The Thing About Weres

“I know,” I said softly, “but I’m going anyhow.”

Don’t cling, you fool. Get up. Stand on your own two feet. Resolutely, I slid off Trowbridge’s knee and took a step to the window. I rested a shoulder against its frame and gazed outside. The mower had left lines in the grass.

“One way or the other, I’ve put each of you in a very difficult situation over the last six months,” I said. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am for that.” Merry shifted as I folded my arms and tucked in my chin. I listened to a cardinal’s song for a few bars then nodded to myself. “So, it’s probably best if I handle this on my own. If you can look the other way while I bring Lexi to the portal, I’ll do the rest. That is, if you trust me.” I swallowed. “And believe that I told you everything that happened up there.”

Someone had left a rake abandoned by the peony bushes.

“You’ve forgotten some pretty important stuff,” Trowbridge murmured.

My body stiffened. He doesn’t. The Alpha of Creemore’s scent reached for me and slid a tendril of him around my throat. Was it threatening? No. A half second later, I felt him—well, at least the heat of him—right beside me. So close. If I pulled my gaze from the peonies, if I turned my chin just half an inch … No. I didn’t want to chance a look at him at the moment, because truth was, it was taking everything I had to keep my lip from trembling.

His hand—one thumb, a pointer, and a middle finger—curled around my shoulder. Into my ear he said softly, “Did you forget what I said? Heart of my heart. Mate for all my years. I offer you my life?”

Low blow. My nose burned in the way it did when it was gearing up for a monumental boo-hoo. “Maybe the mating vows didn’t take and you still have a chance.” I rubbed my face and said wearily, “Maybe all we have between us is sex. Whenever I’m near you, I can’t think properly. Every time I see you, I keep thinking the same thing over and over again, and it drowns out every rational thought I ever—”

“Mine,” he said.

My mouth fell open. I was thinking of a verb far less profound.

“That’s what I think when I see you. That’s why I suffered nine years of blue balls. That’s why I kept living when it would have been easier to die. That’s why I came back and that’s why I’m here now.” He gave me a fierce smile. “You are mine. I am yours. It’s fucking simple. Don’t make it complicated.”

I gazed at the lawn, remembering the night I followed Stuart Scawens down to the pond.

“The vows took,” he said. “I meant those words when I said them to you, mate.”

No more lies.

“I tricked you,” I whispered. “You thought you were saying the mating vows to Candy.”

“Candy never smelled like wildflowers in the field.”

“Sweet peas,” I choked out. “My blood smells like sweet peas. Why don’t you know that, Trowbridge?”

“It’s a detail. I’m better on the big picture.” The Alpha of Creemore turned me toward him. Blue-tailed comets spun in tired eyes, then his light—oh Goddess, his flare—it shone through his gaze.

Not painfully. Not hurtfully.

Mine, it said tenderly.

My flare—and oh sweet heavens, I was so far gone I didn’t even feel its burn coming because my eyes had been blurred from the moment his scent had skimmed my flesh—burst forth. Mediterranean blue met brilliant green. Someone went “Aw” as turquoise light filled the bedroom.

“You are my mate who smells like tiny flowers.” He cupped my face with his two large hands and tilted my face toward him. And that was that. His lips brushed mine. Once, twice. Not landing, just for a fly-by warning. His breath mingled with mine as he nuzzled the corner of my lips. “Don’t ever forget that again.”

Things have happened since he said those words.

But still, I’ve never forgotten him saying them.

Someone blew their nose then flushed the toilet. “What I want to know is how we’re going to call the portal when it’s time to go fetch brother dearest from the clutches of the Black Mage?” drawled Cordelia as she emerged from the bathroom.

We.

“You’re not going,” said Trowbridge. “Too many people crossing the gates at the same time is just going to increase the chances of getting caught. I can get Hedi to cover quicker if there’s just the two of us.”

We.

Cordelia’s eyes narrowed.

Before she could put thought to word, I said, “Casperella can do it.” Trowbridge lifted an eyebrow so I enlarged. “There’s a Fae ghost in your cemetery who knows the words to the song.” I felt my cheeks flush. “She’s the one who called the portal last night. I couldn’t remember the words.”

“There’s a ghost in the cemetery,” Trowbridge repeated.

“There’re three.”

“I knew it,” Biggs said.

Trowbridge’s breath was warm, his heart solid. “If there was a ghost in the cemetery who knew the song, then why did you wait six months before telling her to summon the Gates?”

Shame bit me. “I didn’t know she was a Fae. And besides, Casperella was mute until she got her mitts on my magic.”

“You shared your magic with a ghost?”

The emptiness—that searching feeling I’d felt without my talent—it didn’t bear thinking about. “Not willingly” I said quietly. “And I got it back eventually.” I lifted a shoulder, then let it drop. “Casperella would probably be willing to make a trade. She wants to go home. Back to Merenwyn. I could loan her my magic if she summoned the portal for us. The trickiest part would be to make her to give me back all of my green sparkling bits before she slipped across the portal.”

“Sweetheart,” he said. “A warrior never gives up his weapons. Ever.”

A weapon? Was that how he saw my magic?

“We won’t need the ghost,” said Trowbridge. “The ghost didn’t call the portal—your brother did. It started to materialize up on the hill within three bars of the song.”

I thought back. Who had really called the portal? Casperella? My twin? Or had Fate suddenly decided to intercede? Had she watched, unseen, until the precise moment all three of us so desperately needed an intervention? Was something larger than all of us guiding our destinies?

Trowbridge ran a soothing hand down my back. He murmured, “Your brother knows the song, let him sing it.”

And just how would I get Lexi to call the portal? Without giving him false hope?

My head hurt.

Ralph flashed a “hey, over here!” as Merry emerged from my neckline. “Ralph needs to be fed. Merry, too.” I smoothed the dark hair on Trowbridge’s arm. It was soft and silky.

Harry cleared his throat. “There’s a shrub or two that I can pull out from the mess out back if he needs something fast.”

“There will be no shrubs in the bedrooms,” said Cordelia. She’d used the brush. Her hair was a nice smooth sheet.

I got a flash of her last night—hair askew, mouth twisted in pain.

Harry and Biggs, too.

“You guys should leave when the portal is summoned. The pack will smell the magic of the portal—they’ll come to watch.” I thought of those jiggling asses. “But they’re afraid of the gates so they’ll keep their distance. It would create a diversion. You could use it to slip out of Creemore. With any luck you can be on the highway before anyone notices you’re gone.”

“That’s true,” said Cordelia. “They’ll smell the magic and come running.”

Nod and let her go.

My friend’s face twisted into her full diva scowl. “Damn. We’ll have to think around that—it will make getting her brother through the portal a lot harder.”

Harry did a man-sigh as he scrubbed his mouth. “If Bridge doesn’t take immediate action against her brother, he’ll look weak. We’ve got to factor that in, too.”