Slay My Soul
Epilogue Eve

Divaria was born at eight thirty-two in the morning, three weeks after Reece came back to us. My men have taken my threats of castration in their stride. My pledge to turn celibate forever is deemed an empty threat, while the fast labor tries to rearrange my vagina and pull my pelvis to bits. It is all their damn fault, especially Reece’s. I’d take two days of torture with Hardyn over this shit any day.

But once I take her tiny form in my arms, they are all completely and utterly forgiven. While Divaria’s scrunched-up face does indeed remind me of a gremlin, I surprisingly fall head over heels for her the instant I gaze down at her. All it takes is for her beautiful blue eyes to look into mine, her tiny fingers to curl around my pinky and I’m hooked. This is no alien, she is perfect and mine/ ours. The smushed-up face gives way over the weeks, morphing into a beautiful sweet baby. I adore spending time with her. Except when she is crying or pooping, then she is one of her Daddy’s problem. One of my favorite past times is watching her as she sleeps in my arms and marveling that I grew this beautiful being in my womb.

Life gets simpler as time moves on. The stand-in rulers do their jobs, and my workload is minimal, with only our own pack to focus on for the most part. In saying that, it is a bloody giant pack and a mixed-race one at that. Asmodeus’s men are traveling the globe looking for their mates, and we have had the annual gathering of willing mating-aged females again. The feral Demons were summoned and the women could check to see if any belonged to them. We had a good success rate with only a couple of handfuls left to replace their ladies. The light Fae and Lycans have decided to stay with us. The Dark, the Witches, Wolves, and Vampires returned to their own lands, bar the ones that we had formed strong friendships with. There is a lot of mixed mating now, with fated mates making a comeback, many of different races. There are also more mixed chosen mates forming, amongst those who had lost their fated ones.

The world is as the Fates had wanted it, and now thankfully they have left me to my own devices. Max and Reece have indeed become one being. Mace still calls me baby girl and is a unique mix of the two men. It hasn’t been sad like I thought it would be, seeing the individuals come through less. They just seemed to slide into this new being over time, so slowly it was barely noticeable. Then one day I realized I was talking to both of them and they were responding as one. They seem perfectly content and happy.

It is Mace’s idea to celebrate the two-year anniversary of our new world that has me striding to the bar. Poppy is babysitting our wee girl since she is now pregnant. Part of me is relieved she and her mate aren’t going to be there. They are disgustingly sweet to each other and it makes me want to throw up in my mouth a little. Who in gods name calls their significant other snookums? Gross!

A cheer goes up as I throw open the bar doors, glasses are raised and people come up to greet me. I do the courtesy meet and greet and make a bee-line for the bar, where Mace waggles his eyes at me and shakes the bourbon on the rocks in his hand. Fuck yes! I kiss his cheek as I accept his offering. I am absolutely getting trashed tonight, and I don’t care how unqueenly I behave. I don’t often escape my beautiful crotch gremlin overnight, so I am going to make the most of it. Hours pass and I drink, play pool, play spar on the top of the bar with some of the warriors, and dance a couple of times. One of my men is always within reach or plastered to my side. I sneak a quickie with Acassus in the bathroom and make out with Carino on the dance floor. My legs get unsteady, so I claim a bar stool for the rest of the night to drink and talk until I am ready to call it a night. My equally trashed circle helps me home, and we have a few drunken fumbles till we pass out. All in all, it has been a fantastic, fun night.

The next morning the banging on the door downstairs matches the banging in my head. I squint at the clock and see it is just after seven in the morning. What sadistic fuck knocks on the door at this hour after a party like that! One I am going to murder, that’s who.

“Ly,” I croak. “Pass the pills and water." A snore is his response. I grumble as I pull myself up to sit and glance at the bedside tables. Empty. My own fault. I am so used to Ly taking care of me, I hadn’t thought to do it myself while he was as trolleyed as me. The banging continues downstairs and I hear my father finally drag his ass to the front door and bellow at them to shut up before slamming it shut on whoever had been at the door. I chuckle. A man after my own heart. I clamber out of bed and grab water bottles from the fridge in our room and painkillers from the bathroom, putting them on the nightstands. It is nice to look after them for a change. I crack open a bottle for myself and pop some pills. I quickly shrug on one of the guy’s hoodies that covers me to my knees, pull on some underwear, and head off to drown my hangover in a liter of coffee.

I take my fresh brew out to the front of the house and flop onto the porch swing, momentarily regretting it as the motion makes my stomach roll. Once it has calmed and a few sips of coffee begin to chase the leftover booze in my gut, I light up one of Luka’s smokes and relax, closing my eyes as the first warm rays of the sun reach me. A throat clears and I slit my eyes open to glare at whoever is stupid enough to interrupt my peaceful start to the morning.

Morgan, one of our head warriors stands there apologetically with an unfamiliar man beside him. He’s clothed strangely in plant-woven material and has vibrant blue hair. My nose twitches to read his species but I can’t get a bead on him. I cock my eyebrow.

“Who’s your friend Morg’s?” I asked.

“Your highness, this man and some others arrived at our border this morning wishing to speak to you. They claim to be another species. This is their leader, Guyan.” This gets my attention, but I continue to sip my coffee as my vines shoot out for a closer look. However, they can’t figure out what he is either. He is looking at me just as curiously. I guess it’s not every day a Queen greets someone in nothing but a hoody and their hair a tangled mess.

“What is it that you need?” I ask at last. He bows.

“Your highness, my people and I have waited to see if you were a fair and just ruler before we decided to approach you. We have heard rumors of mixed races mating and would like the opportunity to replace our own mates among your people. We have deemed enough time to have passed, to declare you fit to rule.”

“How generous of you,” I drawl. “What exactly are you?”

“Oh of course,” he laughs. “We are Merfolk.” He bows again as my jaw drops.

“Get the fuck out!” I say in disbelief, shooting to my feet. He blanches.

“I’m sorry your highness, I did not mean to offend you,” he says confused and nervous. Morgan laughs.

“She’s not asking you to leave, it’s more a term of disbelief. Give her a minute,” the warrior chuckles. “It takes a while for her brain to fire up so early.” I scowl and flip him the bird.

“Your sparring with me tomorrow FYI,” I inform him, grinning as he pales. Not so cocky now are you dickhead? I turn my attention back to my visitor. “Tails?” I ask.

“When in water higher than our waists, yes,” he nods.

“Salt or fresh?”

“Different clans pick different bodies of water, both.”

“How many are you?” I ask the important question at last. He hesitates.

“Fifteen thousand, give or take.” I taste the lie and narrow my eyes.

“You may go,” I inform him. “I have no interest in welcoming liars.” His face falls, and he sighs.

“I have brought all that remains your highness, we have no fated mates left. We are dying,” he admits.

“Guyan, how many are you?” I ask softly. He hangs his head.

“Just over one hundred,” he whispers, and I sense the truth of his words. This leader is ashamed he has not been able to keep his people strong and growing, he told me a higher number to make me think they could be a force to be reckoned with if I try to wrong them. I can feel his desperation in the air. I am the last resort for his race.

“Morgan please escort the Merfolk to the hall and offer them breakfast, get Damon to get the news going around the pack for willing unmated individuals to meet us at ten A.M sharp on the training grounds, we will see if there are at least a few mates among our people here for them,” I order. The men both bow and Guyan thanks me profusely as he is led away. I scrub my face. Why on my first decent hangover and stupid early start, have I been saddled with this crap.

My men and I trudge out to the field a few hours later. We are still a little worse for wear, but painkillers are kicking in. Showers have freshened us up and a greasy breakfast has soaked up the booze. We have spent a good chunk of the morning taking care of each other and enjoying each other’s company and buzzing about Mermaids being real. I'm pleased to see a good turnout of unmated. Our people have formed a line on one side and the Merfolk have formed another. I approach Guyan.

“How do your people detect their mates?” I ask.

“Looking into their eyes and touch. Their senses detect it,” he explains. I ask my people through our links to offer their hands and look into each Merfolk’s eyes. Men and woman of every species make their way through in single file offering hands and making eye contact. Guyan stands beside me grinning as a few are found. I see the hope rising in his eyes.

“You should go down there too,” I suggest. “Rulers get lonely as well.” He looks at my men fanned out behind me.

“Something you don’t have to worry about, I’m sure,” he chuckles. I scoff and shove him toward the lines of people.

“Guyan,” a voice calls. I see a turquoise-haired man hurrying towards us. “I’ve finished sending the messages through the water for any nomads.” Guyan nods.

“Your highness, please meet my brother Istraya,” Guyan says introducing us. I offer my hand to shake and he grasps it with a warm smile. A pulse shoots up my arm in a rush. I look at him in surprise and I fall into his gaze, much like I did with Luka when I first met him. Alarm bells ring in my head as Istraya stares at me in awe. I hear Darius laugh from behind me.

“Five bucks says she runs,” I hear Mace whisper.

I shake my head in denial. No, I am done. There was no sub-note of a delayed plus one in the prophecy. I snatch my hand out of the Merman’s grip. I try to retreat but Darius holds me in place. Bastard!

Istraya regains his composure and bows.

“A pleasure to meet you... my mate.” I feel lightheaded, this has got to be a cosmic joke. I hear Poppy’s tinkling laughter.

“Don’t worry Eve, it's nothing sinister. Think of it as a bonus for a job well done. A thank you gift from the Fates. He’s the last one, I promise.”

“Tell them it’s paid in full, no more gifts required,” I growl. She nods grinning.

Fuck the Fates.