Kill of the Night [BXB]

Epilogue

A/N: 7/20/23

I see people are reading this now, and I actually have another ongoing story right now. It's also werewolf themed and a bxb romance, and while only the first part is completed, I'm going to start working on editing so I can get it out sooner.

Anyways let me know if you want that released, it will remain ongoing but I can update it pretty frequently!! Thanks for reading KOTN, all support is very much welcomed <3 <3

——

Rion is selling his truck.

"No fucking way they're asking for ten grand," he spits. "It's worth at least fifty. Fuck these bitches. I'm gonna find a dealer."

"Don't say that, it makes you sound like an addict."

He frowns at me. Did you know that he wears glasses once in a blue moon? Me neither, until our sophomore year of college. Seriously. I think he only does it when he's in Dad Mode—which is entirely separate from the other Dad Mode I receive on nights when we are alone and . . . erm . . . you get the point. "Dare, what do you think it's worth?"

"Give it to Goodwill. They'll take her."

"No." He says it like I said something horrifically blasphemous. "God, no. Jesus. Really? Is it that bad?"

"Babe, I'm sorry, but you've had it for seven years. And you're not always a great driver."

"I'm a fantastic driver," he argues.

"But you get road rage." I slip my hand onto his collar in an attempt at reassurance. "I think you should take it or don't try to sell it at all. I'm sure the scrap metal collectors will love it."

He looks down dejectedly. "But I want money."

I crouch in front of him like a consoling mother. "Look, alright? I get it. I totally do. I like money, too. But there comes a point when you have to accept that it's gonna get priced down. You have, what, almost a hundred and fifty thousand miles on it? It's old, dented, dusty, and orange. Cheeto dust orange. It's honestly really ugly. I'm surprised they're offering money for it at all. Just take it, okay? Get it off your hands."

He grabs my hands and squeezes. "You suck at being nice."

"That is entirely irrelevant."

". . . Fine."

"You're admitting that was mean and heartbreaking and you'll never say it again?"

"What? No, dumbass. I'm saying I'll take the offer. Ten fucking thousand, Jesus suck my tit."

I grin and leap into his arms. "Thank you so much. I love you." I kiss his cheek once and twice and maybe three times. "So much. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

He hugs me back. "You're a bitch."

"You're madly in love with me."

"That's entirely—"

"Relevant. Play me a song."

He lugs me off. I land on the bed beside him. I lay on my back and brush the hair off my forehead. We're back in his room, the one he grew up in and the one I fell in love with him in. His parents are giving the whole house to us. Something about downsizing for retirement. The neck of Rion's guitar sticks up from where it stands against his bed, and he reaches forward and snatches it up. He hums and adjusts the tuners until he's satisfied, then sits back against the wall (is that proper position? Probably not) and runs his thumb down the strings once.