To my surprise, my mother not only returned my call, but met me at the Toronto airport.
Shortly after deplaning, I found her waiting at the bottom of the escalator as I headed for baggage claim.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded as soon as I saw her.
Hurt flashed across her face at my question.
But then she reset and said, “I am sorry. I know I should just stay out of it, especially now that I fully understand Tara’s reasons for returning to her home. But I had to stay in her pack town because of the full moon anyway, and then I was thinking maybe you would need my support because I believe you will find her pack as surprising as I did. Also, they drive mostly automatic on the right side of the road here, and I am not quite sure you ever learned to drive in this way.”
I fidgeted. She was right. I’d never driven anywhere but in Scotland and couldn’t say for sure how automatic cars worked.
Still, I insisted, “I’ll hire a car and sort it out myself. You can’t drive us there.”
“But why not?” she demanded. “Like I said, you will want some support when dealing with her … very interesting people. And besides, St. Ailbe is over an hour away and I am right here, ready to take you. Why not accept my offer, Mag—?”
I knew the exact moment she realized why I’d be unwilling to let her drive me to Tara’s pack town. She suddenly cut off, and I followed her surprised gaze to watch my father coming down the escalator.
But by the time Lachlan made it to us, my mother had recovered. Quickly composing her beautiful face before saying, “Lachlan. You look well …”
Lachlan wasn’t nearly as good of an actor. Thirteen years. They’d been divorced thirteen years. Yet, he regarded her with furious eyes as if she’d only just left him yesterday. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, same as his son.
Instead of cowering, my mother lifted her chin and said, “I will be driving you and Magnus to St. Ailbe. You are both very much welcome.”
And so that was how I ended up in a four-door rented Maserati with my mother driving and my father openly glaring at her from the backseat.
My father did deign to break the silence once with, “I see you don’t have a ring. Did you meet and divorce another wolf? Or do you only take lovers like those Italian movie stars of yours?”
“I only take lovers, old wolf,” my mother answered breezily, her Italian accent like honey running over a dagger. “And how about you? Did any of those bonnie widows finally lure you into their stone vaginas?”
My father made a sound that was either a snort of laughter or a huff of anger—I couldn’t tell. But I noticed my mother glancing in the rearview mirror several times over the course of the drive. And since long roads and byways made up the majority of the trip, I suspected she wasn’t looking to check who was driving behind her.
For the first time, I wondered if my mother had also been bereft without my father. But neither of them said another word for the rest of the drive—letting me know where I’d gotten my double dose of uncompromising stubbornness.
This went on for a full hour and a half.
The mood was so uncomfortable, it didn’t occur to me to ask my mother why, if Tara lived just ninety minutes outside of Toronto, there hadn’t been any record of her in the Ontario pack system. And when she suddenly pulled over to the side of a dirt road, I at first wondered if she hadn’t gotten fed up with my father’s almost palpable animosity.
But then I saw a hand-carved sign with St. Ailbe written on it in simple plain letters.
However, when I looked around, I saw mostly farm country. There were cows munching on grass and recently harvested fields and a few meadows beyond that. I also spotted a collection of houses sitting just past the now-empty fields.
They looked strikingly alike: two stories, white wood clapboard. The kind of structures that brought to mind books and television programs with the word “prairie” in the titles. And without the hum of the Maserati’s engine, I noticed how quiet it was here. Nothing but bird song and an occasional moo to be heard, even with my wolf ears.
“This is where Tara grew up?” I asked my mother, unable to match the she-wolf I’d mated with this hushed and unassuming place.
“Si, it is,” my mother answered, getting out of the car. “No autos are allowed past the sign. Also, Magnus, you will need to leave your phones and any other electronics in the car. I am assuming your father still has not gotten a phone.”
“What need do I have of a phone?” Lachlan grumbled as he climbed out of the car. “Doesnae look like there’s much reception to be had out here anyways.”
I placed my mobile in the Maserati’s glove box as told, but asked, “What is this all about?” as I stepped out onto the dirt.
Instead of answering, my mother waved at a solitary figure coming toward us across the fields—a slender Black man, wearing braces over a long-sleeved, blue button-up shirt.
A wide-brim hat sat on his head, and as he got closer, I could see he sported an ear-to-ear salt-and-pepper beard. However, unlike the bearded men in Faoiltiarn, this man didn’t have a mustache to go with his beard.
Could this be the pack alpha? Sent out to negotiate on Tara’s behalf?
But then, a sudden downshift of wind quickly revealed his identity. Tara’s father!
“Hello,” I said awkwardly once the man reached us.
The truth was, despite having flown here all the way from Scotland, I hadn’t given much thought to Tara’s parents—only the negotiation I’d need to make with her pack leader to arrange rights and hopefully see her. I found myself wholly unprepared to meet her sire.
“You must be Tara’s father,” I finished rather lamely.
“Yes, I am. My name is Danso Hamilton,” the man answered. He had a heavy African accent, I noticed, but spoke in a jovial tone as if he might burst into laughter at any moment. “And you must be King Magnus. I hope you do not mind if I do not bow. My daughter said you would prefer if I did, however, that is not our pack’s way. We only bow to God above. Please do not take it as a sign of disrespect.”
I faltered. My nose told me that, aye, this was most definitely Tara’s father. But this man was gracious, his voice polite and resonant with a warm undertone that put me in direct conflict with everything I had expected to find when I arrived.
“Dinna fash yourself, sir,” I replied, bowing my head even though this wolf wasn’t a king or a pack alpha, as far as I could tell. “You are my mate’s father. And besides that, we are not in Scotland.”
“Do not fash yourself,” the man repeated with a grin. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard that turn of phrase. And I see you have brought your father along with you.”
He acknowledged Lachlan with a nod. “Welcome to you, sir. Thank you for coming all this way.”
Lachlan returned the nod, though I could tell he was just as stunned as me to be greeted in this way.
Danso then turned a warm smile on my mother. “You must be happy to be back with your man.”
“Erm …” Lachlan began.
But my mother interrupted with, “Did you decide whether or not to tell Tara Magnus was coming?”
Danso responded with a pained look. “Else and I discussed the matter, but Tara was already so nervous about presenting to the pack … we decided it was best not to. We also weren’t sure if you would make it in time.”
“Make it in time for what?” I asked.
Danso started to answer, but then suddenly paused in the way mated wolves often did when receiving a telepathic communication from their mates. “Okay then, Else’s telling us to hurry up. Tara’s presentation is not going over well.”