his scent, and now she would be too. You can deny it all you want to, lass, but your frenzy’s as hot as mine.
Sean held the jacked by the lapels and bent to kiss her again, just as Dylan came out of the clinic and made for the truck.
The tightness in Dylan’s jaw told Sean that he’d seen the kisses. Sean had made the mate-claim without asking Dylan’s opinion, which Sean knew had to sting. Dylan had slipped in the hierarchy recently, and Sean’s claim without consulting his father had driven that fact home.
Without saying a word to either of them, Dylan climbed into the passenger seat of the pickup, moved the sword, and waited.
Sean pressed one more kiss to Andrea’s mouth and released her. She stepped away and shot him a challenging smile, though she didn’t shrug off the coat.
A tingle of anticipation heated Sean’s blood as he stepped back to let her scramble into the pickup. He still hadn’t recovered from the body blow he’d received when she’d walked toward him across the bus station, beautiful and elegant and unafraid. He wanted to hold her hard, stroke fiercely into her mouth, learn every corner of her. At the same time he determined to reward her well for the beautiful gift she’d given him today. For the first time in all the years that he’d been Guardian, he’d been able to watch certain death back away and life blossom in its place.
Sean examined the sword later that night in the living room while Connor lounged on the floor, pretending to watch television. Liam was working at the bar, and Kim had gone there with him after winning a heated argument. Liam had wanted Kim to stay safely home; Kim had insisted on going to the bar to make sure he didn’t do anything stupidly dangerous, like dive in front of bullets.
Liam had finally conceded. He’d asked Sean to stay home and look after Connor, who was furious at being forced to remain behind. Though he seethed, Connor wouldn’t disobey Liam’s direct order. Andrea had the night off, so Sean had no problem staying here where he could also keep an eye on the house next door.
The sword looked no different than it had before. Long ago, the Shifter Niall O’Connell and his Fae mate had forged the sword, he working the metal with his amazing artistry, she weaving Fae spells into it.
Today, a half-Fae Shifter had taken the magic from the sword and bent it to her will. Sean recalled the amazed look on Ely’s face when he’d realized he wouldn’t die, at least not today.
What had Andrea done? She hadn’t said one word about the healing on the drive back to Austin, and Dylan hadn’t brought up the topic either. Though Dylan was of course relieved that Ely had lived, he hadn’t hidden his deep disturbance about the event. Sean knew that Dylan made Andrea plenty nervous, so the ride home wasn’t as joyous as it could have been.
Sean had dropped Dylan off at the bar on their way into Shiftertown, and he and Andrea had ridden the rest of the way in silence. In equal silence, Andrea had handed Sean his jacket before hurrying alone into Glory’s house.
The coat still smelled of her. Sean would carry it upstairs and lay it on his bed, hoping the scent would seep into his sheets. Then he could dream of her, maybe of her wearing nothing but the jacket. And a pair of spike-heeled shoes. Now there was a picture.
Someone came in the back door. Both Sean and Connor jumped to alertness, but they recognized the scent and relaxed. Sean propped his sword against the wall and went into the kitchen.
“Dad.”
Dylan pulled Sean into a brief, tight hug before helping himself to a Guinness.
“Are you full up here?” Dylan asked. “Or do you have a corner left where your old dad can sleep?”
Sean leaned against the breakfast bar to watch his father take a drink. “Sure we do. But I thought your move in with Glory was permanent.”
Dylan hard face cracked a smile. “Is anything with Glory permanent?”
“You tell me.”
Pain laced Dylan’s eyes, and he covered it by taking another sip of beer. “I loved your mother, Sean.”
Sean shrugged, as though they hadn’t had this discussion many times. Sean and Dylan, Dylan and Liam. “I know you did. But she of all people wouldn’t want to see you buried in grief after fifty years. She’d say, ‘What is wrong with