He was wrong.

He orgasmed again.

And again.

And again.

As did his female.

It turned out his body just knew what it wanted. And it had saved itself through entire eras of progress and innovation and revolution and evolution . . .

. . . for the one female it wanted to give itself to.

What a wise choice, Syn thought with a smile as he started to ride the waves once more.

Butch needed to be driven back to the mansion in the R8.

Even after V materialized downtown and went to work on him, he didn’t have the energy to do more than respirate. Fortunately, his best friend was on it. In fact, Vishous was straight-up empowered. In spite of doing his cleansing routine, and throwing up mhis around the scene in the alley, he was snappy as a spring motherfucker.

Then again, winning the war had a way of perking a brother up. Especially after Butch and his roomie had just conference-called their females and gotten to play the victorious warriors returning to the home front with the spoils.

Which, okay, fine, were nothing but some serious bragging rights. What the fuck did it matter, though! The happiness in Marissa’s and Jane’s voices was more than enough of a reward. Plus, hello, everyone was coming back with a heartbeat.

Although Syn was going to need some surgery. Assuming the Bastard didn’t let Jo drain him dry in the back of that RV. At least Manny was watching over them like a hawk.

Letting his head lull in the direction of his bestie, Butch rolled his eyes. “I still can’t believe it. It’s over. It’s done. The Omega is gone.”

“But we got a replacement.” V glanced over. “Your little friend.”

“Balance, right?” Butch went back to looking out the front windshield. “It’s all about balance. Did you know your mom had another sister?”

“No. But there’s a lot I don’t know about her.”

“Well. There you go.”

As V’s phone went off with a text, he nodded at the unit in the console. “Check that will you. I’m feeling like I want to keep my eyes on the road tonight. Fuck only knows what happens next.”

Butch snagged the Samsung and put in his roommate’s passcode. As the thing came alive, he went into the text that had just come through. When he saw who it was from, he nearly put the screen back facedown.

Tossing the damn cell out the window also had an appeal.

Things were going so well. Couldn’t they have a moment’s peace—

“What is it?” V glanced over. “Something wrong?”

Butch sat up in the passenger seat a little higher. “Um . . . it’s, ah . . . here lemme open it. It’s a link.”

“From who?”

Yeeeeeah, maybe we’ll just wait on that, Butch thought. “Lassiter” was not a name he wanted to be tossing out all willy-nilly—

“What . . . the . . . fuck,” he breathed.

V’s foot came off the gas, that surgical RV they were trailing getting ahead of them. “What.”

Butch shook his head and restarted the video. “It’s Curt Schilling.”

Vishous’s recoil was so great, the other brother nearly snapped his neck. “The Curt Schilling?”

“TheCurtSchilling.” As in the Boston Red Sox right-handed, bloody-sock’d pitcher who had led the team to its first World Series Championship in eighty-six years, finally breaking the Curse of the Bambino after an agonizing drought. “The fucking Curt Schilling!”

“What’s he doing on my phone!”

“I don’t know!”

Okay, fine. It was quite possible the two of them were sounding like ten-year-old little boys. But it was TheCurtSchilling.

“Play it! Play it! Play—”

“I am! I am! I am—”

V wrenched the R8’s wheel to the right and slammed on the brakes, halting them on a shoulder of the road. Then the pair of them knocked heads as they leaned down to the screen.

Curt Schilling—TheCurtSchilling—looked into the camera that was videotaping and seemed a little confused as he spoke.

“Well, this is a new one. But hey, I’m game. Ah—Vishous?” Then on a mutter, “Helluva name you got there.” More normally now, “This is from your good friend, Lassiter. He wanted you to know that he’s really sorry for what he had to do. It was for your own good, and you know this, but he probably could have handled things better.” Another mutter, “Hope this doesn’t involve a woman.” Normal again, “Anyway, he wants you to know that he respects the hell out of you, and he said to tell you congratulations on your historic win. You and your roommate have saved everyone who matters and he promises that he’ll stand by both of you, forever.” Mutter. “Seems like a nice guy.” Normal. “Oh, and he tells me that not only are you and your roommate, Butch, watching this together, the two of you are diehard Red Sox fans. Go Sox!”

Schilling turned around and fiddled with something behind him. “One more thing. He paid extra to Cameo for this. He said it would mean the world to you both.”

From out of a stereo speaker, the unmistakable strumming and horns started.

Then, Neil Diamond’s famous voice: “Where it began, I can’t begin to know . . .”

The anthem of the Sox. The song that every Sox fan knew by heart. The lyrics that took you back to your first game at Fenway, and the hot dogs, and the sunshine on your face as you cheered for your team, and prayed that maybe this year, after so many years, after so many struggles, after whole generations of fans had been denied the victory, now this year it would happen and the faith and the hope and the loyalty would be rewarded.

With the win everyone wanted.

“Fuck,” Butch choked out.

“Goddamn it,” V muttered.

“—was in the spring,” Diamond continued, “Then spring became the summer . . .”

As tears started to fall, messy, nasty, thank God-they-were-alone-in-the-dark tears, V grabbed for Butch’s hand—or maybe it was the other way around.

And then, all three of them, TheCurtSchilling included, sang at the top of their lungs: “Sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet Caroliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine . . .”

In the aftermath of unexpected, hard-fought, and hard-won victory, Butch held on to his very best friend, and sang the one song that could have broken through his manly shell to expose the child’s heart that still beat within his fully grown chest.

That fucking angel was so hard to hate, he really was.

“. . . reaaaaaching ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuut, touuuuuuuuuuuching meeeeeeeeee, touuuuuuuuuuching yoooooouuuuuu . . .”

The night after the end of the war, Jo woke up in a bed with her male. They were both naked between soft sheets, and the silence in the luxurious room, in her body, was a relief.

“You okay?” Syn asked in a groggy way.

“I think so.” As his eyes popped open and it looked like he was about to run for a crash cart, she smiled. “I mean, yes, I am. It’s just a new me, you know?”

Stretching everything she had to stretch, she was relieved to find that the aches and pains that had racked her for the last twelve hours were abating. Her stomach was hungry, the chills were gone, and other than a pair of sharp-and-pointies where her canines had been—the pair she’d been born with had fallen out like baby teeth sometime during the day—not much was different.

She’d made it safely to the other side.

And she was with exactly who she wanted to be with.

On that note, they spent some time smiling at each other. She knew that there were big adjustments ahead. A new way of life, a new way of being, and she was nervous about it—but excited, too. In the intervening days since she’d learned of the transition, she’d had some time to preemptively consider the repercussions of being another species entirely, but that was nothing compared to the yup-it-actually-happened.

Two things calmed her, however. One, she had come through the change healthy. Thanks to Syn’s blood, she was alive and well.

And secondly? She had him. With Syn by her side, she knew she could handle anything life threw at her.

As if he knew she was thinking about the future, he said, “We can take it slow, if you want.”

“You mean . . . like, us?”

“Yes. I don’t want you to feel like you have to come live here with me—”

“Where are we?”

“The First Family’s mansion. With the Brotherhood and your brothers and my cousins and the other fighters . . . their families . . . and a lot of doggen, including Fritz, who you’ve met.”

Jo glanced around the beautifully appointed bedroom. Antiques. Silk wallpaper. Drapery that was like a ball gown.

“How big is this place?” she asked, because it was a simple question she’d be wondering about for a while now.

“I don’t know. Fifty rooms? Maybe more?”

Lifting her head, she blinked. “Wow. That makes the Early house seem like a cabin.”

“Your parents?”

As she nodded, she found herself frowning. “What do I do about them? Do I keep in touch? Can I?” She thought of Bill and Lydia. “And what about my friends out in the human world, not that I have many?”

“You can see them as much or as a little as you want. We’ll manage it. No one is going to isolate you.”

“Good. I don’t how much I’m going to want to . . . my parents are complicated. And I still don’t know who my birth mother is.”

“I’ll be there to help you look for her. Whatever you need, it’s yours.”

“So . . . about this bonded male thing.”

Syn stretched like a panther and then kissed her. “Nailed it.”

“You sure did.” Jo couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “And I would like to live with you here. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. But there has to be something I can do for work, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Are you just going to say yes to me about everything?”