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Clue

Iain

Iain Scotswolf woke up to the best feeling in the world: a morning handy from his beautiful little wife, Milly.

He kissed the top of her curly head and asked, “To what do I owe this--no pun intended—pleasure?”

She raised her cute face to his, grinning.

“Happy Valentine’s…”

Iain narrowed his eyes.

“It’s not Valentine’s Day yet.”

“… Week ,” she finished.

“Happy Valentine’s Week .”

He was considered one of the smartest men in the world, but at that moment, he couldn’t think of anyone more brilliant than his wife.

Whose smoothly stroking hand already had him about to rocket off.

“Happy Valentine’s Week, mò chridhe .” He slipped his hand beneath the covers.

“As it happens, I got you something, too.”

His fingers found her seam and discovered her already dripping wet.

One day, they might fail to arouse each other in an instant.

But that day hadn’t come yet.

And as Iain slid his fingers into her, he doubted it ever would.

“Slow your hand and open your legs a wee bit wider, will you, mò chridhe ?” he half suggested, half commanded.

“I want to enjoy you riding my hand. The feel of you... say aye to your husband, Milly. Say it now.”

Milly’s legs fell open on a moaned, “Aye.”

Hell would freeze over before he stopped wanting this former full human, he’d gone against village laws to turn her into a werewolf like him.

Or loving her. Risking everything for her was the best decision he’d ever made—because she was the best thing that ever happened to him.

However, just as her moans reached a fever pitch, the second-best thing that ever happened to them started crying on the baby monitor in the nursery of their Edinburgh penthouse.

Causing them both to groan in a much less sexy way.

“I’ve got her,” Iain offered, pulling his hand out of his favorite place on Earth.

“I can?—”

She could.

Which was exactly why he never let her.

Now that he was back at the office, she was with their shifter baby all day.

She deserved her morning rest.

He got out of bed before she could, effectively ending the argument.

“We’ll bring you back a coffee after we check morning emails,” he said.

However, he would not end up keeping that promise.

After strapping Ellie into his front-facing baby carrier and popping a bottle into her grabby little hands, he walked them both over to his standing desk.

And found two surprises waiting on the screen.

First, the high-number account sweep he’d run on everyone in Faoiltiarn not banking with the new system his sister-in-law had set up had come back with a hit.

But the second program—his facial-recognition algo—was flashing with an even bigger alert.

Designed to ping him if a Wolfennite bride or any of their persons of interest showed up on an official CCTV feed, it had tagged a series of screenshots.

Iain’s eyes widened.

There was Sadie Ellis.

Clear as day, walking past an airport camera.

Flanked by two fellow fintech billionaires who’d recently announced they were on indefinite hiatus.

Now he knew why.

“Gotcha,” he whispered.

With the return-to-Ireland trip date fast approaching, Alban had decided to take a honeymoon with Leora, his new bride and Queen Tara’s other sister--the one who hadn’t been kidnapped by the Irish Wolves.

Too bad for him.

Iain handed Ellie back to Milly with a quick apology and snatched up his Jag keys.

Because Alban’s honeymoon was about to be seriously interrupted.

By their biggest clue drop to date.