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Torin awakened, listening to the sweet sounds of the birds outside the window. Nearby, a dog barked, and the sound of an old vehicle started up and drove away. His eyes snapped open, and he tried to sit up but was tangled in bedsheets and someone else’s soft arms and legs.

Letting out a low groan, he turned his head and found himself smiling as he stared at Gwyn's sleeping face. His smile widened when she let out a quiet, snuffling snore, then turned toward him, her cheek pressing against his shoulder.

He frowned and stared at his unblemished skin. He raised the quilt and sheet, his breath catching in his throat. He held it until his lungs burned and forced him to exhale. The scratches and lacerations from the Ironclaws were gone from his arms and legs. He ran his fingers down one arm. Not even a hint remained that they were even there.

His hand lowered, the pad of one finger tracing the weirdly shaped shadows still marring his stomach. The skin still looked pink, as if the wounds hadn't healed enough.

Gwyn stretched beside him and ran her hand over his abdomen, which tensed beneath the chill of her hand. "How do you feel?"

"I should be dead."

"Yes." She met his gaze. "You should be. My sister and I couldn't let that happen, so we healed you."

"What are you?" he asked. "Are you witches? Wiccans?"

She smiled. "Well, we're not witches. We believe in good over evil, and we definitely don't practice the dark arts of magic. I guess you could say we're sort of like Wiccans."

"Sort of?'

Her smile twisted sideways, and she rolled onto her side and bent one arm, propping her head on her hand. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

His gaze narrowed. He saw the truth in her green eyes, and an openness he hadn't noticed before shone on her face. "Try me."

She stared into his eyes, then gave a barely perceptible shrug with one shoulder. "Fine. Have it your way, but don't say I didn't warn you. Do you know your mythologies, such as the Celtic mythologies?" He nodded but stayed silent. "Well, my sister and I are half Fae—Morrigan is our grandmother."

He was, indeed, flummoxed. All he could do was stare at her innocent face and force air into and out of his lungs as he grasped the meaning of her words. He closed his eyes but opened them again, staring at the ceiling above the bed until she tried to roll from the bed. He grabbed her just as her feet slipped over the side of the mattress and jerked her back against his side. "Stay."

She let out a loud huff but lay still. "I warned you—you wouldn't believe me."

He smiled and pressed a kiss against the back of her head, her wild auburn hair tickling his nose and cheeks. "It's a shock, I'll admit, but no more so than I've witnessed in my very long life."

She twisted her head around with a scowl on her face. "Long life? Seriously, you aren't that much older than I am."

He ran his fingers underneath a strand of hair, the pads caressing the side of her face, and tucked the lock behind her ear. "And just how old do you think I am, mon ange ?"

"You don't look a day over thirty-five." Her eyes narrowed. "I used to paint, so I notice the little things most people don't...like the tiny tell-tale lines that should be fanning out from the outer corners of your eyes or the corners of your lips if you were much older than that."

He smiled. "An artist, huh? Could you paint portraits without pictures to look at? You know, by description only?"

She nodded. "Certainly, depending on how well the person describes the subject. Why?"

He held the rounded tip of her chin between his finger and thumb and tilted her face to his. She twisted her hips around until she lay facing him, her hand dangling in front of her stomach. "I would hire you to create memory portraits of my brothers.”

“Brothers?”

“Not by blood, but they are my family, nonetheless. My clan." Before she answered, he claimed her lips, their sweet softness all but begging to be kissed.

He pulled her to him, loving the perfection of her body against his and the silkiness of her skin as she brushed against him. He rose onto his side, propping his weight on one elbow, and leaned above her. Holding her face in his hand, he deepened the kiss, her mouth opening under his gentle pressure. She tasted like cinnamon and chocolate. His stomach growled.

She snickered and broke away as if she were going to roll off the bed again. His hand splayed across her abdomen, and he stilled. Before she realized what he was doing, he straddled her, his hands gripping each side of her abdomen, and his face pressed against the warmth of her shirt, listening to the gentle swish, swish of a tiny heartbeat, almost drowned out by Gwyn's.

“What the hell…” He raised his head and stared at her wide-eyed expression. "Were you even going to tell me?"

"Tell...tell you wh-what?"

"About the baby?"

"How did you...?" She pushed away his hands and scrambled to her feet beside the bed. Straightening her clothing, she stared at him with fear in her eyes. “How would you know that, Torin? Did Morgan tell you? Are you spying on me?”

With a grace that should have been foreign to his large frame, he rose from the bed with only a slight grimace, his gaze never leaving hers. "I heard the tiny heartbeat—out of sync with yours." He stepped closer to her, but she backed away, her hands splayed over her abdomen in a protective stance. As if he would ever hurt her or his child... if it was his .

In all the years of his existence, he never fathered children and believed Fer-Diorich's experiments made him sterile and had been okay with that. Until now. The last thing the clan needed to worry about was a baby in their current conditions. He had to admit, though, watching a child run all over Makari might be worth everything else.

From the way Gwyn's eyebrows were drawn together in a frown, she was still trying to puzzle out how he could have heard such a tiny, all but imperceptible heartbeat, but he didn't care. Something territorial exploded deep inside him, and he needed but one answer from her. "Is the child mine?"

Her frown turned into a scowl and, for a brief second, her lips pursed. Crossing her arms over her breasts, she glared at him. "Excuse me?"

"Is the child mine?" He enunciated each word, but before she could answer, he held up the palm of his hand and grabbed the remnants of his shredded clothing with his other. Her anger skittered across his skin and made his body’s hair stand. "Don't answer that."

He let out a loud sigh for good measure, hoping it would be enough to calm her down. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business who the father is...but I like you, Gwyn. I like you a lot." He took a tentative step toward her and gave a silent cheer when she didn't move away.

"I'd like to give you a proper thank you for what you did for me...saving my life." He gave her his most charming smile, liking how she sucked her bottom lip underneath her teeth. Other parts of his body noticed too. "Can I pick you up for lunch—say, around one?"

Chewing on her lip, her green eyes wary as she stared back at him and nodded.

"Good. That's...good." He leaned in and brushed his lips across her soft cheek. "I'll see you at your store at one o'clock," he whispered in her ear, which he couldn't help but kiss, then opened the bedroom door and almost ran into the sister.

She jerked back a few steps and raised her hand, giving him a quick, albeit guilty smile at having been discovered trying to listen through the door. "Hiya. I'm Gwyn's older sister, Morgan."

Torin tilted his head to one side. "Nice to meet you, Morgan. As I'm sure you already know, I'm Torin. Torin O'Roark. I'm taking Gwyn to lunch at one o'clock as a thank you for what you both did for me. It isn't much, I'm afraid, but would you like to join us?" He said a quick prayer the sister would refuse and almost smiled when she shook her head no.

"I'm afraid I can't today, but maybe I'll take a rain check?” Without waiting for him to respond, she moved into the room and wrapped her arm around Gwyn's shoulders with a worried expression marring her pretty face, almost identical to Gwyn's. The only differences were Morgan's bright blue eyes and straight black hair. Otherwise, the women were exactly alike.

Gwyn's stormy green gaze glared at him, and he gave her a crooked smile. With a quick salute, he strode through the house, quietly closing the heavy front door behind him. His smile widened. Maybe not exactly alike.

* * *

Several hours after Torin disappeared and Morgan had finagled the reason behind Gwyn's anger, they both managed to put in a good morning's work at the store, preparing for the rescue later on that night. Gwyn's office door opened with a quiet snick, and her sister dropped onto the leather sofa. "I'm exhausted."

Gwyn snickered but continued working on the spreadsheet for the banker, which she had promised to mail to the poor man last week. "How can you be so tired with no customers?"

"Oh, shush." Morgan glanced at the clock on the wall behind Gwyn's desk, catching her sister’s gaze. "Your date will be here any moment. Don't you want to freshen up? Brush your teeth...something?"

Gwyn scowled. "He's lucky I even agreed to go to lunch after what he pulled this morning. Besides, it's just lunch. Why would I need to brush my teeth?"

"You don't want coffee breath when he kisses you."

"I am not going to let him kiss me." The front door opened and closed. Gwyn's nervous energy skyrocketed. She didn't need to look to know he stood in her office doorway. Somehow, she sensed his presence, as did the babe in her womb, who was now doing summersaults. She rested her hand against the small bump and forced her gaze away from the laptop.

This is just too rich. I bet I could make him laugh by telling him how you used to practice kissing with your pillow. Or how about the imaginary conversations you had with your pretend boyfriend?

Before her sister embarrassed her by saying something inappropriate, which Morgan would stoop to doing, Gwyn jumped up and grabbed her purse, pulling Torin by the arm through the front door. With her sister's smirks and not-so-subtle innuendoes behind them, she glanced at him from the corner of her eye and felt the familiar fluttering of her heart.

He had taken the time to shower, his dark brown hair still wet and slicked back and a few loose strands tucked behind each ear. Thick black lashes framed his beautiful golden eyes.

She couldn't decide whether she liked his eyes or his full lips the best. She trailed a finger over hers, remembering the last kiss they shared. It had curled her toes. Forcing her hand down to her side with a quick rebuke for being silly, she thought about his reaction to her pregnancy. It was as effective as cold water hitting her in the face.

"How did your morning go?"

"Not good, actually. Business has been down. Yesterday, we adopted out the last cat and dog, so right now, we're animal free. Seems so strange. I can't remember when our kennels weren't at least half full. We usually never sell food this time of year, but we're even getting a few calls for that. The farmer's crops must not be doing well."

"Crops need rain to survive. We've received less than half the usual amount of rainfall."

The warmth of his hand on the small of her back increased to almost a burning sensation as he ushered her to an outdoor table. She sat, glancing up at the restaurant's name, and smiled. "Oh wow. When they first opened, Morgan and I wanted to try this place, but we haven't had the money for such a splurge."

"How long have you been rescuing animals?" Torin asked, motioning to the waiter who took their orders and filled their glasses with sparkling water.

"Seems like we've been doing it forever. My parents traveled Europe and North Africa, picking up various animals and taking them to wildlife refuges or zoos. They didn't like placing exotics with individuals, which they considered too risky. After they died, Morgan and I dropped out of university and took over the business. Belgium has always been home, so we moved the business here and began making local rescues. You wouldn't believe how many animals are thrown away."

Torin's lips twitched. "Yes, I think I would. My brothers and I take care of a local wolf pack. We found the Alpha male wounded. If my brother Kilian hadn't been there, the poor male would have died. Over the years, the Alpha has taken in other injured wolves and cubs. The pack now numbers thirty strong."

Gwyn took a drink of cool water, trying to hide her smile. She could add one point to the tally she started after he left that morning. So far, his good points outweighed the bad, but she still didn't know him very well, nor could she trust him. Yet. It also bothered her that she couldn't stay mad at him.

After talking things over with Morgan, she realized she should have said something to him the day he found her sick. Putting herself in his shoes had made her feel terrible about her decision to keep the pregnancy to herself. And after telling her about the wolf pack he helped to take care of, like a parent, she felt even worse.

She tore off a small piece of the flaky baguette and popped it into her mouth, chewing slowly. The French bread was delicious with a light nutty flavor and softly groaned. "Oh my. I could eat the bread and be content. Now, tell me about your family. O'Roark is Irish, isn't it?"

He nodded. "It is. I left my family in a village just north of Belfast. I wanted what every young man searches for when he knows no better—fame and fortune. I quickly learned the world didn't work that way." He gave her a wry grin. "It was an expensive lesson to learn."

"My mother once said seeking the impossible was a necessary evil to become hardworking, responsible adults."

He tore off another large chunk of the bread and placed it on her plate. "I believe you had a very wise mother."

Gwyn stared at the crumbs, wondering when she finished the first piece... She didn't even remember chewing. "What do you do now?"

Torin smiled. "I'm what you would call a freelance investigator. But really, I do just about anything I need to. Some of my brothers have...well, they have a few medical problems, and I'm their sole provider."

“Are they like you?”

He nodded. “In a way. Many centuries ago, the local townspeople nicknamed us ‘The Immortals’ as a joke. I never seemed to age, and my brothers performed a few miracle rescues.”

Gwyn smiled. “Centuries? Really? And are they like superheroes?”

“Something like that.”

The time flew as they talked, and before Gwyn was ready, her phone beeped with a text from Morgan. Glancing down, she read it and glanced at her watch. They'd been at the restaurant for hours. Noticing the fading sunlight, she let out an amazed breath. "Wow. I had no idea we'd been here that long.

She drank the last of her water and wiped her mouth. "I do need to get back. Morgan and I are supposed to pick up the huskies from the animal hospital and take them to the store." She scooted her chair back and stood while he threw some money on the table.

"The ones from the valley? Can I tag along? I'd like to see how they're faring. They didn't look too good. I also have an ulterior motive and would like to get a few pointers so I can help with our wolves back home. Kilian never gets to leave. I want to give him a break from time to time."

Gwyn's eyes narrowed. “Yes…the valley. I believe another explanation is in order, don’t you? Are you a shapeshifter?”

His lips thinned before lifting to a brittle smile. “Something like that.”

Sensing his reluctance to say anything more, she shrugged. Instinctively, she knew he would tell her when he was ready. And if it took too long, she could be very persuasive when needed. Besides, she had a few secrets of her own she needed to share and rested her hand over the tiny baby bump. "If you want to tag along tonight, I don't mind. Morgan's the one you need to learn from, though. Animals seem to adore her no matter what she does."

Gwyn reached out to Morgan, hoping she was still at the store. Torin is coming with us to pick up the dogs. His family rescued a wolf pack, and he says he needs pointers. Are you okay with that? Oh, and did you call Michel? He is supposed to meet us in the back-loading area.

Quit worrying—it's not like this is my first time. With all the crazy stuff lately, I like the idea of Torin being there. And yes, I verified the rendezvous with Michel. Oh, grab me a coffee. Extra large. You might get one for yourself while you're at it. Michel told me the pick-up would be delayed about thirty minutes but that it was all right to head on over.

Soo, how'd lunch go? Morgan's chuckle tickled her brain. You've been gone, like, forever. Next time, I'm going to take an all-afternoon lunch.

Shut up, Morgan.

Hey, I have an idea. You wanted to go talk to the man at the belfry. Now we can, especially if Torin knows him. I could meet you there and then grab something for supper before we pick up the huskies.

"Torin." Gwyn stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. "Morgan...er, I forgot that Morgan wanted to stop in at the belfry to ask your friend if he might help us with something—something related to our family."

His golden eyes stared into hers, and she could have sworn they narrowed just a bit. "Do you want to head over there now?"

Gwyn nodded. "Morgan will meet us there. If that's okay?"

" Why should I mind? I'm tagging along with you, remember?"

Pedestrian traffic was light for that time of day, and they made good time, reaching the belfry just as Morgan pulled up in the pickup. She parked and met them at the front door, which was locked.

"Because of his age, Brother Jean-Paul now lives inside. He usually keeps the side door unlocked for me and my brothers." He walked around the building to a side door and stopped, staring at the mangled handle.

Morgan all but pushed him aside. "Torin, get a move on! Your friend could be hurt...there's blood on the doorjamb," she growled the words out and shoved her way through the door with Gwyn on her heels. She and Morgan stood inside the main display room, eyes wide at the total destruction surrounding them.

Gwyn followed Torin's gaze as he scanned the once beautiful cases; the shattered glass mingled in with the irreplaceable items they once housed. A small pile of papers had been gathered and placed on a petite, round table underneath the spiral staircase.

He ran his hands along the smooth wood riser, worn in the center from almost a thousand years of people walking up and down the stairs. His long fingers traced four deep gouges in the plaster wall, and one boot gently scooted the shattered wood on the floor to one side as if creating a pathway.

Morgan pulled Gwyn across the room, acting as if they were looking into one of the smashed cases. “This place has been ransacked, so why is he not worried about his friend? I don’t like the feeling in here.”

She swung her arm at the circular room. “And what is he getting us into? After the way you’ve waffled back and forth—you're just going to let him back in just like that? He walked away, Gwyn. Have you forgotten that?" she hissed in Gwyn's face.

Gwyn threw a glance at Torin, who stood with his shoulders slumped and seemed to be concentrating on something in his hands. He seemed suddenly lost, the expression on his face so sad it made her heartache.

Pulling her gaze away, she turned back to her sister. “I will say this only once, Morgan. Torin had no reason to stay. We agreed that night it would be nothing more than a one-night stand."

She stared into her sister's eyes. He is the baby's father. If someone kept me from my child, I would never forgive them. I was too shocked and angry this morning to think straight, but after putting myself in his position, I would be furious about not being told I was going to be a parent. This is on me, Morgan, not him. Even if it doesn't work out between us, this baby will know both her parents. We’ve already discussed this, so don't argue with me. Now, can’t you feel the air in here? Something isn’t right.

Her twin let out an exasperated sigh but nodded. She glanced down and suddenly bent over, trying to pull out a torn piece of parchment from beneath the cracked case. She tugged again, grumbled, and dropped to her knees, shoving a snapped section of wood to one side.

With her fingers holding the parchment, she hesitated before reaching farther back into the cavity with her other hand and pulled out a small gilded box.

Giving Gwyn a pleased smile, she stood. After a few gentle tugs, the lid popped open. A small, rolled vellum lay inside, nestled in what looked like an old silk cushion.

Handing the box to her, Morgan gently unrolled the paper and held it out for Gwyn to see. "This looks like Ogham—what the ancient Celts used for writing."

Gwyn slapped her sister's arm with the back of her hand. "I know what Ogham is. Can you read it?"

"Not without my books. It's not a language I'm fluent in." She handed the vellum to Gwyn and took back the unique box, turning it over as she studied the etchings in the gold plating.

Gwyn's eyes widened. "You might have found what they were after...whoever they is." She pointed to another broken section of the display case, close to where Morgan had found the box, but was interrupted when police sirens screamed to a stop just outside.

"You need to come with me. The police won't take too kindly to us being inside."

They followed him outside and waited while Torin explained things to the lead officer. Gwyn tilted her head closer to Morgan's. "I think I know what this document is," she whispered.

" This ? What did you do? Did you put the vellum in your pocket?

"Of course I did. Did you want me to leave it there and not figure out what the thieves might be after?"

"Gwynneth DuBois! You little thief!"

"Oh shut up, I saw you stuff the box in your jacket pocket as well."

Morgan chuckled. "Shut up yourself. So what do you think it is?"

" Excusez-moi, mademoiselles , but I will need to talk to the both of you about what you experienced this evening," the young police officer said, but it didn't take him long to realize they knew nothing about what had happened and let them go.

"Gwyn." Torin stood several inches taller than the policeman. His tight physique made her mouth water as he faced her. His gaze was like a caress as he stared at her. "I will meet you and Morgan at your house as soon as I finish here."

Gwyn nodded and dragged her sister across the street, striding along the sidewalk until they stood beneath one of the old-fashioned lantern streetlights surrounding the town's square. Pulling the vellum from her pocket, she unrolled it and held it up to the light, pointing to the left-hand corner. "Look here—at the drawing. The way the script curls in a certain design and the letters are outlined in gold."

Morgan's blue eyes looked almost black as they sparkled in the dim light. "I know that style! It's the same as the Book of Taliesin, isn't it?"

Gwyn nodded. "It has to be. But to be sure, I need to compare it to Mom's documentation back at the house—and the book, of course."

"Will there be enough time tonight? We're supposed to get the dogs from the pet hospital before the night crew shows up."

Gwyn grabbed Morgan's arm, pulling her down the street. "For this, I think we need to make the time."