Unable to help himself, he rolled Meggie onto her back, gripping her hand as if he could hold her back from her reckless courage.
He looked over at his littermate. “I understand why you went out there, mo deartháir.” His voice came out a low rasp. “But by the Gods…”
Donal’s gaze met his. “How do you think I felt, seeing you jump in front of a hellhound? And then realizing Margery followed me?”
Without opening her eyes, Meggie stirred and bent her head to kiss Tynan’s fingers, her lips soft on his callused hand. “’Course I did. You needed help.”
Braced on an elbow, Tynan kissed her cheek, then her lips. The words weren’t easy to say, but he offered them like a wolf bringing a breakfast bunny to his mate. “It’s not easy to see someone I love risking her life, mo chridhe.”
Her eyes flew open. The way her body went still told him she hadn’t considered that he might actually care for her.
That was his failing…not sharing his emotions. He nuzzled her hair and tried again. “I love you, Meggie mine.”
His littermate grunted as if he’d been punched.
After a second, Donal went up on an elbow, mirroring Tynan’s pose, and kissed Meggie. “I love you, too, you know.”
When she made a sound like a startled mouse, he shot Tynan an amused look—because nothing kept the cat down for long.
Donal pushed a strand of hair out of her face. “As it happens, I know you love us back. Don’t you?” The light way he said the words couldn’t conceal the longing beneath.
Aye, we’re both lost, aren’t we?
Tynan ran a finger over her cheek. “Give us the words, little wolf.”
She was incapable of holding back when someone needed her…and there was no way she could miss how much they needed to hear how she felt.
Tynan’s heart swelled painfully as she whispered. “I love you, Tynan.”
She turned to Donal, “I love you, Donal. Both of you.” Reaching out, she pulled them down to her, hugging them tightly.
Tynan put his arm over her and his brother. The satisfaction of holding the ones he loved—his family—filled him to overflowing.
This…this is right.
Chapter Twenty-One
Unclaimed territory, Washington - waxing gibbous moon
Nerves had Margery tapping her fingers on the steering wheel as she drove south on Highway 9. The last month, since the first night she’d spent with Tynan and Donal to now, had been like an amazing dream. Work, friends, and a home. Tynan and Donal.
They loved her. She pulled in a breath, hearing their words again. Seeing Tynan’s clear blue eyes so filled with emotion, hearing the catch in Donal’s voice.
They love me. Me!
She’d never dreamed life could hold so much happiness.
A growl broke into her thoughts.
She frowned at Tynan in the passenger seat. “Am I doing something wrong?”
“Not you, lass.” He pointed to the car in front of them on the highway. “They’re moving slower than a pixie after a hard freeze. If you stay behind them, it’ll take us all day to get to the festival grounds.”
“Oh.” That sounded fine to her. Because she had a feeling this weekend was liable to turn a dream into a nightmare. The Rainier clan would be at the summer solstice festival.
Grumbling came from Oliver in the back seat, and her mood lightened. It was good to have him here.
After disappearing for a week after Silas’s death at the lodge, he’d returned and apologized for his behavior that night. They’d talked and then talked some more. He’d shared what he’d experienced as a shifter-soldier. That he was having trouble coping. That he’d been drunk that night and a few other nights.
For the last week, things between them had gotten better.
Which was good. Neither of them liked conflict—one of the few traits they had in common. Over the years, she’d forgotten how different she was from her littermates. She was the even-tempered, practical, and affectionate one. Being a banfasa suited her.
If he’d lived, tough Orson would have probably been a warrior—a cahir, even. Her last memory of him still hurt: him charging the Scythe, the soldier’s gun firing, the life draining from his eyes.
The Mother guard you, Orson.
Oliver was the sensitive, creative one. Grandmama had once said that a vivid imagination made it difficult to be brave…and Oliver had been awfully cautious as a cub. Being forced to become a Scythe soldier must have been such a nightmare. And during their talks, he’d said the Scythe considered killing him for being a “waste of