Silas just pulled Eve against him and kissed her temple. "Worth it," he murmured.

The celebration lasted well into the night. Eve found herself pulled into conversations with pack members she’d never formally met, learned names and faces and stories. Someone handed her a drink that tasted like honey and fire. Someone else taught her a traditional pack song that involved more howling than actual words.

And through it all, her mates stayed close. Not hovering, not possessive, just... there. Present and proud.

As the fire burned low and people began to drift toward their homes, Brynn appeared at Eve’s side one last time.

"You did good tonight," she said quietly.

"I barely did anything," Eve protested.

"Exactly. You showed up. You were honest. You let them see you’re not perfect." Brynn’s smile was warm. "That’s all they needed. Someone real. Someone who’ll fight for them but also admit when she doesn’t have all the answers." She paused. "You’re going to be a good Luna, Eve. Better than you think."

"I hope so."

"I know so." Brynn squeezed her shoulder. "Now go home with your mates. You’ve earned some private celebration time."

Eve felt heat creep up her neck. "How did you..."

"Please. I’m a werewolf. I can smell exactly what you three have been doing for the past two days." Brynn’s grin was wicked. "And good for you. About time those boys got thoroughly laid."

"Brynn!"

"What? It’s true!" She laughed and headed toward the remaining pack members. "Go on. Get out of here before I start giving you tips."

Eve didn’t need to be told twice.

She found her mates already waiting at the edge of the clearing, and when Damon held out his hand she took it without hesitation.

"Ready to go home, Luna?" he asked.

Eve looked back at the bonfire, at the pack that had chosen her, at the community she was now part of.

"Yeah," she said softly. "Let’s go home."

They walked back to the estate together, the night quiet around them. When they reached the front steps, Damian pulled Eve to a stop.

"I’m proud of you," he said simply. "The way you handled tonight. The way you let them in. That took courage."

"They made it easy," Eve said.

"No." Silas shook his head. "You made it easy for them. By being yourself. By not trying to be perfect or untouchable. That’s what they needed."

Damon’s arm came around her waist. "Our perfect, imperfect Luna," he said affectionately. "Come on. Let’s get you inside before I decide to celebrate your new status right here on the front lawn."

"Damon!" Eve’s face heated, but she was laughing.

They tumbled through the door together, already reaching for each other, and Eve felt something settle deep in her chest.

This was home.

These were her people.

This was family.

And nothing...not Court politics, not old enemies, not even her own doubts...could take that away.

***

POV: Damian

Damian woke before dawn, the way he always did.

For a moment he just lay there, listening to Eve’s steady breathing, feeling the warmth of her body tucked against his side. Damon was sprawled on her other side, one arm thrown possessively over her waist. Silas had claimed the chair by the window sometime during the night, his long legs stretched out, his head tipped back in sleep.

This. This moment of perfect peace. This was what he’d been fighting for.

Damian carefully extracted himself from the bed, moving with the practiced silence of someone who’d spent years navigating around sleeping wolves. Eve stirred slightly but didn’t wake, just burrowed deeper into Damon’s warmth with a soft sound that made Damian’s chest tighten.

He pulled on pants and a shirt and slipped out of the bedroom, his bare feet silent on the hardwood floors as he made his way through the quiet estate.

The office was dark when he entered, but Damian didn’t bother with lights. Just moved to the window and looked out over the grounds as the sky began to lighten from black to deep blue to pale grey.

Twenty-six years old when his parents died. Twenty-six years old when he became Alpha. Twenty-six years old when the weight of the Blackwood legacy landed on his shoulders and he’d had to decide who he was going to be.

He’d chosen to fight. Chosen to protect. Chosen to carry the responsibility of keeping his brothers and his pack safe no matter what it cost him.

And now, twelve years later, the fight was over.

The reform had passed. The Seraphim Court was changing. The threats that had defined his entire adult life were neutralized or eliminated. Malachai was confined. The assassination attempts had stopped. The political maneuvering had settled into something resembling stability.

For the first time since he was nineteen years old, Damian Blackwood didn’t have an enemy to fight.

The realization should have felt liberating.

Instead it felt... disorienting.

Who was he, if not the Alpha who protected his pack from existential threats? Who was he, if not the strategist constantly planning three moves ahead to keep his people safe? Who was he, if the weight he’d been carrying for over a decade was suddenly gone?

"You’re thinking too loud."

Damian turned to find Eve standing in the doorway, wrapped in one of his shirts, her hair sleep-mussed and her eyes still soft with rest. She moved into the room with that unconscious grace she’d developed, her bare feet silent on the floor.

"Didn’t mean to wake you," Damian said.

"You didn’t. I woke up and you were gone." She crossed to him, sliding her arms around his waist from behind, resting her cheek against his back. "Couldn’t sleep?"

"Just thinking."

"About?"

Damian was quiet for a long moment. Then, because she was his mate and she deserved honesty: "About who I am now. Now that the fight is over."

He felt Eve’s arms tighten around him. "You’re Damian," she said simply. "Alpha. Brother. Mate. Leader of the Blackwood pack. King of the Seraphim Court. The man who rebuilt his family’s legacy from ashes and made it something worth protecting."