtech. After a night with Marrow, Kerr ended up being one of the ones who stayed.

Within a minute, we break free of the brush, stepping into the clearing. Despite the cool night, the flat, grey rock that makes up the area radiates warmth from the presence of the leyline.

Desmond sees us first, offering an easy grin as he stays a safe distance away from Kerr, who growls to himself while building up the fire. I'm pretty sure Des does everything half-assed around Kerr so he'll get pissed off enough to take over the job. His smile widens when he sees me, but that's all. Usually he tries to flirt a little, make a comment or two, but I guess even he respects the seriousness of tonight. Two traveling wolves who came here for a rest and ended up staying, a Kingdom bitch named Cassandra and an Amstar bitch named Jilly, hover on the other side of the fire, looking as nervous as I feel. They're even less used to Chetli rituals than I am, and my aunts go over to talk to them and calm their nerves.

While we all wait for the flames to burn bright and strong, I dig for the pieces of paper stuffed inside my jacket pocket. Each one has a name of a person I lost, written with a special pencil of packed bone char. It's pretty damn depressing to feel how many I have.

Maya is the first to throw in her names, expressionless as the rough little squares of paper burn and flake. Odalis also tosses hers in all at once, but Nohemi feeds the pieces to the fire one at a time. Desmond and Kerr only have a few between them, and Cassandra and Jilly don't have any, so soon it's my turn.

The paper with my mom's name goes first, and then the one with Gran's. I hear Maya huff quietly, probably having read the name in the first few seconds before it burned away, but I'm not about to feel bad. It's been four months since I learned the truth about my past, and I've had time to think. It hurt like hell, realizing Gran must have torn up or hidden my letters to the pack instead of sending them, and that she kept those lies all the way to her death, but I can't call her a villain and lock her out of my heart, either. I can't deny that I miss her. Some things just aren't that simple.

Laci and Melanie's names go into the fire next, together. Valentine was right; Melanie's body hasn't been found. The dumping ground Fuel led us to contained things like necklaces, and clothes, and wallets. As for Laci, I dream about her almost every night. In some, she's still a vampire, sucking dry my heart. In others, she begs me to stop as I'm ripping hers out.

Now, Mrs. Kent. I scratch Fuel as that piece of paper burns, feeling the familiar uncoil from my arm to play with my hair. I wish I'd learned more about her, but what I do know is that she was a good person, and funny, and great at telling people things even when they didn't want to hear it.

Zoe. Sometimes, I dream about her, too. I'm still looking for her family, but considering how little information I have on her, it's a long shot. That doesn't stop me from trying.

Fuck, I even have a piece of paper for Frankie. I hated his guts, and ended up killing him, but that doesn't mean I'm glad he's dead.

I wish watching name after name go up in flames left me with some type of peace or relief. Instead, all I'm aware of is how my nose itches from the mask. It does feel cathartic to look around and see that everyone else knows grief, too. To share the act with them. But the ache the names leave behind is still as present as the scars on my skin.

Afterward, everyone else relaxes by the fire, talking quietly as they pass around food and drink. Several filled plates and cups are set around the fire, just in case. We eat, though I can't bring myself to choke down more than a few bites, still feeling miserable.

Once we're all done, Desmond plays on the guitar he brought with him, the music filling the night air. Jilly starts singing along, her voice strong and clear. While everyone else settles in to listen, I take off my mask and move toward the edge of the light cast by the flames, sure of the way back to the house, but unsure if I want to leave and spend the rest of the night alone.

Then, movement flickers out of the corner of my eye. When I look over to see Marrow and Eskarne approaching, my face relaxes into a genuine smile. We've seen a lot of each other, lately, since Marrow has been teaching me everything there is to know about hunting vampires. Right now, though, they're staying through the night because the pack will hold a feast tomorrow. Tonight we remember the dead, tomorrow we stuff the living. Marrow just gives me a friendly slap on the back before joining the others by the fire—we'll probably train in the morning, and there'll be a lot of time to talk then—but Eskarne stops beside me.

For a while, we just stand at the edge of the light, looking over the dark landscape in front of us. The silence between us is calm, easy. One of the reasons I like talking with Eskarne is that nothing ever pushes her to impatience or uncertainty, whether it's a long silence or a constant flow of words.

Eventually, she pulls out a pack of cigarettes and lights one. The flame from the lighter reveals the black paint shading the hollows of her eyes and hiding her nose. White teeth march up her cheeks, shifting as she finally speaks. "Where's your boy? Called back to the Kingdom again?"

"Yeah." It's the third time he's had to do it, each one adding more to the growing shitstorm INKtech is now in over its experiments with humans, not all of them dead bodies. It's all coming out now, and most of it is fucking awful. INKtech isn't giving up without a fight, though, and every time Gideon leaves to give more statements about what he knows, I'm terrified he'll end up dead or gone missing. But I guess having Glass for a last name gives him some safety. "I talked to him, earlier. He thinks he might be back soon."

Eskarne just nods. She doesn't actually give a fuck about Gideon; her asking about him is a way to let me know she doesn't frown on our relationship. Sure enough, her next words switch to a different subject. "Two days ago, I finally reached Bero. He was working in the mines in Mnemosyne, so it will take him three weeks to travel back here. He's already on his way."

It takes a moment for her words to sink in, and then hope bubbles through me. But doubt rises with it. "Do you think we'll like each other?"

She waves a hand. "Only people with tepid personalities like things, and neither of you are that. Besides, you've already formed strong bonds with your aunts, yes? Why would he be so different?"

It's a good point, but... "Did you tell him about what happened to me?"

She looks at me then, realization filtering into her eyes. "Ah. You're still afraid people will pity you."

Suddenly, it feels easier to look at the stars instead of her face, so I do. "I just don't want him feeling like he found me too late."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her nod. "He asked many questions, but I only told him that when you came to Red Devil Mountain, you knew little about the pack and less about him. You have to decide how much else you think he should know."

"Yeah. Hopefully, I won't be a fucking mess when we meet." Absently, I run my hand over the short ends of my hair.

"So, something happened with..." Eskarne points at her own head, finger slicing back and forth to suggest a haircut.

I grimace. Nohemi managed to turn the ragged ends into something stylish, telling me I had the perfect face for a bob, anyway, but I still miss its old length. My neck gets really cold now. "I did something stupid."

She just nods, leaving it up to me to explain or not, and that's what gets me to add, "About a week ago, I was brushing my hair out, and suddenly felt his fingers running through it. You know, the vampire's. It seemed so real, and it wouldn't go away. I've had the same problem before, but, I don't know. I sat there on the bed, feeling him touch me, realizing I could go through this again and again, maybe for the rest of my life. And I just freaked out and did the first thing I could think of. Cutting off my hair. Gideon was the one who found me. I think it scared him, seeing that I could go after myself like that."

She's quiet, but it feels like her usual silence, there because she's listening.

After a moment, I scratch my head again. "I thought I was doing really good, too. Maybe even close to wearing his teeth."

Eskarne shrugs. "Give yourself time to learn if your limits are flexible or inflexible. It's only a tradition for sisterwolves to wear the teeth of the vampires they destroyed. Not a requirement. And Marrow doesn't mind keeping them with her own collection."

Then, to my surprise, she reaches out and touches my shoulder. "Look, only a fool would think you're weak. And Bero is no fool. He'll see much more than the scar on your neck."

Feeling some of my doubt fade, I try a smile.

It must not be a very good one, because she gives me a gentle shake. "And if he doesn't, then fuck him."

It's so unexpected that I break out laughing. "Thanks for the advice. I think."

"Well. I'm not good at comforting people." Then she jerks her head at an area over to our right and adds, "Maybe you can find someone who is."

That's when a glimmer of blue light catches my eye. I look over in that direction to find Gideon climbing over the last rock up to where we stand. Seeing him sends a thrill through me. It always does.

Eskarne slips away, then, and I step all the way out of the firelight to grab him into a hug, feeling my body relax against the feeling of his hands sliding under my jacket to rub my back. He's wearing a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, slacks, and suspenders, like he didn't even stop to change, instead taking off the most restrictive parts of his suit for the trek up here. Even his hair is still slicked down in that dorky Kingdom style, and I tug his head down so I can muss it up, feeling his lips press against my forehead in response.

"Missed you," I say, trying to sound light, casual, as if his touch isn't sending sparks through me. But I don't want to tempt Odalis into throwing a suggestive whistle our way.

He pulls back enough to smile. "I missed you as well. I'd hoped to return earlier and avoid interrupting the ritual."

"It's okay. I was thinking about going back to the house, anyway." Then I glance back to see Maya watching us. She gives me a smirk that says, As if I could stop you.

We talk on the way back. I tell him about my dad traveling here; he explains that INKtech is sinking fast under the media frenzy, but that it also means the organization won't explore what it learned about Valentine through Slake's ink and scars. It'd be like asking a dying pig to root for truffles.

And nobody here really believes Valentine was a vampire, especially since I refuse to hand over his teeth as proof. I know that kills off my credibility in the eyes of thaumaturgical researchers and other officials, but Marrow told me that vampires can be brought back through their fangs. It's not easy, but it's possible, and that's why sisterwolves wear the teeth, so they can keep constant watch. I'll take being dismissed as a liar if it means making sure Valentine doesn't come back.

Gideon gets pretty pissed off about it, though. I glance at him, taking in his frown. He's pretty pissed off right now. "With INKtech under scrutiny for illegal practices, their part in pinning the blame on Scheer, Healy, and you won't be used. That particular plot is dead. Yet, I was as good as told the Kingdom cases will simply be put aside as unsolved, with Scheer listed as a suspect for a murder spree with an officially unidentified killer. I believe the same will happen here in Necali."

"That's not too bad," I say, glancing ahead to see the moonlight reflecting off the windows of the pack house. "I mean, no wolf witches will be charged, so no one can point and say this is why certain laws are needed."

He looks at me, frustration clear on his face. "People won't know the truth. They won't know what truly happened, and what might yet be out there. Or at least, they won't believe it to be true."

Sometimes, like right now, I can see how different we are. He's the knight used to doing great things and having them recognized. And me? I'm the wolf that leaves after a fight, satisfied to live with her scars.

I slip my fingers between his. "We know what happened. And I know how much you helped me through it."

"Well. Things haven't been set to right. They may never be," he says, but I feel his hand relax against mine, anyway, and I know he took comfort in my words.

"Quién sabe," I say, and then we're at the front door to the house.

We've shared a bedroom since Gideon moved out of the guest cottage and into the pack house. I should get ready for sleep, but instead flop onto the bed, feeling drained down to the bone. Gideon strips to his undershirt and slacks before stretching out beside me.

The feeling of the bed shifting with his weight relaxes me even more; I could fall asleep within a minute, especially now that I'm used to sleeping with a light on. Whenever I wake up from nightmares, I have to be able to see that the window is whole, and that Gideon and I are the only ones in the room. If I can't, I panic. It's so stupid, because Valentine never attacked me in that way, never even approached a window during that week of hell. But in my dreams, that's where he is, breaking through the glass and then breaking into me. And when I wake up, shaking as the scar on my neck aches like it's a fresh wound, I'm so sure he's still there, waiting.

The ghost of that fear rouses me a little, and I talk to keep myself alert. "You saw your family this time, right? I mean, on your own and not in an official place."

He sighs. "Yes. It was bloody awful."

After shifting onto my side, I reach out to stroke his face. "What happened? Did Aunt Bettina cry?"

"Not her. My father." He hesitates, and then adds, "I have to wonder whether he truly believed I was dead and gone when he signed the papers giving my body over to the engineers. Whether he wouldn't have done so if he thought there was a chance I'd recover."

Then he shakes his head. "My father crying. If I hadn't seen it for myself, I never would have believed him capable of real tears. Grains of sand, perhaps."

I trace the frown line that appeared between his eyebrows when he first started talking about his dad. "I'm guessing he wants you to forgive him."

"Yes. He's even taking steps toward making a proper apology."

"Steps?"

"There are certain ways to apologize, depending upon the original deed." His hand absently follows the curve of my hip. It feels good, but he isn't thinking along those lines. Going by the distant expression on his face, he's as gloomy as I was, earlier.

I decide to startle him out of it. "Is this about those fucking knights again?"

He blinks at me, and then grins. "I've told you their code affects every aspect of a life. I truly did mean every."

"Oh, yeah? Even sex?" I say, still joking.

But he nods. "Yes."

"No way." I move closer, searching his face for any sign that he's only playing around.

His grin widens. "Truly, there's a chivalrous way to make a sexual offer to a lady. And to a gentleman, but that's an entirely different set."

"What do you do?" I'm kind of fascinated, now.

But he shakes his head. "It's extremely explicit as an offer. One should only perform it if he means to follow through. And if the lady is completely at ease in his presence."

"I'm comfortable with you, Gideon." I mean the words to sound casual, but as soon as they're out, I realize they're nothing less than the bare truth.

He studies me, ink glimmering against the bare strip of skin on my hip where my shirt and jeans don't quite meet. "You truly mean that?"

"Yep." And I do. Oh, I'm tired and shaken from tonight, but there's also excitement tightening in my belly, making the bullet scar ache a little. I want to touch him, to taste and tease until our hearts race for the right reasons. He makes me feel good, and clean, and effortless when most of life leaves me flailing.

And tonight, I think I can be all that for him, too.

Maybe he reads it in my face; maybe only my words convince him. Either way, he nods and sits up. After I do the same, he takes my hand as if ready to kiss it, but also glances at me, wanting to make sure. When I give him a nod to keep going, he lowers his mouth to my knuckles.

But instead of a kiss, his tongue slides between my middle and third fingers, licking the web of skin there. The implication is unmistakable, and my body knows it, the sensation of that one flick of the tongue surging all the way down past my belly, intensified by his eyes remaining intent on mine.

"Jesus," I say, breathlessly, when he pulls back.

He's smiling now, still holding my hand, but his gaze drops from my face, giving me space to decide what to do. I answer by tugging him to me, very glad I'm already wearing the silver necklace.

We've messed around a couple of times before this, enough so that he already knows what my breasts look like, but I still hate seeing the scars. When my shoulders hunch forward, his hands stop easing off my bra and move around to the bare skin of my back, rubbing up to my shoulders, but not my neck. Never my neck. He knows that, too.

We kiss, slow and sweet, until I'm relaxed enough to tease him, lightly running my nails against his ink. The sound he makes in response is miles away from a repressed Kingsman, and I grin. Then he starts teasing, clever fingers making me forget about those scars. At some point, I end up on my back, his hands running over the sensitive skin on my stomach to work on my jeans. I'm breathing faster by the time they're off, the heat of ink against my thigh. But when his fingers brush the edge of my underwear, a memory flashes through my mind. I bite back a nervous giggle.

He notices. "You all right?"

"It's just something stupid." I try to get the smile off my face, not wanting to spoil the mood.

"Tell me." His hands slide to a more neutral place, stroking along my calves.

"I was thinking about that day in bio class, when you made half the students blush with your smile alone. Later on, I was asked if I thought you'd have that same smile while taking off someone's panties. And here I am, about to find out." It sounds even sillier out loud, and I squirm a little, unable to hide my growing nerves. Christ, I feel stupid. I know how sex goes, so why am I worried?

In the dim light, his eyes look dark and intent as he studies me. Then he smiles. Not the friendly type he gave as Agent Glass; a slow, sensual one that sends my legs easing apart as my gaze drops to his lips. But in an instant, his expression morphs into a played up version, one cartoonishly-raised eyebrow driving my hitched-in breath back out as a laugh.

Still giggling, I shove myself up to kiss that dopey look off his face, feeling my body relax against his.

"It's only me," he murmurs.

I nod. It is him. Not any of the others. The last thread of nervousness fades from my chest as I pull at his undershirt, feeling his heartbeat against my knuckles, wanting him still closer. After a while, his hand slides down to my underwear again, and then I'm back on the pillows, panting against his mouth and lifting my hips to help him along as he eases off the material.

By the time his head is between my legs, only the silver keeps me grounded. What he's doing sends me shaking like a change, but it's hotter, sweeter, lifting me to a place I've never been. And when the release finally shudders through me, I cry out with a human voice, not a howl.

We don't stop there. In fact, we stay up the whole damn night. Dawn finds us settled into the tangled sheets nose to nose, his hand tracing patterns along my back while he dozes.

I should try to sleep, too. Christ knows the pack will expect me up in another hour, ready to hunt down a pig or two for the feast. Instead, I find myself watching the sunrise over his shoulder. It's a sight I always appreciate these days. And lying here now, fingers running through Gideon's hair while his ink hums against my ribs, I'm starting to see dawn not only as proof of surviving another night, but also as the promise of a new day.

And you know what? I can live with that, and smile about it, too.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

And there it is, fine gentlefolk! The end. At least until I write the sequel.

Thank you so much for your reads, your votes, and your comments. It gives me the warm fuzzies to know you enjoyed me putting these characters through hell and pulling them out again.

Cheers!