Page 18

17

Torin’s heart ached. For the past three nights, Gwyn had slept in his old bedroom to get closer to Morgan and away from him. All he could think about was how badly he wanted her sleeping next to him here and not his old bed in the caves.

Thoughts of New Year's Eve filled his mind. The image of her beautiful smile and her wild curls spread over the pillow had been seared into his brain. Her body was a perfect blend of muscle and softness, but her heart and intelligence drew him more. She could hold her own against him in an argument and stood her ground when he was being stupid. Closing his eyes, he tried blocking the overwhelming feelings, but it was impossible.

She was his mate, but what to do with that information was beyond him. He always prioritized his clan, but he couldn’t do that now. He scrubbed his fingers through his hair for the hundredth time that morning, which now stood in total disarray.

He had been surprised at how well the two sisters acclimated within his family. No one, himself included, was acting remotely like themselves, which bothered him. Other than tracking Kilian, who still had not contacted any of them, Rafael spent the rest of his time at the caves. He had even taken up residence in his old room, which happened to be next to Morgan’s.

The Spaniard liked his privacy and typically came to the caverns once or twice a year, so his prolonged stay was very unlike him. Makari had even cooked supper the night before and breakfast that morning. In all the centuries of knowing him, Torin never knew he could cook. What in the hell was going on?

Even Fáelán left his library and spent a couple of hours every afternoon talking to the sisters while Torin was out scouting the forest and looking for evidence of the Dark Fae—whether or not he had returned. Each day, however, he came back empty-handed. Deep down, he prayed a rogue band of Ironclaws had caused all the chaos and the Dark Fae was still imprisoned behind the Veil.

He got up and pulled out a skillet but stopped in the middle of the kitchen, the cast iron skillet dangling from his hand as he stared at the path outside. The exact route that would take him to Gwyn.

Before he changed his mind, he dropped the skillet on the stovetop with a loud clang and left the cottage, his purposeful stride taking him to his old bedroom. He quietly opened the door and slipped inside, squatting beside the bed as he watched Gwyn sleep.

Her long lashes were dark crescents that rested against her rosy cheeks. Her full lips puckered in a soft pout, and the long plait of hair curled like a snake on the pillow. He touched one of the short curls surrounding her face, giving her a childlike sweetness.

The vision before him must have been adorable as a child. He trailed the back of his knuckle down her cheek, marveling at her soft skin. She was so beautiful. He glanced up and met Gwyn's piercing green gaze staring back at him.

* * *

Gwyn felt as if she were drowning in Torin’s loving gaze. A burning trail went from her chest to her womb, drawing and tightening with every caress of his finger. She wanted his arms around her, comforting her, not fixated on her cheek but forced herself to lay still.

She had fought her growing feelings for this man since New Year’s Day and still didn't understand why. It had been a one-night stand. Getting him into bed had been a bold move on her part—a dare she had to win.

Look at her now, pregnant with his children. A fluttering moved deep in her womb, the babies' movements making her heart sing.Life worked in mysterious ways.

Their eyes locked, and she couldn't breathe. Heat exploded through her body. His eyes reminded her of liquid gold. She raised her hands and placed them on either side of his face. His whiskers tickled her palms, but she didn't care and pulled his head to hers.

Their lips lightly brushed, his warm breath caressing, teasing. She ran her tongue over the fullness of his bottom lip, as if memorizing the contours of his mouth, even though she had committed every tiny detail about him to memory.

He groaned, climbing halfway onto the bed. She savored his taste, like a cinnamon roll, rich and sweet. He kissed her face and her eyes and made his way down the valley of her neck, kissing the racing pulse underneath her soft skin.

His hands moved over her shoulders, caressing the sides of her breasts and turning her insides to fire. Her soft moan changed into a gasp when he shoved the warm quilt below her stomach and pressed his hands on either side of the growing babies. "I can't believe we created these. So tiny and fragile."

He raised his gaze to hers, tears glistening in his eyes. "I am so sorry, Gwyn. I shouldn't have left like I did. When I found out you were pregnant, I hoped and prayed the child was mine. Then when our daughter called me Daddy but you never said anything…” He kissed one side of her belly, then the other.

Risingfrom the bed, he sat on the edge, his hands hanging between his legs and his back facing her. "Gwyn, I've lived a long time without much hope for my brothers or of ever having a family." He chuckled wryly. "Well, a normal family anyway. Yet, when you told me I was the father, a part of me couldn't believe it.”

He reached over and caressed her cheek. “Believe me when I say I have never been so happy. Although, the moment you said you were having twins, I panicked. Call it guardian overload, if you like, but it’s no excuse.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I am so sorry, mon ange. So sorry.”

Gwyn sat up and wrapped her arms around Torin's neck, resting her head on his shoulder. She smiled when he tucked his arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. "Fáelán and I talked after you stormed out. He's quite smart, isn't he?"

Torin chuckled. "Yes, he is."

She lifted her face to his. "He told me to give you time to come to terms with it. He believed you were happy to be a father and needed time to sort things out. So, have you?"

He kissed the tip of her nose. "Have I what?"

"Sorted things out?"

He held her face between his hands and claimed her mouth, sucking and nibbling on each lip. She moaned, and he pressed harder, forcing her lips apart. She was drowning in emotion...drowning in him.

He leanedback on the bed, his hand supporting the curve of her spine, and moved her until her head lay on the pillow. Breathless from his kiss, she stared into his beautiful golden eyes and almost missed the words he whispered in her mind as he leaned above her.

Yes, mon ange, I know how I feel. You are the keeper of my heart and soul. Your love has given me back my hope. Most of all, you have given me something more precious than my own life. You have given me a family.

* * *

"When are we going home?" Morgan whined. "I hate lying around doing nothing. I want to kick some werewolf ass." She glared at Gwyn, who sat near the door in a small rocking chair. "So, why are we still here?"

The room was small, with no windows, which drove her sister crazy. In truth, it bothered Gwyn too, but their safety came first, which meant staying here with the Immortals.

She watched Morgan’s gaze dance around the room, her long fingers pulling on her sweater's neckline as if it were too tight.

"I need to get out of here, Gwynnie. These walls are closing in around me."

"No, they're not. It's all in your mind. Focus on something else."

Morgan threw herself back against the pillows propped against the headboard. "Focus on what?I'm tired of reading. No offense, but Fáelán's taste in books sucks."

Gwyn chuckled. "I agree with you there, but they’re all we have."

Morgan fidgeted with the bunched-up quilt, smoothing and straightening it over her lap. "Well then, who's taking care of the store? We have commitments to the people for whom we’ve agreed to rescue animals. We need to go home—back to our regular lives."

Gwyn closed her book with a small sigh and clasped her fingers on the smooth leather cover. "I've told you many times already, Morgan DuBois, Torin's running the store during the day, and Rafael is helping by feeding the animals at night." Scowling, she opened back to the page she was reading. "Now, stop complaining."

Morgan exhaled. "I'm sorry for being such a bear, but you know I hate being cooped up with nothing to do."

"Would you like to take a short trip to our library, then?" Makari's deep voice interrupted as he walked into the room. Fáelán would like to talk to you both." He hadn't even finished speaking when Morgan threw herself off the bed and rushed through the door.

Gwyn briefly closed her eyes, her lips pinched together to keep from laughing at her sister. Meeting Makari’s amused gaze, she shook her head in exasperation.

She had known keeping Morgan in the caves for more than a day would be difficult, if not nearly impossible. But after the Ironclaws had torn apart their house, they couldn't stay there, even if they wanted to, and neither of them was about to put the sheltered animals at risk by staying at the store.

Taking a deep breath, she covered her stomach with the palm of her hand, rubbing slow circles to calm the momentary queasiness plaguing her. She slowly followed behind them, wondering why Fáelán wished to speak to them. Deep in thought, she almost ran into the back of her sister as she stood, blocking the doorway.

“I know we’ve only been in here a couple of times, but—wow," Morgan said, her gaze darting to the piles of papers and books on almost every surface. “Is it my imagination, or does it seem to get messier each time we’re here?”

“Nope,” Gwyn answered. “Not your imagination. I think it’s the product of constant research.”

"If he had all of these, why did we get the crappy books?" Morgan whispered in her ear as they walked inside and sat on the long sofa.

A deep, throaty chuckle echoed around them as Fáelán stepped out from the shadows on the other side of the room.

Several tomes piled on a somewhat wobbly table between them caught Gwyn's eye. The corners of the books were ragged, as if they had been gnawed by mice. Her gaze skimmed over the spines, moving from the top book to the bottom.

On most, the gold lettering was barely visible, and in some places, it was completely worn away, making the titles impossible to read. She brushed the tips of her fingers against one of the covers, which was made of faded green material that had seen better days.

Turning to the fireplace, soft, yellow light spilled into the room, and the milky white, semi-transparent flowstone acting as the fireplace surround reminded her of a waterfall frozen in time. Even with a fire burning, a chill hovered in the room, creating a damp, but not unpleasant smell.

Fáelán sat at the overloaded table in the center of the room. She shook her head with a silent chuckle when only the tops of his twitching ears could be seen over the piles.

Makari was already moving around the kitchenette tucked away in the far corner. A few minutes later, he placed a large wooden tray on the coffee table in front of them. Several mugs and a hammered copper kettle sat on one end, and a plate piled with sandwiches sat on the other.

After pouring them each a steaming mug of tea, he turned one of the high-backed chairs around and straddled it.

What I wouldn't give for a cinnamon dolce latté right now. Morgan met Gwyn's gaze.

I know. The largest one the café sells...maybe two for each of us? Gwyn wiggled her brows, making Morgan smile. Maybe Torin will bring us some?

Morgan eyed the small plate of sandwiches and licked her lips.

Fáelán moved around to the front of the table and leaned against it, his gaze on Morgan, chuckling. "I wasn't sure if you would be hungry, so I prepared an early brunch. Help yourself."

"Thanks!" Morgan grabbed a couple of the sandwiches and bit off an overly large bite.

"Morgan! Where are your manners?" Gwyn stared at her older sister in horrified fascination as she stuffed the entire piece into her mouth.

Morgan held up one finger as she chewed. After swallowing, she washed it down with a gulp of tea. "I'm starving and these are delicious!" She shoved the second sandwich in her mouth and grabbed another.

Gwyn met Fáelán's amused expression with a shake of her head. "Thank you—for everything you've done for us. Sometimes, I forget who the older twin is when she acts this way.”

"I haven't done much of anything. Now, I need to ask you both for a favor." Faelán walked over to a nearby shelf, the pads of his paws skimming over the aged spines. At the end of the second shelf, he pulled out another colossal book.

The girls scooted apart so he could sit between them and carefully balanced the book across his lap. The binding crackled and snapped as he opened it, and a touch of mustiness scented the air around them but quickly faded.

"If neither of you mind, I have a proposition for you?" When they nodded, he continued. "I don't know if either of you caught the local news before being drug out here, but quite a few things have been happening around Tournai. Drought, thefts, murders, and most recently werewolf attacks."

"Kinda found out about the last one the hard way," Morgan muttered, taking a smaller bite from her third sandwich.

"Yes, I'm afraid you did."

“We were paying attention and also noticed animals disappearing,” Gwyn said, trying to ignore her sister. “Their mutilated bodies would be found several days later. So, what is it you need from us?"

"I don't believe you were attacked at random. Werewolves are notorious for their brutality. They kill not only for food but also for sport. They are stupid beasts, held under thrall by whoever is controlling them."

Morgan scowled. "I'd like to meet the idiot who would want to create such a disgusting beast."

"No, you don't. Not even the Fae themselves want anything to do with Fer-Diorich."

"Our mother told us lots of stories about the Fae when we were little, but I don't recall hearing about him until our grandmother told us her side of the story." Gwyn's gaze never left the book in Fáelán's lap. Finally daring to reach over, the pad of one finger traced the golden script covering the thick parchment page. "This reminds me of The Book of Kells."

"Impressive. This was transcribed by one of the monks living on The Isle of Man—the same one who did The Book of Kells. You have a good eye for detail." He gave Gwyn a quick wink. "I'm not surprised you haven't heard of Fer-Diorich. As you know, Fae are immortal, but their souls can be damaged enough to condemn them to the Unseelie Court."

Gwyn met his steady hazel gaze. "Torin told you who our grandmother is, didn't he?"

Faelán nodded, dropping his gaze to the book. "Helping Morrigan send Fer-Diorich to the Unseelie Court was my father's choice. He gave his life to make sure Kilian and I, along with the rest of those imprisoned in the Dark Fae's prisons, were saved. However, with the current events and the re-emergence of the werewolves, or Ironclaws, as we call them, I’m not so sure he will remain that way for long. None here hold any blame on either of you or Morrigan. As I said, it was our father’s choice. To go against it would be dishonorable to him.”

"Is there a way he could be set free?" Gwyn asked, deciding a change of subject was best.

"Only with the agreement of the Unseelie King and Seelie Queen can someone be released. Since those two have fought since they met, which in human terms is more millennia than even I understand, I doubt that's a possibility. I fear, though, there are other ways he can escape. Darker ways.”

Morgan groaned. "I knew I wouldn’t like hearing any of this." She put her empty mug on the table and turned sideways on the sofa, folding her legs underneath her. "What part in this are we playing?"

Faelán gently tapped the right-hand page with his claw and began reading, "Condemned to the Unseelie Court, the Dark Fae's curse against the descendants of Morrigan can only be stopped by the newest blood. With the purest of hearts and strongest of powers, she will defeat Fer-Diorich and save the lives of all who love her and she them."

Gwyn's stomach churned. "How is she supposed to save them?"

"It took me a while, but I found a reference, although it's incomplete. The excerpt stated that the Dark Fae could use the newest descendent to break his banishment by using her blood on one of the times when the veil between this world and theirs is thin—the thinnest occurring at Samhain. Beltaine, however, is also a viable choice. It is only by killing Morrigan's descendant on the eve of Beltaine that Fer-Diorich can sever the binding that keeps him imprisoned to the Unseelie Court."

"Oh, my God..." Gwyn whispered and rubbed her stomach, the sick feeling growing stronger.

"Like my father, this is a choice not to be made lightly. Death for the descendent or death for all of Morrigan's line, including the goddess herself. If Morrigan dies, it will leave a power vacuum within the Fae Realm. Without that balance, evil will be given free rein.”

"Well, that sucks for her, but I still don't understand how this relates to us?" Morgan said.

"Oh, quit acting so dense," Gwyn glared at her sister. "We've known our family was cursed, but neither of us wanted to believe...until Momma died."

Her jaws clenched, and she stared straight ahead, refusing to look at Gwyn. "I don't?—"

"Stop." Gwyn said. "I have talked to Morrigan. She, herself, verified the curse is real and the reason why every female in our family has died."

"No..." Morgan's confused gaze moved between Gwyn and Fáelán. "I'm the oldest, so I should be next in line."

"I don't think age has anything to do with it. I’m beginning to wonder if it isn’t the weakest link somehow. Mom was mentally and physically stronger than her sister, so it makes the most sense that she died first, not Mom. If this Fae is as whacked as I think he is, he'll come after either one of us. Maybe both. He's desperate to break out of his prison."

Fáelán glanced back and forth between them, his dark lips turned down. "Unfortunately, I believe you're right, Gwyn. Your magic is subtle and not as strong as I imagined it would be as the granddaughters of such a powerful Fae."

"We don't really use it," Gwyn sighed. "Probably my fault."

Morgan leaned forward. "Definitely your fault."

He glanced at them both before nodding. "If you are untrained, he will take full advantage, and I couldn’t live with myself knowing I had sent mere babes to their slaughter because that is what it would be. If you haven’t been fully trained, it also would explain why I can’t sense your magic.”

He sat back, a thoughtful expression on his wolfy face. “It would be best if you had training, lots of it, and at the fastest pace possible. We also lack basic information. Every curse has a countercurse. However, since we're dealing with the Dark Fae, I can't be sure of that. He's powerful. More powerful than the entire Druid caste, which is saying something."

"Yeah," Morgan agreed. "It's saying we're doomed."

"Have a little faith, Miss Morgan. There are still a few tricks up my sleeve. The two of you need to practice using your magic. You were told not to use it, correct?" They nodded. "To keep you safe, most certainly. I wondered about that. I know you don't want to hear this, but I believe it would be better for both of you if you remained here longer.”

He ignored Morgan’s groan. “We also have another source to consult—the first of our kind, I believe, but émilien bears a great responsibility as the guardian of the Norse Shadow Lands, so I may not be able to reach him in time. I also took the liberty of asking Rhona to come out and train you on how to use the pertinent parts of your magic. She is sort of a miracle worker."

"Talking about Rhona, are you?" A low, sensual voice said behind them.

"As usual, your timing is perfect, Rafael." Fáelán turned his smile to the sisters. "If you don't mind, my dears, I need to discuss a few things with Rafael. As soon as I talk to Rhona, I will fill you in."

Morgan rose, holding her palm out to her sister.

Gwyn stared at it with a slight frown and stood, ignoring her sister’s hand. "I'm only pregnant, not an invalid." She gently shoved Morgan toward the doorway.

Gwyn noticed Rafael's gaze momentarily following them before returning to Fáelán. She pulled Morgan to a stop in the hall and placed her finger over her sister’s lips then pointed to one ear as the Spaniard spoke. “I have found no sign of Kilian or the Alpha pair."

There was a slight pause then she heard a low grunt and the sound of someone sitting. "What happened? How could he just disappear?" Fáelán asked, his tone filled with worry for his brother.

A movement across the room caught her attention, and she realized she could see the wolves’ reflection in the mirror hanging behind the small bar area on the other side of the room.

Faelen’s head lifted, his hazel eyes glassy as he stared at the Spaniard. "I'm worried, Rafael. My brother would never stay gone this long without some kind of word."

"Wait...Kilian never returned from our house?" Morgan said, brushing off Gwyn’s frantic motions to stop her, and scurried back into the room to stand next to Rafael.

Rafael didn't move. The only sign he even heard her question was the tightening of his lips. "Makari is scouting farther north where several farmers reported livestock and workers disappearing."

Fáelán groaned. "It's happening all over again. Fer-Diorich is still trapped in the Unseelie Court, so how is he doing this?

"Are you certain he's still imprisoned?" Morgan asked, threading her fingers through Gwyn’s.

Fáelán scowled at his outstretched paws. "I'm not certain of anything anymore."