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Lyrica wasn’t entirely sure she’d ever been this angry. How dare they mess with those poor women’s memories? Those women had already endured enough. And how dare Vero lie to her? He did. An omission hurt j ust like a lie.

A tiny voice in the back of her mind reminded her that now the women were safe. They didn’t know about Kurjans or immortality, so nobody would target them for what they’d seen or experienced. Plus, they no longer had to relive the terrifying ordeal of being kidnappe d by immortals.

Still, it didn’t matter. S he was furious.

She jumped into a UTV, starting it up with a harsh growl. The vehicle’s low hum cut through the snowy quiet as she pulled away, no one paying her any attention. Vero had insisted she call for help if needed, but she didn’t plan to follow any of his damn orders. She patted the pocket of her heavy coat, reassured by the feel of the sleek green gun inside. If anyone crossed her, she would shoot first and explain later.

Right now, she needed to talk to Maeve. Ralstad should be at work, and Maeve would be baking or doing something equally domestic. This was Lyrica’s chance. A small, rebellious satisfaction filled her chest. Vero needed to understand right now that she wasn’t the obedient type.

She drove through the main part of the Kurjan settlement before turning toward the outskirts. The vehicle’s pace was slower than when Jonathan had driven her, but she didn’t mind. The time allowed her to gather her thoughts, though she pointedly avoided glancing at the area where the body had been found. That poor woman. They needed to figure out who was behind the kill ings—and fast.

For the first time, she fully understood Vero’s obsession with keeping guards close. It was smart, necessary even. But that didn’t mean she wanted to be shadowed every second of the day. Maeve wouldn’t talk with anyone else around. This conversation re quired privacy.

When Lyrica finally reached Maeve and Ralstad’s home, she parked and stepped out, her boots sinking an inch into freshly shoveled snow. At least Ralstad kept his walkway clear.

Big, fat flakes drifted lazily from the sky, dotting her nose. She glanced up, marveling at the white powder swirling in the muted light. The storm had abated, though it seemed likely to snow every day. For now, the wind had granted a welcome reprieve from its blustery power.

She approached the door quietly, her breath frosting in the air, but stilled when raised voic es reached her.

“I said no,” Maeve yelled, her voice sharp with defiance.

“Too fucking bad,” Ralstad bell owed in return.

A scuffle followed, punctuated by a loud clatter. Panic jolted through Lyrica. Her hand darted to her pocket, pulling out the green gun as she burst th rough the door.

“Stop right now, or I’ll shoot,” she shouted, her voice shaking with adrenaline. She winced immediately. Had she really just yelled a line straight out of a pol ice procedural?

Ralstad and Maeve froze mid-action, both turning to stare at her. Maeve sat on the kitchen floor. Ralstad had his hands on what looked like a pair of fur-lined tights wrapped around Maeve’s thighs, while Maeve had one hand on his head, as if swa tting him away.

“What the hell is going on here?” Lyrica demanded, fury making her hand tremble as she kept the gun raised.

Ralstad straightened, still holding the offending tights. “Get out of my house. You don’t just barge in waving a gun around.”

“Let her go,” Lyrica snapped. Her anger was a living thing now, feeding off every second of this ri diculous scene.

Ralstad’s eyes flicked to the gun in her shaking hands before he sighed and released Maeve. “It’s time for you to leave.”

“Ah, damn it, Ralstad,” Maeve said, yanking the tights off and flinging them at him. They landed square on his broad shoulder, one leg smacking him straight on the nose. “I’m not wearin’ these, so I’m not. They’re too big, and they make me look like a bloody elephant. Besides, I’m roastin’. Not in a million years will I put those atro cities on me.”

“Yes, you will wear these,” he growled, stepping between her and the gun. “If you’re going outside, you’re wearing more layers, fo r Pete’s sake.”

Maeve stood to her feet, fire sparking in her green eyes. “I’m with child, not chilled, and I’ll not be told otherwise, mark ye that.”

Ralstad extended the tights toward Maeve. “Yes, you’re pregnant, and you’re not going out without enough layers on. You’ll freeze.”

“I’m immortal, you daft fool,” Maeve shot back, grabbing the nearest object—a cast-iron pan.

Lyrica gasped as Maeve swung the heavy pan without hesitation, the sharp clang of metal meeting flesh echoing in t he small space.

Ralstad howled, clutching his ear as he staggered back. “Damn it, woman,” he shouted. “Your arm gets stronger every year. We might as well send you off for spring training with the damn Yankees.”

“Maybe if you heeded me for once, I wouldn’t be gettin’ so much practice,” Maeve countered, her tone thunderous as she brandished the cast-iron pan like a weapon. “And you know bloody well I’m a Dodgers fan, you daft clod. Now, we’re goin’ to set some things to rights. Do you understand me?”

Ralstad blinked, keeping one hand pressed against his injured ear. He looked at Lyrica, his voice lowering. “Put down the gun. I don’t want yo u to hurt her.”

Lyrica gaped at him. “I wasn’t going to shoot her. I was going to shoot you.”

Ralstad paused, his gaze narrowing. “Not helping.”

Maeve crossed her arms, the pan still clutched in one hand. “Lyrica, put the gun away, will you? He’s naught but bark and no b ite, so he is.”

Lyrica hesitated, then slowly tucked the gun back into her pocket. “What is going on here?”

Ralstad sighed and rubbed his ear, his shoulders broadening and his scowl darkening. “I just want her to dress warmly if she’s going outside. There’s someone out there k illing people.”

“I’ve walked this earth immortal for years,” Maeve snapped.

“I don’t care,” Ralstad thundered. “You’re wearing those bloomin’ tights, or you’re not leavi ng this house.”

Maeve shook the pan again, and Lyrica stepped back instinctively. “I am not wearin’ them,” she declared, her tone brimming with disdain. “They look utterly ridiculous, and I’m no mere mortal woman in need of fleece. Fleece , Ralstad—have you los t your senses?”

Ralstad glared at her, his patience clearly fraying. “Then I’m not leaving this house either. We can argue all da y if you want.”

Lyrica couldn’t help it—a laugh burst out of her before she could stop it. Both Ralstad and Maeve turned to glare at her. “You two are impossible,” she said, shaking her head. “But I guess I should be glad to see someone fighting about something other than mu rder for once.”

Ralstad grunted, still rubbing his ear, while Maeve’s lips twitched with reluctant amusement. The tension in the room eased, though Lyrica suspected this wasn’t the last round in their ongoing battle.

At least Maeve seemed safe—for now. Lyrica wasn’t entirely sure about Ralstad. His other ear might be a good target.

“Well,” Ralstad said, his tone softening despite the exasperation in his eyes, “listen, Maeve. We’ve been trying to have a baby for a century. You’re finally pregnant, and you’re going to be careful. I can’t have you slipp ing out there.”

Maeve set the cast-iron pan down gently on the counter and crossed her arms. “Whether I wear those absurd tights or not, this babe will be just fine. You can’t go frettin’ over every little t hing, Ralstad.”

“Of course I worry,” he said, letting go of his ear, now swollen and bright red. “You’re every breath I take.”

Maeve’s expression softened, her fiery demeanor shifting to tenderness. “You’ve been awfully cranky of late,” she said, a teasing smile curling her lips. “You’re lucky that’s the first time I’ve taken the pan to yo u, so you are.”

His lips quirked upward despite himself. “This month,” he muttered, r ubbing his ear.

Maeve laughed, the sound soft and warm, as she stepped closer and reached for his hand. “It’s been some ti me, hasn’t it?”

Ralstad grumbled but allowed her to take his hand. “It doesn’t feel like a while,” he muttered, leaning down so she could kiss his cheek.

Maeve kissed his injur ed ear instead.

“You’re an evil one,” he said, a smile softening his gruff tone. “I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you in that field all th ose years ago.”

“You knew exactly what you were gettin’ yourself into,” Maeve replied, a mischievous gleam in her eyes as she kissed him again. “Now stop yer fussin’. I love you, and I’ll be just fine.”

Ralstad puffed out his chest, trying to look stern but failing under her warmth. “I know you’ll be safe. I’ll make sure of it.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her nose before stepping back, his cheeks tinged red when he glanced at Lyrica. The big, grumpy soldier looked almost sheepish. Lyrica bit back a grin. The male was a giant teddy bear wrapped in a storm cloud.

Maeve noticed her expression and laughed, the sound soft and warm. “Lyrica, why don’t we sit and have a bit of tea while Ralstad goes to clear the walkway again?”

Ralstad snapped to attention, clearly relieved by the excuse to leave. “That’s a good idea,” he said, kissing Maeve one last time before walking to the door. He opened it, paused, and scanned the area outside. “There’s no guard on duty out here.”

Then he turned back, his gaze locking on Lyrica. His nostrils flared slightly as he sniffed the air. “You drove here without guards? The p rince let you?”

Lyrica wavered, crossing her arms. “That’s none of Ve ro’s business.”

One of Ralstad’s eyebrows shot up. “Huh. That’s not true.” He shrugged and stepped out into the cold, shutting the d oor behind him.

Maeve walked to the stove, placing a pretty pink kettle on the burner. “Can’t believe ya nearly shot me mate,” she said ove r her shoulder.

Lyrica shook her head and moved to take the same chair she’d sat in during her last visit. The warm and comfy kitchen provided a welcome peace. “I thought he was abusing you, not the oth er way around.”

Maeve waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, please. Every one of ’em needs a smack to the head now and then. You should kno w that by now.”

Lyrica stared at her, trying to process everything. “I had t his all wrong.”

“Why? Because I like to wear dresses and braid my hair?” Maeve arched a brow.

“Well…yeah. Plus, you don’t want t o go anywhere.”

Maeve shrugged, pulling two mugs from the cupboard and dropping tea bags into them. “We might’ve kept under the radar thanks to the old leadership, but that’s why we’ve come back now. I like it here. I love me mate. We’ve been tryin’ for a baby for ages, and now we finally are.” She glanced back, her smile softening. “I’m right where I want to be.”

“But Ralstad seems so…cranky. Kind of m ean and bossy.”

“Oh, he is,” Maeve said with a laugh. “Cranky, mean, bossy. That’s just Ralstad. And that’s w hy I love him.”

Lyrica blinked, unable to wrap her mind around Maeve’s perspective. “What about the boot warme r? He said no.”

Maeve rolled her eyes. “I want the boot warmer for him. The poor lad gets fierce cold feet, but he reckons it’s a weakness to slip into warm boots each da y. Daft eejit.”

Boy, had Lyrica read this situation wrong. “I don’t think I belong here. Not i n this nation.”

Maeve placed the mugs on the table and sat down, her green eyes warm and wise. “Ah, sure you do. You belong wherever you choose to belong. And you can be whoever you’ve a mind to be.”

The kettle began to whistle, and Maeve rose to pour the hot water into their mugs. She returned to the table, handing Lyrica a steaming cup. “If you’ve a mind to be like me—a bit of an old-fashioned Irish witch who loves her dresses and keeps a traditional home—then go ahead and do that. But if it’s a modern life you’re after, wanderin’ the world and such, then follow that path instead. Whatever sits right with your soul is what you should chase.”

Lyrica’s throat tightened. She’d come here to save Maeve. Instead, Maeve might end up saving her. “I don’t know what I want,” she admitted quietly, wrapping her hands around the mug for warmth.

Maeve’s smile turned knowing. “Ah, sure, I’ve been there meself. D o ya love him?”

Lyrica didn’t bother pretending they weren’t talking about Vero. “I don’t know. I was drawn to him from the first time I met him. Every time I see him, the pull is stronger.” After one night with him, she couldn’t imagine being with anybody else. “It’s part of why I wanted to stay and work here. It wasn’t just about helping the kidnapped women or modernizi ng the nation.”

“Maybe,” Maeve said, her voice thoughtful, “ya stayed to get to know him. Sure, there’s nothin’ wr ong with that.”

Lyrica hesitated. “I’ve never trusted anyone fully. It’s hard.” Though she felt right at home in the snowy wilderness, just like she had as a kid when lucky enough to stay with her grandfather. Vero made her feel tha t safe as well.

Maeve leaned forward, her tone firm. “It’s never too late to make a fresh start , so it isn’t.”

The distant hum of a snowmobile cut through their conversation. Lyrica froze, her pulse spiking.

Maeve winced. “I had a feeling Ralstad mi ght ring Vero.”

Panic tightened Lyrica’s chest as she stood, looking wildly a round the room.

“Ah, there’s nowhere to go,” Maeve pointed out, holding up her cast-iron pan. “Do ya want t o borrow this?”

The door burst open, and Vero filled the space like a thunderstorm. His fury radiated from every inch of his broad frame, his face a hard mask of rage. “You came here without guards?” he said, his voice a gritty whisper that was more terrifyin g than a shout.

Lyrica’s knees threatened to give way, but she snapped her head up defiantly. “Yes. I have a gun, and I can drive a UTV just fine.”

He stared at her for so long she thought she might combust under the intensi ty of his gaze.

Maeve wise ly kept silent.

“Get your coat,” Vero ordered. “We’ll take this discuss ion elsewhere.”

Lyrica wanted to run. She wanted to fight. Every emotion from the past week crashed into her, igniting her temper. She turned to Maeve, lifting her chin. “I need to bo rrow that pan.”