“—and I can’t just call him out of me, okay? But when you come to live with us, I’ll see what I can do.”

Complete. Silence.

And then Bitty said in a small voice, “Come live with you?”

“Oh . . . shit,” he muttered. Even though his King had brought up the whole no-cussing thing. “I mean, carp. I mean, crap.”

“Live with you?” the girl repeated.

As Mary cleared her throat, Rhage tried to sit up, even though he lacked the strength to get very far in the vertical department.

“Bitty,” his shellan said. “I’ve tried to find your uncle. Actually, a lot of people have attempted to locate him—and nothing’s come of it. I don’t know what happened to him or where he is—I can’t even begin to guess. But assuming he isn’t . . . available . . . Rhage and I have been talking, and you know, we don’t want to take the place of your mahmen. Not at all. It’s just . . . we’d really like it if you’d consider coming to stay with us. It can start out on a trial basis, and if you don’t like it, you can always—”

There was a muffled impact and Mary stopped talking.

At which point he smelled tears.

“What’s happening?!” He flailed around. “What’s wrong? What’s she doing—”

All of a sudden, little arms wrapped around his neck, and Bitty’s voice was in his ear. “Does this mean you’ll be my father?”

Rhage’s breath caught in his throat. Then he carefully hugged the girl back, mindful not to crush her. “If you’ll have me . . .” Okay, he couldn’t talk here. “Yes, yes, I will.”

He felt Mary rub his back in circles, and could sense his mate’s happiness soaring right beside him—but that wasn’t enough. He pulled her in tight so that both females were up against his chest.

So this . . . was his family, he thought with a sudden shot of pride. These . . . were his two girls.

The smile that hit his face stretched his cheeks so much he knew they were never going to be the same.

Especially as he thought back to when he had been holding L.W. down in the kitchen, staring out across a room he did not see, his heart aching for all he would never have.

And yet here he was now, everything he had wanted not just within his grasp, but in his arms.

“Can I move in tonight?” Bitty asked. “And when do I get to meet everybody?”

SEVENTY-ONE

The resilience of children was amazing, Mary thought later as she and Bitty and Rhage drove up to the front of the Brotherhood mansion.

In spite of everything she had been through, the girl was open-eyed and open-hearted at the prospect of a totally different kind of life, ready for anything, excited, happy. Then again, she was with people who loved her, even if it felt too early to speak of it.

Which wasn’t to say there hadn’t been some sadness. Especially as she and Bitty had been up in that attic room at Safe Place, retrieving the two suitcases. When the girl had asked if she could bring her mother’s things too, Mary had teared up. And then there had been the urn.

But overall, this was joyous. And Mary was focusing on that.

As she stopped the GTO right at the foot of the stone steps, it was probably overkill, given that the little girl didn’t have more than those two pieces of luggage and the urn.

But somehow, she just wanted to get Bitty in the house—and any distance seemed too far away. After Rhage had called Wrath, and Mary had called Marissa, it was decided that under a foster care situation, there was no reason Bitty couldn’t move in. Besides, it would mean that Doc Jane and Manny could check her out medically more easily, and there was really nothing to hold her at Safe Place.

The fact that there was no paperwork yet made Mary a little uneasy, but Ryhm was taking care of that. What was really worrisome? The six-month waiting period was starting tonight, and until that mutually agreed-upon clock ran out, this wasn’t a done deal.

And yes, Mary would continue to look for the hypothetical uncle, even though it gave her a frickin’ heart attack anytime she thought of that male coming out of the woodwork.

Still, she had a duty to do right by Bitty.

“Are we here?” Rhage asked. “I think we’re here. Bitty, what do you see?”

“Do the Munsters live in this house?” the girl asked. “It looks like the Munsters’ house, only . . . how big is it?”

“Hundred rooms or so. It’s tight quarters, but we manage to make it work.”

Rhage’s hand flapped around the door until he hit the handle and opened things up. As he stood up, he tightened the blanket wrapped around his waist and nearly tripped on the curb.

Mary turned the engine off, and pulled the emergency brake. When she glanced back at Bitty, the girl was just staring up at the great stone expanse. Cradled in her arms, right against her chest, were her mother’s ashes in that urn.

This was not a restart, Mary reflected.

This was not even a reset, an erase . . . or a replacement of everything that had been hard, brutal, and poor with shiny, sparkly fresh stuff. It wasn’t Christmas. It wasn’t happy-birthday, surprise-it’s-a-puppy, confetti-and-balloon-and-frosting time.

This was another chapter. One that was going to be so much more stable and emotionally supportive, but was still going to have its own ups and downs, its challenges and triumphs, frustrations and happiness.

“Bitty?” she said. “You don’t have to do this.”