Chapter 179

Agnes

The next few days passed in a whirlwind. I threw myself into finalizing the survival bag prototype, making the last adjustments to ensure every feature worked perfectly. The panic button compartment had been the biggest challenge, requiring three complete redesigns before I was satisfied with it.

“This has to be perfect,” I muttered to myself just two nights before the Goddess Festival as I stitched the final reinforcements into the seams. The bag laid open on my work table—a sleek, gender-neutral design in a deep navy blue with subtle gray accents. Nothing flashy or attention-grabbing, which was exactly the point. It needed to be practical, discreet, and potentially life-saving.

Maria poked her head into my office, her eyebrows raised. “You’re still here?” She rubbed her tired eyes, indicating that she’d been hard at work as well. “It’s past nine.”

I glanced at the clock, surprised to see she was right. I’d promised Elijah I’d be home for dinner with him and Thea, but that was two hours ago. I’d been so absorbed in my work that I hadn’t even noticed the time slipping away.

“Shit,” I hissed, hastily gathering my things. “Elijah’s going to kill me.”

Maria laughed. “I doubt that. But he might appreciate a text next time you’re running late.”

She was right again, of course. After the violin recital, I’d been making a conscious effort to be more present at home, to strike a better balance between work and family. Some days I was more successful than others.

By the time I made it home, Thea was already in bed. Elijah was waiting up for me, a plate of food kept warm in the oven. He didn’t mention my lateness, just smiled and asked about my day as I ate.

I appreciated that about him. He didn’t judge me or resent me for doing what I had to do.

The following morning, Evelyn, who had been helping me with the festival preparations, arrived at our estate at the crack of dawn.

“I’ve got the vendors all ready to go,” she announced as we walked the grounds, mapping out where everything would go. “And the stage company will be here first thing tomorrow morning to set up for the performances.”

The Goddess Festival was traditionally held in the town square, but with the new charity focus and the expected increase in attendance, we’d decided to move it to the expansive grounds of our estate. The sprawling lawns and gardens provided plenty of space for booths, performances, and activities.

“We’ll put the donation booth here,” I said, pointing to a spot near the entrance. “I want it to be the first thing people see when they arrive.”

Evelyn made a note on her clipboard. “And we’ll need volunteers to staff it. I’ve got a list of pack members who’ve already signed up.”

Over the next two days, our home was transformed. Tents and booths were spread across the sprawling lawns. Various activity areas, ranging from kickball to bobbing for apples, were set up. The stage was erected near the eastern edge of the property, overlooking the gardens. Banners and fairy lights were strung between the trees. It was almost magical.

The night before the festival, Elijah found me in our bedroom, surrounded by papers and checklists.

“Come to bed,” he said, taking the pen from my hand. “You’ve done everything you can. Tomorrow will be what it will be.”

I allowed him to pull me away from my work, suddenly aware of how exhausted I was. We fell asleep tangled together, his steady heartbeat against my ear lulling me into dreams… Or rather, lack thereof.

Ever since we’d found those little bones, I hadn’t had a single dream. Not a damn one. It was as if my brain had shut all possibility of dreams out, leaving me instead in hours of darkness each night.

I couldn’t decide if I was glad for it or not.

The morning of the festival dawned bright and clear—perfect weather for an outdoor event. I woke to an empty bed, the sheets beside me already cool. Elijah must have been up for a while.

Stretching, I got out of bed and padded to the window. The view below was astonishing—vendors setting up their booths, volunteers arranging tables and chairs, the final touches being added to the stage.

I pulled on a robe and went downstairs to find some coffee. The kitchen was empty, but a fresh pot was already brewed. Pouring myself a mug, I wandered outside to see if I could find Elijah.

It didn’t take long to spot him. He was at the stage, bare-chested in the morning sun, helping to lift a heavy support beam into place. Two other men were working with him, but my eyes were locked on my husband.

I leaned against a nearby tree, sipping my coffee as I watched him work. Sweat glistened on his shoulders and back, muscles rippling with each movement. His dark hair was pushed back from his forehead, and even from this distance, I could see the intense concentration on his face.

Something warm unfurled in my chest as I watched him. Not just desire, although there was certainly plenty of that, but a deeper appreciation. He was stepping in because someone had called out sick, doing physical labor without complaint because it needed to be done.

That was Elijah. Always ready to help, to take on whatever burden necessary for his pack, his family.

Sometimes I still couldn’t believe he was mine. That this gorgeous, powerful Alpha had chosen me, loved me, stood by me through everything.

I must have made some small sound, because he glanced up then, his eyes finding mine across the lawn. A slow smile spread across his face, and he paused in his work, raising a hand in greeting.

Suddenly, a surge of heat rushed through me, starting in my core and radiating outward to my fingertips and toes. It wasn’t just warmth—it was power, raw and primal, like lightning under my skin.

It felt familiar somehow, reminiscent of that night on our honeymoon under the dock, when I’d kissed his mate mark and somehow burned him. But this was stronger, more intense.

The heat built rapidly, concentrating in my hands until it felt like they were literally on fire. The coffee mug in my grip grew unbearably hot, but before I could drop it, there was a sharp cracking sound.

The ceramic shattered, sending shards and hot coffee splashing over my hands and down my robe. I gasped, more from shock than pain at first. Then the burning sensation registered, and I let out a strangled cry.

Elijah immediately dropped the beam he was holding—the other men scrambling to compensate—and sprinted toward me, covering the distance in seconds.

“Agnes!” He grabbed my wrists, turning my hands palm-up to examine them. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered, staring down at my palms. They were already turning an angry red, blistering in places where the coffee had scalded them. But somehow I knew it wasn’t just the hot liquid that had burned me.

And if the puzzled look in Elijah’s eyes was any indication, then he knew it wasn’t just the coffee, too.