a little over a month later
“How do I look?” Ren gave a twirl in place to show off her new red dress with a hem that went—gasp!—above her knees. She’d gone shopping at a second-hand boutique with Chloe and Loa. The dress was from another era, a vintage throwback. Like me. The fit was snug and showed off her enhanced cleavage (thank you, nursing!).
Munro’s eyes went heavy-lidded. “You look like you want to go back to bed instead of to a party.”
“I think we’re committed to attend since we’re the guests of honor.” They were moving to Conall tomorrow, so the pack was hosting a going-away bash.
The new house and stables were already complete, thanks to Lykae builders who could work around the clock and lift a roof with one hand.
For the festivities tonight, Munro was dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt, because he planned to play rugby later. Will had promised a bruising matchup: demons versus wolves. No tracing allowed.
Munro’s only accessory? A contraception cuff.
Though the clan would be slow to embrace magic as they had before, it was indeed a slippery slope.
Munro reached his strong arms out to draw Ren close, as if he couldn’t touch her enough. She would find his gaze on her throughout the day, golden eyes soft with love or smoldering blue with desire.
“Committed? This is the Lore,” he murmured. “The rules say there are no rules.” He kissed her lustily—until laughter sounded from downstairs.
Rónan, Ben, Chloe, and Will were all cracking up. The babies must have done something amusing.
Ren asked, “Do you think Rónan’s making the twins race again?” Though just over a month old, Dùgh and Mat were already crawling. Any contests between the identical twins usually ended in a tie.
“Likely. I admire the spirit of competition, but he ought no’ to wear the tykes out before the big party.” Munro was a protective papa, and doting as well. He wanted to be a part of every diaper change, burping, and bath.
Between the two wards, Chloe and Will, and all the pack, Ren could hardly spend enough time with her little pups. But she was always nearby, watching out for them—a protector with her entire world to protect.
“We should head down,” she said. “We might not get many opportunities for parties in the coming months.” They had Sentinel work to do. She cast him a hungry look and said, “Afterward, you can take me to the bayou.” They’d spent this month’s full moon there. Ren’s beast had been a delight. “It’s my favorite spot in all of Glenrial.”
“Only because that’s where you keep ravishing me.”
She blinked at him. “Why else would it be my favorite?”
He chuckled. Then he grew more serious. “We can come here whenever you like. We can split time between the two countries or live anywhere in the worlds. Whatever pleases you.”
“Let’s go to Conall. I’m keen to patrol those woods.”
No longer did she feel pressure to fight against evil immortals because of her family’s legacy. Responsibility had transformed into opportunity; she would protect those in need because the cause was just, and she was strong.
Since her blade had lost its magic along with everything else in Glenrial, she’d let her weapon rest at last, a storied link connecting Ren to her own storied past.
One day she would tell her beloved boys all about her lives and deaths and the “monster” she fell for. While her and Munro’s own story would continue. . . .
“Your patrol partner awaits, she-wolf.” He tilted his head at her. “I still canna believe your control.”
When she’d told him about her dream with her beast, he’d been amazed: “Cooperation over conflict? Who would’ve thought?”
Now he cradled her face with a look in his eyes, as if she were his every dream, wish, and fantasy rolled into one. “You astonish me, love.”
She gave him a saucy grin. “I plan to be full of surprises. Just try to keep up, old wolf.”
“Ah, my wee harridan.”
Still smiling, they walked hand in hand down the stairs, heading toward the laughter.
“When are you and Emmaline taking the plunge?” Munro asked Lachlain.
The king, Munro, and Will were surveying the raucous party from the lodge’s front porch. Loreans of all species had descended on them.
Kereny, Chloe, Loa, and Queen Emmaline sat nearby on a blanket under the soft moonlight. Ben and Rónan played soccer with some of the younger set on the large green lawn.
Will added, “Your queen looks like she enjoys kids.” He lifted his beer toward Emmaline, who had a dreamy smile on her face as she cradled the twins in her arms. The lads were dozing, bellies full of Kereny’s milk.
“No plunge for us. No’ for a while,” Lachlain said, with the look of a male in charge of his destiny. “She and I had a rational discussion and mutually agreed that we should wait until after the Accession. Once we decide to get pregnant, only then will she begin to eat food of the earth.”
“Sounds smart,” Will said.
Mariketa strutted up to Emmaline and accused her of hogging the babes. After Glenrial’s magic had failed catastrophically, the witch had been quick to remind Munro about a specific clause in that terms-of-service contract: Spell may lose functionality in the case of an archwarlock’s death in close proximity.
Wiccae.
With a reluctant sigh, Emmaline handed the twins over to Mariketa, then traced straight to the buffet table. The vampire, a relative food newbie, slathered whipped cream on a muffuletta, lifting it to her mouth—
“Mo chridhe!” Lachlain called with wide eyes. “We spoke about this!” He rushed to intercept her.
Will and Munro chuckled.
Earlier, Lothaire had traced Ellie and Balery by for a brief visit. The two females had brought all kinds of gifts for the lads.
The Enemy of Old had taken Munro aside. “My gift to your wolflings is that I will not target them for my new ledger until they’re in their teens. But after that, one stray step will land them in those pages.”
Munro had bared his fangs, fists clenching.
“My gods, it’s too easy to rile your kind. But seriously, Lizvetta has informed me that I’m not ever to target your offspring.”
“That’s a good thing.” Munro had feigned a thoughtful nod. “Especially since Balery told me my sons will be mates to your future daughters.”
Lothaire had paled even more than usual, his lips drawing back from his own fangs.
Munro chuckled. “My gods, it’s too easy to rile your kind.”
Lothaire had negligently waved at him. “You irritate me. Begone with you.”
“This is my place.”
Hiss.
They’d left not long after. Munro’s visit with a former Horde vampire had reminded him that war was coming—a new kind of war—and he had much on the line.
Reports had reached them that Quondam’s sphere was failing, with rifts throughout. The Forgotten were in chaos after Jels’s death. Once that dome fell, the Vertas would be there to rescue all those newlings, just as they had secured the ones who’d stormed Glenrial. Nïx would probably be displeased, but Munro didn’t care.
No longer did he spend every second worrying about shite that was out of his control. If his brother could find happiness and Kereny could find a compromise with her beast, then Munro could overcome his fears.
Whenever his sons took hold of his fingers—with surprisingly strong grips—his worries dissipated. He’d told them, “Ach, you’ll be warriors before we can blink, then.”
Mariketa finally relinquished the babes back to their mother. When Kereny laid them on the blanket, they squirmed a bit, then fell back to sleep. She beheld them with utter adoration as the night breeze riffled their downy black curls.
Kereny must’ve sensed his gaze. She met his eyes, and the window to her emotions was clear. When he saw her unmitigated joy, he almost roared to the sky with satisfaction.
“Let’s go see our ladies,” Will said, his own eyes locked on Chloe. As they strode across the lawn, he said, “Here we are, both of us with mates, and you a da. Ben and Rónan are making strides. The entire pack is.” He sounded more content than Munro had ever heard him. “Fortune shines upon us.”
“Indeed it does.” And it would continue to.
“Those twins of yours are already close, just like us.” The boys clutched each other’s onesies in sleep. Will sighed. “And just like us, one will always be Hotter.” He buffed his claws.
Munro laughed. “Ah, my bràthair, no’ even if I give you another nine hundred years.”