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.