She snorted, bringing up the plans for the bridge reconstruction that Emory and Damon were doing.

“He’ll be here when it counts,” she assured me.

I knew that.

“Has everyone else arrived?” she asked.

“Still waiting on Kai, Alex, and…”

And then screaming and roars filled the air like zoo animals below us, and I sighed.

“And Damon and Winter are finally here,” I finished.

I watched at the door and counted the seconds, only waiting five before Damon rushed into the room, Gunnar shouting behind him.

“I want a hug!” the kid bellowed.

Damon slammed the door, planting his body against it like there was a bear after him as he breathed hard.

“I got too many fucking kids,” he breathed out, looking flushed with his hair a mess.

I bit back my smile as his sons banged against the door.

He winced. “Where are they?”

I looked to Rika, and Damon shot off the door, charging right for her.

Yanking a few books off the shelf, he pulled out their stash of cigarettes and opened up the pack.

“Rika, what the hell?” He glared down at her. “This was supposed to last a month.”

“I was under a lot of stress,” she retorted. “Besides, you smoked almost the entire last pack.”

I shook my head, watching Damon quickly put one in his mouth. They limited themselves to one pack a month, and since everyone was here more than anywhere else, and Damon didn’t trust himself with the responsibility, Rika got to keep the pack.

The door to the office flew open, and Fane Torrance, Damon’s third eldest, raced in.

“I want a hug from the hug machine!” the seven-year-old demanded.

Damon faced away from him, flicking his lighter desperately. “The hug machine needs a recharge,” he mumbled over the cigarette.

Rika swept past him and scooped up Fane, throwing him over her shoulder. “Come on,” she told the boy. “Let’s go find Auntie Banks for some tickle torture. Daddy needs a moment.”

She left, taking the giggling boy with her, and closed the door. Damon blew out a stream of smoke, finally exhaling, and came to the sofa, plopping down next to me. He let his head fall back against the sofa and took another drag, blowing it out.

“I really do love them,” he breathed out. “But I never have a moment alone. If I want my wife, I have to ambush her in the fucking shower.”

“Maybe you should stay away from her,” I pointed out. “She gets pregnant every time you breathe on her.”

He chuckled, and I heard commotion outside as his boys played. His oldest, Ivarsen, was only slightly younger than Madden. Gunnar was born next in Damon’s quest for a daughter. When that failed, he just kept having kids, getting himself two more sons—Fane and Dag—before Octavia finally arrived. Winter had gotten five blessed years of breathing room since.

“You got her fixed, right?” I asked, plucking the cigarette out of his hand and drawing a puff.

“Why?”

I chuckled. He bitched about all the kids in his bed and all the time he didn’t get Winter to himself, but I think he might actually be up for a couple more tries to give Octavia a sister.

He took the cigarette back and stood up, walking to the window and peering into the front yard.

I studied him, taking in the disheveled suit and hair. The attempt to look like he had his shit together, but I knew life was a loud house every day.

But he looked just as young as he did in high school.

The happiness of the kids and wife, and the home and love, was written all over his face.

“Why did you want a daughter so badly?” I asked him.

I kind of always figured it was because he wanted a Daddy’s girl, but he doesn’t fight her battles any more than he does the boys’.

And it’s clear that, while he loves all his kids, he and Octavia are two sides of the same coin. She was the only one who got his black eyes and black hair, which was rumored to skip generations.

“I don’t know,” he said, staring out the window. “Every time I thought of myself having my own family someday, there was always a little girl in the picture.”

He paused, smiling at whatever was going on outside.

“I mean, look at them,” he told me. “Banks, Winter, Em, Rika... Women are only vulnerable, because they’re the last to be taught to fight. I want to put a woman like them into the world.”

I had no doubt she was going to be a handful, too. My kids were far more mellow, and I was thankful for it. Except Indie. She didn’t think before she leapt, and Em blamed me like I could control my genes.

A horn honked outside, and Damon took one last drag, the last of the cigarette burning orange.

“Micah and Rory…” he announced who’d just arrived and blew out the smoke.

I rose. “Just waiting on Alex, then.” I headed for the door. “I’m going to go find my wife.”

“The kitchen pantry has a nice little nook off to the right out of view,” he teased. “Pretty sure Dag was conceived there if you need some privacy.”

I left, smiling to myself.

Em liked the catacombs.

• • •

Ten of the kids piled into the luxury bus with three nannies, while Athos stayed behind with us, and Michael’s mother took Aaron for the night. She still owned the Crist house, but she was rarely ever there anymore, opting to take the baby back to the city to her apartment at Delcour, instead.

All the other kids would be heading into the safety of Meridian City as well, away from the coast and the impending storm, to spend the night at Kai’s house for a massive sleepover with games, movies, and treats. Marina would be there with Lev and David, so I had no doubt our children would be safe and high on sugar in an hour.

The sun had set two hours ago, and I watched the taillights of the bus disappear down the driveway and onto the highway as the Bell Tower in the distance chimed the hour. I smiled, thinking about how I loved that sound.

After all the leaves fall in the next few weeks, we’ll be able to look through the trees and see the lantern Emmy installed when she renovated the tower years ago.

The ever-present flame for Reverie Cross hanging in the belfry.

The gate closed, the lamps hanging off the wrought iron beams flickering with firelight, and the leaves in the trees danced in the high winds. I straightened my tie, hearing the flames spit to my right and to my left.

Pulling the cigarette that I’d swiped from Damon and Rika’s stash out of my breast pocket, I walked over to one of the fire bowls revolving around a small fountain of water underneath it and leaned in, lighting the cigarette.

“You sure she’s ready?” Damon asked behind me.

“She’s sitting in for the meeting,” Michael told him. “Nothing more.”

Athos.

Slowly, we all drifted back through the front door, closed and locked it behind us, and I took Emmy’s hand, feeling my old, high school necktie wrapped around her wrist like a bracelet as we all descended into the catacombs.

She wore my necktie lots of ways over the years. It always made my heart skip a beat, thinking about how she’d saved it. How she’d stored it under the gazebo to survive forever, because part of her wouldn’t let go of me.