and managed to make her way to the trunk of the tree where she took a seat on a sturdy branch, high enough up that the wolf could not touch her.
In an inexplicable, to her, bout of modesty, she turned her naked body to minimize his view of her.
After all, they were both Chrechte and shifters often removed their clothes communally before taking their other forms.
“Who are you?” she asked to cover her confusion with herself.
“You cannot tell?”
“My guess is Niall, brother to Barr.”
“That would be me. My face isn’t as pretty as his, but we’re identical otherwise.” He turned a scarred cheek toward her.
“No, you’re not identical.”
“That is what Guaire says.”
“Is Guaire your mate?” she asked, though the way Niall said the other man’s name left no doubt as to their relationship.
It was the same tone Barr used to say her name, or had done, before their harsh and painful words in the clearing.
“Aye. He is my true bond.” He sounded so like Barr when her mate was pleased with something that despite everything, Sabrine found herself smiling.
“Who is the Faol over there?” she asked, indicating the still form.
“I was hoping you would tell me.”
That made no sense. “Why did you attack him if you do not know him?”
“He was intent on prey. All I could smell was my brother’s mate.”
“But you do not know me.”
“I know you are family.”
Her heart contracted at the claim. If only that could be true. “I am Éan,” she blurted out.
“I had that figured when you shifted from raven to human.” His sardonic tone made her smile again.
Though it was quickly followed by a frown. “You saw?”
“My face is flawed, not my eyesight.”
“I’d say your face looks pleasing enough to keep your mate on his toes around others.”
His head thrown back, Niall laughed loudly at that.
Men. They could be so vain.
“Do you need help down?” he asked.
“No.”
He nodded, the laughter gone as quickly as it had come. Without another word, he turned away. She had been naked around her brethren before shifting many times, but the Donegal clan must be wearing off on her because once again her modesty was relieved he didn’t watch her make her way out of the tree. Sabrine fetched her clothing on her way down and donned it quickly once she’d reached the ground.
As she adjusted her final pleat, the wolf at the base of the other tree stirred. Niall had not killed him then.
She had been far more interested in meeting Barr’s brother than the fate of the other wolf. It shimmered into human form as it came to consciousness.
She sucked in a sharp breath.
“You know this tree-climbing bitch’s son?” Niall asked.
“He is Wirp, grandfather to Muin.” She wished she was surprised, but she wasn’t.
The old man glared at them from the ground. “You know damn well who I am, whelp.”
Niall had the man on his feet and dangling over the ground between one breath and the next. “Who are you daring to call whelp?”
Wirp’s brows drew together in confusion as fear became a rancid odor around him. “You are not the laird.”
“Nay, I am his brother, the mean one.” Niall’s snarl would have done any wolf proud.
“They don’t get meaner,” Wirp spat.
“Well now, if you think so highly of him, what the hell were you doing trying to climb a tree and get to his mate?”
“I don’t think highly of him,” the old man sputtered.
Foolishly, Sabrine thought. Considering his circumstances.
Niall’s scowl was every bit as intimidating as Barr’s. “You insult my brother?” he asked in a tone both quiet and controlled that still managed to convey Wirp’s imminent death at the wrong answer.
“He mated a raven.” Each word dripped with venomous loathing.
Niall turned his head and gave Sabrine a smile of sublime delight. “He did at that.”
“She’s an abomination!”
Even knowing they were spoken by a prejudiced old man who should mean nothing to her, the words pricked at Sabrine’s heart like the tip of a newly sharpened dagger.
“What is the matter with you?” Niall sounded truly perplexed. “My brother has managed to discover a member of the old race and draw her to himself. ’Tis a miracle our laird Talorc of the Sinclairs will thank him profusely for.”
As if Barr had a thing to do with her falling out of the sky and infiltrating his clan. Men! Still, she liked Niall’s interpretation better than Wirp’s.
“She’s carrion eater, not worthy to be called Chrechte.”
“She’s Éan, magical and powerful with Chrechte gifts a wolf will never know.”
“You know