Luca's POV
Six months since Kaine's death. Six months of actual peace.
I wake to morning sunlight and Rian's arm wrapped possessively around my waist. Some things never change—my Alpha is still clingy.
"Morning," he murmurs against my neck.
"Morning." I turn in his arms, kissing him softly. "Sleep well?"
"Always, with you." His hand slides down my back. "What's the plan today?"
"Gallery opening tonight. Remember?"
His eyes light up. "Your second show. How could I forget?" He pulls me closer. "Nervous?"
"Terrified. What if people hate the new collection?"
"Impossible. Your work is brilliant." He kisses me thoroughly. "And I'll be there, supporting you. Always."
"My cheerleader Alpha."
"Your everything Alpha." His hand slides lower. "Want me to help you relax before tonight?"
"It's eight in the morning—"
"Perfect time." He rolls on top of me, grinning. "Let me worship my talented mate."
I can't resist him. Never could.
Later, thoroughly relaxed and running late, we rush through breakfast.
"Tonight's going to be perfect," he says, stealing a kiss. "The whole pack is coming to support you."
"That's too much pressure."
"That's family." He cups my face. "They love you, Luca. Almost as much as I do."
The gallery opening is incredible. My paintings line the walls—our journey from darkness to light, captivity to love, fear to hope.
The centerpiece is a massive canvas—Rian and me, intertwined, the bond visible between us as silver and gold threads.
"It's called 'Chosen,'" I explain to admirers. "About finding love in impossible circumstances."
Rian stands beside me, hand on my lower back, pride evident.
"My mate is incredibly talented," he tells everyone. "And taken. Very taken."
I elbow him. "Stop marking territory."
"Never." He nuzzles my neck. "You're mine. The world should know."
The show is successful—pieces sell, critics rave, collectors offer commissions.
Afterward, alone in the empty gallery, Rian pulls me close.
"Proud of you," he murmurs. "So fucking proud."
"Couldn't do it without your support."
"You could. But I'm glad you don't have to." He lifts me onto a display table. "Want to celebrate properly?"
"Here? Again?" But I'm already pulling him closer. "You have a thing about christening my art spaces."
"I have a thing about you." He settles between my legs. "Can't help it."
We make love surrounded by my art—passionate, intense, perfect. Each touch is a celebration of survival, love, and the life we've built.
Later, wrapped in his arms on the gallery floor, I laugh breathlessly.
"We're ridiculous."
"We're happy." He kisses my temple. "That's all that matters."
"Six months ago, we were fighting for our lives."
"Now we're living them." His arms tighten. "Best six months ever."
"Agreed." I trace the bond mark on his chest. "Think it'll always be this good?"
"Better. Every day, better." He turns my face up. "I love you, Luca. More every day."
"I love you too." I kiss him softly.