EPILOGUE

Matt sat on the porch, watching the sun set with Edward. Several of the horses—though not all—had found their way home and milled in the paddock. Matt had been thrilled to discover that Spike was one of them.

The ranch was fairly quiet. The remaining guests had been hustled off in the same helicopter that had delivered Gina and Matt. According to Mandenauer, they were being “debriefed.”

Matt figured that was a nice word for being told what to say and do and think in regard to all that had happened to them on Nahua Springs Ranch. He also figured that in about five years there was going to be a brand-new and very popular video game that dealt with Aztec mythology. Sorcerers, werewolves, sacrifice—how could Derek resist? Matt wondered if Edward would take a cut.

Mandenauer had sent his very best engineers with state-of-the art equipment to the tree of life. They would make certain the tomb of the Nahual remained a tomb.

Matt had his doubts. No amount of earth was going to keep that thing buried forever.

Isaac and Fanny seemed to be coming to terms with the loss of Jase. That he’d chosen to become one with the Nahual, would have cheerfully killed or turned anyone, including his own family, in order to further his nefarious plan, seemed to go a long way toward convincing them that even though Jase wasn’t truly dead, he wasn’t exactly alive, either.

Monsters were something in between.

That Jase had tied up his own grandfather and stuffed him into the pantry in order to kidnap Matt and turn Gina into a werewolf had helped them see the truth. The Jase McCord they’d known was gone.

Edward was still furious that he’d allowed the Nahual to take him by surprise. He’d known the thing was smoke, yet when smoke appeared he’d been distracted. The creature had used magic to render him unconscious, no doubt planning to return and finish him off later, once he’d dealt with Matt, or even let Gina do it when she arrived, but she’d been lured below by the smell of blood.

“You will never be able to prove your mother’s theory now,” Edward murmured, drawing Matt’s attention back to the present.

The two men had spent a lot of time talking. Mandenauer had wanted to learn all he could about the Nahual, and it had felt good for Matt to discuss Nora’s theory, which had turned out to be more fact than fiction. He still felt bad about not believing in her, and he wished that he could tell the world how right she had been. But he couldn’t.

Matt shrugged. “Oh well.”

What had been so important when he’d come here meant nothing any longer. All Matt cared about was Gina, this place, and their life together. He’d already called George Enright and resigned. With Matt’s money and Gina’s skill, they’d turn Nahua Springs back into the most respected quarter-horse breeding facility in the country.

“The cavern must remain buried,” Edward continued. “No one can ever know. We cannot have academics swarming the area, digging, searching, perhaps finding.”

“I own this place,” Matt said. “No one’s digging. Ever.”

And he’d be around to make certain of that. Though once he couldn’t imagine a life other than the one he had had—that of teaching, seeking, learning—now he couldn’t imagine a life anywhere but here. Because here was where Gina was and always would be.

Matt had tried to hand the ranch over to Gina. She’d refused. “Fifty-fifty,” she said. “For the rest of our lives.”

She was doing pretty well, considering. Sometimes Matt caught her listening to the wind, staring at the mountains, and waiting for un–wolf howls that were no longer there. But the more time that passed without them, the less she would listen.

“When is the wedding?” Mandenauer asked.

“As soon as we can arrange it.” Gina and Matt had learned well the concept that every day could be their last. They weren’t going to waste a single instant of the rest of their lives. “You … uh … wanna be a witness?”

“My boy, I would like nothing better.”

“Elise is going to stand up for Gina.”

Elise had rented a room in the ranch house. She would be there until she hunted down and cured all the wolves that now howled in the once-wolfless hills.

Matt wasn’t exactly sure what the cure involved. Something to do with that pentagram on her palm and the vials and syringes in her black doctor’s bag. As long as it worked—he cast a glance at Edward, whose sharp gaze remained on the distant mountains—Matt didn’t care if the cure involved Elise doing the hoochie-coochie on the Empire State Building.

“He will be released again,” the old man said softly.

“Maybe not for another five hundred years.”

Edward remained silent for a few seconds, then shrugged. “I should be dead by then.”