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“You will be,” Einar said breezily. “My favorite fuckable author.”

My shoulders shook. I slapped his arm. “Excuse me, do you plan on having more than one?”

“No. My heart is yours.” He slanted me a lascivious look. “Along with the rest of me.”

We fell silent as the car stopped outside. Arlo exited and went to the passenger door. Seconds later, a black-haired version of my husband approached the house. A beautiful woman walked at his side, her dark hair loose around her shoulders and a chubby baby in her arms. A little boy raced ahead of them, his small legs pumping.

“Max!” the man called out. “No running!”

The boy spun, dancing in place. “I’m not running, Daddy! I’m sprinting!”

Einar snorted. “Little shit,” he said under his breath. He raised a brow at me. “Sounds like you’re not the only one with a thesaurus.”

I laced my fingers through his. Seconds later, Arlo led King Cyrus and his family into the foyer—and Einar faced his brother for the first time in ninety years.

For a moment, neither man said anything. They stared at each other, their matching silver eyes filled with wariness…and maybe a hint of fear.

Just when the silence stretched too long, Max, Cyrus’s five-year-old son, walked up to Einar. The little boy cocked his head to the side and gave my husband an appraising look.

“Are you really my uncle?”

Einar cleared his throat. He stared at the boy, then crouched so his face was on Max’s level. “Yes. Your father and I are brothers.”

Max seemed to think this over. Then he leaned closer to Einar and lowered his voice. “I have a sister. She’s okay, I guess.”

Amusement shimmered in Einar’s eyes. He looked at Abby, who seemed to fight a smile. The baby in her arms blinked, her wide blue eyes landing on Arlo.

He winked at her, and she rewarded him with a gummy smile.

Einar offered Max a sage nod. “Sisters can be all right once you get to know them. Brothers too.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Family is important. One of the most important things, actually.”

Abby pressed the fingers of her free hand to her lips. Tears gleamed in her eyes as she looked at Cyrus.

“That’s true,” he said, his deep voice laced with emotion. “Family is everything. Both the kind we’re born into”—he looked at Arlo—“and the kind we choose.”

My throat burned. Oh, god, I was going to cry and embarrass myself.

Einar straightened. I took his hand, then tugged him forward until we stood before Cyrus. Drawing on the YouTube tutorials I’d watched over the past few days, I dipped into what I hoped was a passable curtsy.

“It’s an honor to have you in our home, my lord. You and Queen Abby and your beautiful family are very welcome.”

“No,” Cyrus murmured, putting a hand under my elbow and pulling me upright. “You never bow to anyone, Harper.” He lifted my hand and brushed a respectful kiss over my knuckles. “It’s my honor to meet the woman who brought my brother back to me.”

Einar sucked in a breath. He locked gazes with Cyrus. They moved at the same time, throwing their arms around each other. After a moment, Einar nodded, and it was obvious they spoke mind-to-mind.

Abby came to my side. Max moved with her, hugging his mother’s leg and staring up at me with eyes the same color as King Cyrus’s—and my husband’s.

“Is it true that a werewolf chopped your pinky off?”

“Max!” Abby cried. She turned to me, her face a mask of horror. “I am so sorry, Harper. I can’t believe he said that.” She looked at her son. “Maximilian Rothkilde, you and I are going to have words, young man.”

“It’s okay,” I said. I stuck out my right hand, letting Max have a look. “Yep. He cut it off with a knife. But it’s all better now.”

Max’s eyes filled with awe. He looked up at me, hero worship on his face. “That is bad ass, Aunt Harper.”

“Max!” Abby said.

I laughed, joy spreading through me. As Einar, Cyrus, and Arlo joined us, I grinned at my new family. “You’re right,” I told Max. “It’s pretty bad ass.”