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Morning dawned sunny and clear, but Torin found nothing good about the new day. As far as he was concerned, it was as dismal as the previous. For almost an hour, he sat in a chair in the back corner of the sitting room, waiting for Morgan to say something…anything.

Instead, she stared at Rafael, who sat in the stone circle in the front clearing, staring into the fire pit and taking the occasional drink from the cup he cradled between his hands. Deep in thought, not even Rhona's funny little chuckle as she and Colette walked up to the white wolf caught his attention.

Morgan’s eyes narrowed as Colette gazed at Rafael, even after passing. Torin bit back a smile. Morgan’s interest in Rafael was evident for all to see, except for the object of her infatuation.

Now, several feet past the firepit, Rhona called out, “Good morning, Rafael!"

"Could be better," he answered, surprising Torin.

Rhona's laughter filled the room as the two women entered the open front door. Morgan glanced at them but turned her stare toward the roaring fireplace.

Rhona gave Torin a wink and walked to the sofa and took a seat next to Morgan, patting her leg. "Well, my dear. Life can't be that bad on such a beautiful day, can it?"

Morgan gave her a sideways glance, then turned back to the fire. "I don't think the weather makes too much of a difference one way or another."

"Woo-hoo! Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. What has you in such a snarl?"

She turned on the sofa and bent her right leg at the knee, tucking the foot underneath her left thigh, and scowled. "Well. How about my sister's found the love of her life and is going to have his babies while the rest of our family's dead because of a ridiculous curse? This same man let the Ironclaws kidnap Gwyn, and we have to fight a badass Dark Fae along with his army of monsters to get her back so we can, hopefully, end the curse and not die ourselves."

Rhona nodded, ignoring the tension rising from the corner where he sat. "That is a downer, I'll give you that." She grabbed Morgan's hands, clasping them between her own. "Oh, my petite chère , no one knows what will happen in their life or who will end up by their side loving them. Don't give up on hope or your dreams. Someone out there needs you more than you or he realizes.”

She patted Morgan’s cheek. “I have lived a long time and learned many years ago that life is filled with good and bad. Those I loved were taken from me in ways I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy."

She stopped with a thoughtful expression on her face. "Well, maybe my worst enemy." Her eyes glittered as she raised one eyebrow in a cheeky grin and chuckled.

Morgan exhaled. "I'm trying to smile on the inside. I feel so helpless—like life is barreling past me, and I can't make it stop. I'm scared to death of losing my sister." A wistful expression flitted across her face. "What's pathetic is that I spent most of my life believing it was my destiny to die."

"Nonsense," Rhona said. "You are no more destined to die than I am. And, like I just said, I have lived a very long time. Fight for what you believe in, child, and for what you want. Fight hard because no one is going to hand it to you. Before you get too depressed, remember Lysandra. She lost her entire family and probably wouldn’t have survived on her own. She didn’t let it get her down, though. Instead, she used that pain to make her life meaningful and her magic stronger.”

Morgan’s eyes widened. “Oh, Rhona, I am so sorry for being insensitive. Here I am going on about Gwyn?—”

“No worries, my child. Yes, the loss of my sister hurts more than anything, but I also enjoy thinking about her and her goodness. She made me laugh, even in the worst of times.”

“This time, Morgan did manage a tiny smile. "Rhona, are you sure you aren't related to my mother? She used to tell me the same thing about fighting for what I want.”

"She was a smart one, your mother. You're a lot like her."

"Really?" She inhaled. "Thank you. I needed to hear that. Momma also used to say, ' We always have hope, '" Morgan whispered, meeting Rhona’s bright gaze.

Torin knew exactly what Morgan saw as she stared into Rhona’s eyes. It was the same thing he’d seen on many occasions—the flash of understanding and a host of knowledge held deep in the woman's dark gaze.

Morgan leaned back, a look of surprise on her face, and Torin could only guess at what prompted it. "Who are you?" she whispered.

He stood as Rhona smiled. "One who has long fought for what's right and for those who have been wronged," she said. "Although, it never seems to be enough. Not unlike you and Gwyn, no? When was the last time you slept? Get some shut-eye while we put our heads together to figure out where your sister and Kilian are. With luck and good strong magic, we will persevere." She slapped the top of her thighs with her hands. "I will accept nothing less!"

"Amen!" said a chorus of male voices behind them.

Just inside the hall entry, Rafael, Fáelán, Makari, and Torin stood side by side, armed with swords and knives, tucked in their sheaths and strapped around their chests. Attached to their leather belts around their waists were guns tucked into leather belts. The Immortals were dressed for war.

Colette leaned close to Morgan and whispered, "I wouldn't want to cross any of them, but oh my, aren't they gorgeous." She giggled. "Even covered in fur…well, except for Torin that is. Besides, he’s taken."

Morgan smiled, her gaze automatically moving to Rafael as he walked outside. She walked toward Torin as the other two wolves followed Rafael. He met her blue gaze.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I may not show it at times, but I do appreciate everything you and the others have done for us. Just please find my sister.” Before he could respond, she turned on her heel and disappeared down the hallway.

* * *

Not thirty minutes had passed when Morgan returned to the library, all but dragging her feet. The only greeting she received was Rhona's scowl.

"Child, I thought I told you to rest. You don't follow instructions well, do you?"

Morgan's lips twitched, but she didn't smile. Instead, she sat next to Torin on the sofa. “I really am sorry for what I said. I’m not an empath, but I’m also not cold-hearted enough to not feel the fear and anger beating at me every time you glance my way.”

He shrugged. “I see her in your face sometimes…an expression or flash of anger.”

Morgan chuckled. “I’ll take that.” She hesitated before wrapping her hand over his. “She’s strong and will protect the babies with her life.”

Torin met her blue gaze. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Removing her hand, she glanced at Rhona. "I'll sleep when this is over and my sister is safe. Tell me about your sister?"

Rhona stared into the fire for a moment. "Fine. It's not like we're planning anything important. Lysandra was one of the sweetest people on earth. She was placed under my protection when she was a little girl, around five years old, if I remember right. She was special even then but never wanted to learn magic. What I do know is that her line is…was from Macha." Rhona explained.

"But that would mean?—”

"She was your cousin." Rhona said with a pointed stare.

Morgan’s eyes widened. "Wow. After our parents were killed, we thought we were alone. Wait, doesn't that make you our cousin too?"

Rhona shook her head. "No. Lysandra and I were sisters of the heart but not of blood. Macha is one of the triad goddesses and Morrigan's youngest sister, as you already know."

She glanced at Fáelán, who sat in his usual place behind his table of books, still outfitted with his war gear. Her tired gaze returned to Morgan. “The curse has taken on a life of its own and will kill all who are related to your grandmother.”

It took a moment, but Torin finally realized what had been bothering him since they had returned from their first sparring session in preparation for the upcoming war. More than half the books had been put away. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen so much of the tabletop.

"Your clan will need to be in place and ready no later than six-thirty,” Rhona continued. “The Fae will perform the sacrifice as the sun sets for maximum power, but it is at midnight when the Veil is at its weakest.”

Rhona fidgeted in her seat. “Fáelán, you must find the Lia Fáil. Last night, I read through my great-grandfather's journal again, looking for anything that might help us, but he never mentions the stone. I’m assuming only the stone’s guardian would have that information. During my great-grandfather’s last contact with the Fae, he mentioned hearing the stone was lost to them, but he made notations in the margin of doubts about what truly happened to the stone."

"The guardian lost it?" Colette asked. "Bet that pissed the Fae off."

Rhona smiled. "No, I don’t believe she lost it, and yes, the Fae were a bit…peeved, to say the least."

Morgan opened her mouth, but Rhona held up her hand. Morgan's mouth closed with a snap of her teeth, which made Torin smile. "No more questions. We need to figure out our plan of action before we run out of time." She turned to Colette and waited.

She didn't say anything, only stared. Colette's eyes widened. "What?" Suddenly, the young girl’s body stiffened, and her face paled. All color leeched from her dark blue eyes until only the whites remained. The room went silent as she spoke in a low, sultry voice.

Hide one from the other—a child decides fate.

The Claiomh Solais changes the Cursed One's reign.

A vow in stone, this destiny I state.

Her body slumped forward, and her head dropped to her chest. A few seconds later, she straightened, blinking, her eyes once again dark blue.

She glanced around the room as everyone stared at her and scowled. "I hate it when I do that. You're all looking at me as if I had two heads." She closed her eyes. "I hate having visions," she whispered to herself.

Rhona patted Colette’s cheek. "I know, sweetie." She chuckled. “Well, I must say, that was not a normal vision. Isn't this a fine turn. Who'd of thought..."

Rafael scowled at Makari. "Do you understand anything they've said so far?"

Makari shook his head. "No. Usually don’t."

Rhona gave them an annoyed glare. "Oh shush, you two. I had a visitor last night—caught me in my underclothes, and believe you and me, that's a sight in and of itself."

Colette snickered, her hand covering her mouth but visibly relaxed.

"Who was the visitor?" Fáelán asked.

"That's neither here nor there and unimportant. I was given a warning...well, more like a riddle. You know the Fae, never met a more tightlipped bunch of people, and they never explain themselves where any of us can understand. Anyway, here are the words.

"One gift is found, the paths maligned.

To discover what’s right, two gifts you need find."

"As usual, clear as mud," Makari muttered with a nod.

"No, I think I understand," Fáelán said. "Both the vision and the message." He met Rhona's curious gaze. "May I?" She nodded. "First, Colette's vision. The beginning is about Morgan and Gwyn— hiding one from the other— meaning, keep them separate and away from Fer-Diorich. If he says the incantation, having one would be bad enough, but two would set him free from the Unseelie Court.”

He rose and paced in front of the fireplace, his paws behind his back. “The second part, a child decides fate could be about one of Gwyn and Torin's babies. What it means specifically, I don't have a clue. The next part is easy, though. The Claiomh Solais— the Fae's treasured Sword of Light—has to be used to kill his earthly presence."

He smiled at Colette. "The last is also easy. You, my dear, are the Stone of Destiny. The Fae's hallow—the Lia Fáil."

Colette frowned. "Huh?"

Rhona grinned. "That's what I thought too. Unconventional, I'll give them that. Never would have occurred to me that one of the hallows was a person, but this is the Fae we're talking about. Not exactly predictable." She crossed her arms and nodded. "Go on, my dear wolf. You're on a roll."

Rafael held up a paw. "Hold on a minute. I thought the stone proclaimed the rightful sovereign."

"It does," Rhona answered. "But there are other types of sovereignty. The greatest degree or superior quality, even a justified right such as Morrigan's good versus Fer-Diorich's evil." Rafael looked thoughtful but did not respond.

"The Fae's message is also easy to understand—,” Fáelán continued.

"Speak for yourself,” Makari muttered. "I've been confused since the vision."

Fáelán ignored him. "We've discovered one gift—the stone—but that hardly changes the problem. Fer-Diorich still has a descendent of Morrigan and can be freed—without Morgan if he discovers Gwyn's pregnant. We need to find the second gift, the Claiomh Solais."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. The sword will be used. What of the other gifts? We've had the stone among us—what of the two other Fae hallows mentioned? Could they not be just as helpful?" Rhona asked. "The Cauldron of Dagda gives food or drink and is known to soothe battle rage. It contains wisdom and can also heal or restore life. We cannot discount this gift. The Sacred Spear would also benefit. It is inspiration. It allows us to rise to a higher level of thinking when faced with life's challenges.”

Fáelán sighed. "You're right. We can't discount any of them just yet. Let's hope we figure it out before it's too late."

* * *

Gwyn closed her eyes. Exhaustion beat at her, and she could barely swallow, her mouth and throat completely devoid of moisture. What she wouldn't do for a few sips of water. She tried to lick her chapped lips, but her tongue stuck to the inside of her parched mouth.

She leaned her head back against the metal cage bars and stared up into the darkness covering the ceiling, wondering for the thousandth time what Torin was doing. Was he thinking about her? There was one positive. She no longer dangled by her wrists.

The only light in the small room came from the oil lamp behind the two cages and wasn't very bright. Glancing toward the cage butted up next to hers, she cringed at the sight of the dried blood covering most of Kilian's matted fur. He still lay sprawled out where the Fae's nasty soldiers had tossed him.

That had been almost three hours ago, and he still hadn't moved. Her worry grew, but she didn’t dare call out to him with the guard still in the room with them. Slowly, she edged her way over to the side of her cage, close to Kilian's prone form. Thankfully, the guard paid more attention to his food than her.

She turned, pressing her body against the bars as if sleeping, and reached through them. The tips of her fingers barely touched the end of his tail. Closing her eyes, she whispered the healing chant repeatedly until she felt her strength waning. All she could do now was wait and see if it helped. After what seemed like forever, his paws twitched a few times but stopped. He didn't move again.

Kilian? Please wake up—please... Her tired eyes drifted shut, jerking back open to stare at the badly injured Immortal. After a few seconds, her eyelids slowly closed again as she fell into a fitful sleep. Her body jerked, and she hit her head against the iron bars.

Swallowing the brief spurt of pain, she kept her eyes closed, listening to the movements around them. She cracked open her eyelids and paid attention to the werewolves as they carried heavy crates from the room.

Gwyn? Kilian's voice was scarcely above a whisper, but it was his voice, and her heart soared. The healing had helped.

You had me worried.

I'm sorry. The Fae seems in a particularly vile mood today and took it out on me. Are you okay?

I'm fine. Starving and I have to pee, but other than that...

He chuckled, the low sound warming her chilled body from the inside out. It seems as long as we're asleep, or as in my case, passed out, we are left alone. Or he's putting his plan into action. If that's the case, we're in trouble.

You certainly didn't wake up full of cheer, did you? Seriously? I'm scared to death over here and everything out of your mouth is doom and gloom .

Technically, I have a muzzle, not a mouth, and no words are coming out of it. Keep talking to me telepathically. We don't want to take a chance of being overheard. I don't want to turn my head. Are any of them watching us?

She cracked open her eyelids again, her gaze following the last werewolf as he left the room. Other than the two of them, the room was empty. Opening her eyes all the way, she gingerly sat up. What had looked like a storeroom, full of boxes and other junk, was now vacant.

A bad feeling roiled in the pit of her stomach. They're gone. He turned his head, his brown eyes staring at her. If wolves smiled, he was, and it gave him an almost goofy look, but she wouldn’t tell him that.

Thank you.

She frowned. For what?

I was just conscious enough to feel your healing powers. You have a powerful gift.

That's what I've been told. And you don't have to thank me. W e'll need each other if we're going to get out of this. I'm not strong enough to carry around a full-grown wolfman. Her eyes widened, and she covered her stomach with her hands, her mouth open in a silent 'o'.

What's wrong, Gwyn? Are you okay?

She smiled and nodded, her eyes filling with tears. The babies moved! They kicked me!

You'd best keep your amazement hidden. The Fae can't learn you're pregnant...

Do you think he can read thoughts like you? Even when he's not in the same room?

He shrugged one shoulder. I don't think so, but he's Fae. We can't be sure of anything he can or can't do, so when you sense the darkness returning—when your skin seems slimy and your chest heavy, like you can't catch your breath—he's close. Assume he can hear our thoughts.

Something fluttered inside her mind and then disappeared. Just as quickly, the feeling returned but this time stronger. Little by little, she let down the blocks she put up when the Fae questioned her earlier. Instead of Fer-Diorich's hissing voice, she heard Torin's deep voice calling her name.

She met Kilian's gaze. He heard him too. She raised her brows in a silent question, holding her breath until he nodded yes. Torin?

Thank the gods! Are you okay?

Yes, we're fine.

We?

Kilian is here with me. He told me he was scouting ruins east of Tournai, maybe near Mons?

I know the area he's talking about. We're close, maybe six kilometers from there. Can you tell me how many werewolves the Fae has there?

We've only seen seven, but there could be more. Torin, he's searching for Morgan. You can't let him find her.

Does he know about the babies?

I don't believe so. He seems to be concentrating on finding my sister, but Kilian is worried about what he'll do if he does find out.

Do you know where you're at? Your location inside the structure?

A storage room, I think, but I can't be sure. I was unconscious when they put me in the cage. All I can tell you is the room only has one door leading to either a hallway or another room. Oh, and Kilian mentioned a dungeon.

You're in a cage... His voice had turned into a low growl. We're almost there, so get ready. Tell Kilian. He'll know what to do.

Kilian nodded. "Thank you for not telling him," he whispered.

"It's not my secret to share, but you're welcome. Did you ever consider that being able to read others with your ability might help them? Like now?"

* * *

Torin dropped his bag at the base of a decaying tree stump, the jagged upper half broken and jutting off to one side. The overgrown flora, thankfully, provided enough cover, and if someone didn't look too closely, the bag should blend in with the dark green foliage.

He slid the zipper open and placed as many weapons as possible on his body, tucking them into pockets, behind his belt, and in the straps at his ankles. Unlike Makari, he preferred any type of blade. Carrying ammunition was a pain, and the manmade objects didn't shift when he did—a problem the others didn't have to worry about.

He tucked his sword into his back holder and shoved the duffle bag as far as it would go underneath the plant so he could grab it later. Everyone had already gathered inside a small copse of trees, the top of the ruins visible from where they stood.

Morgan's determined expression worried him. The last thing they needed was to babysit her while fighting off werewolves. He knew she could fight, but the risk of her being taken doubled if she were anywhere close to Fer-Diorich.

"The stench hovering over this place is making my eyes water," Makari grumbled, holding the back of his paw over his nose.

"Suck it up, ya big baby," Rafael chuckled. "I've smelled worse."

Standing a foot and a half taller than her, Morgan frowned up at him, her fingers pinching her nose closed. "Really? There's worse?"

He nodded.

Torin stepped forward, resting his hand over the knife handle tucked between his belt and leather pants. "I found Gwyn. Kilian's with her. She believes they may be in one of the storage rooms or possibly the dungeon.”

Fáelán's sharp gaze speared his. "You are sure of this? Is my brother all right?"

Torin shrugged. "All she said was that he's there with her. We've scouted this area in the past. The farmhouse is mostly ruins from World War II bombings, but there are several outbuildings still intact. I also ran across a nearby cave used for storage by previous owners. Gwyn mentioned a hallway or an adjacent room where they were being held.”

He frowned, his lips pursed in thought. “When I was last here, I never looked to see if there was a basement. Now, I wish I had.”

Makari clapped him on the back of his shoulder. “We'll find her no matter where she is. Only one thing left to do—kill me some Ironclaws!" He laughed and charged through the forest, Fáelán right behind him.

Torin took a few steps, noticing Rafael was not moving. His friend placed his paw on Morgan's chest, centered above her breasts. He closed his eyes and spoke in another language. The surrounding skin turned a light shade of pink, but didn’t seem to hurt her. He dropped his paw, and she glanced down to see what he'd done.

"It's beautiful," She smiled at him. "What were you saying?"

"An ancient spell my grandmother taught me long ago."

She ran her finger along the golden edges, tracing the small image of a triquetra. "This was my mother's favorite design. She had them on everything—jewelry, books, tiles in the house..."

Her voice trailed off. With wide eyes, she met his silver gaze. "The tattoo is a protection amulet, isn't it?"

He nodded. "It isn't much, but since you stubbornly insist on fighting..."

She scowled, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. "I can't sit back while that Dark Fae idiot has my twin sister, can I? Would you sit back if he had someone you loved?"

Torin noticed the fleeting flash of pain cross over Rafael’s face. It was a familiar sentiment the Immortals shared. From the way she fidgeted from one foot to the other and the chagrined look on her pretty face, Morgan regretted her thoughtless words.

She opened her mouth to apologize, but whatever she was about to say died on her lips as she stared at Rafael. Torin was close enough to see the black streaks shooting through the silver in Rafael's eyes.

"The spell is minor, but it's all I have to give. Be vigilant—never let down your guard. The spell should last long enough for us to get in and retrieve your sister."

He turned to leave, but Morgan grabbed his arm. "Rafael, I'm sorry. What I said was thoughtless." She laid her palm over the triquetra. "Thank you."

He turned his head and stared at her hand but didn't respond. Torin’s and Morgan’s gazes followed him as he left, gliding through the trees, his white fur and stealthy movements resembling a ghost’s. Torin followed, stopping once, his ears twitching as he listened to the surrounding forest, then continued toward the ruins.

* * *

A loud crash sounded in the adjacent space, but without more light, Gwyn couldn't tell what had fallen. Another loud crash boomed through the room, and screams and growls erupted outside their door.

"I believe our cavalry has arrived." Kilian crouched and placed a hand against the lock on his cage door. Seconds later, the lock clicked, and his door swung open. He unlocked her cage the same way, but before she could move, he gently pushed her behind him. "I'm in front at all times, do you understand? Otherwise, I'll lock you back in your cage."

"Why in the hell didn't you free us before now?"

"Because it wasn't time yet."

She gave him a gimlet eye and pinched her lips together, but he held firm and shook his head. "Won't work. Torin would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you, especially where the Dark Fae's concerned. Now, stay back."

She let out a deep breath. "Fine. But I'm trained in martial arts. I can take care of myself."

Kilian's black lips twitched, and he tilted his head in deference. "I'll keep that in mind."

Hugging Kilian's backside, Gwyn followed as he led her through the door and into a war zone. At least three Ironclaws were down, two with their heads nowhere near their still-twitching bodies. The one still alive was trying to drag himself away with his remaining arm.

Warm light streamed through a hole in the room’s ceiling, the subtle breeze carrying a chill. She shivered. Glancing through the skylight gave her an uplifting view of fluffy white clouds floating in the darkening blue sky.

Kilian jerked to one side, and she hurried to stay behind him, which proved almost impossible as he fought two more werewolves. The matted fur around their muzzles showed small chunks of rotting meat. A sulfurous odor wafted from their open mouths and forced her gag reflex into overdrive.

She furiously swallowed to avoid losing what little food she'd been given, if several pieces of old jerky could be called food. She didn't dare think about where they'd gotten the meat.

From the corner of her eye, a large shape charged them from their left, its glowing red eyes holding her hostage. The red eyes she could handle, but the long, pointy, stained teeth were another story.

She screamed, but no sound came out, and then everything around her went crazy. She heard her sister's voice through her own screams. Gwyn, snap out of it—they're attacking the animals! You have to help them! "

Kilian let out a low snarl at the beast facing her and pivoted on his hind legs, jumping on the creature's back. He sank his large fangs into the thick, corded neck and hung on by the sheer power of his jaws, but the Ironclaw couldn't throw him off.

Gwyn backed away, tripping on a couple of stacked boxes behind her. She landed on the lowest box with a hard crack , splitting the slatted top piece. Glancing down, her eyes widened. She jerked apart the broken chunks of pine and pulled out several knives.

With a glance to where Kilian and Fáelán now fought back to back in the center of the room, she loosened her wrists with a few twists of her hands, a knife gripped in each fist. She rolled her head with two loud pops and, praying to Morrigan, jumped into the fray.

The first beast lunged at her, but she met him with two thrusts, and he fell to the ground. Dark red blood pooled on the black fur of his chest and abdomen.

Gwyn held her ground as a large shape loomed to her right. She turned, recognizing one of the werewolves from the baby store. She raised the blood-covered blades in front of her and sneered. "Let's see how well you fight me when I'm armed."

Instead of lunging with the knives, she extended one leg in a quick jump and gave him a hard kick to his chest with her heel. He stumbled backward, his claws splayed over his heart. "Point for me. Big, bad wolf still zero."

"You are no match for me, little girl." His low, gravelly voice sent shivers down her spine, and tiny goosebumps prickled over her arms. Gah! The sound was worse than fingernails scratching a chalkboard. He jumped forward, but she pivoted on her heel and sidestepped the broad swipe of his claws.

Behind you! Torin's frantic voice screamed in her mind. Turn the blades around—tuck them underneath your arms.

Without hesitation, she did what Torin told her to do. Something huge hit her from behind, shoving her forward, followed by a wail of pain. She didn't have time to gloat as the black werewolf threw out his arms and howled.

She leaned back and jerked at the blades. Instead of freeing them, her body jerked backward, going down with the beast as he fell. The werewolf’s bloody iron-covered claws extended, and fear gurgled in her throat as she fell toward him.