“Watch it, sis,”Bran warned.
“Behave, brat,” Patrick growled.
Bébhinn watched as Dagr opened the door for Ulf Griffiths. She’d met Dagr’s father before, so his appearance wasn’t a shock to her, but for the family… The collective inhalation of disbelief was hilarious. She had to admit, she’d blown off the similarities to her brothers, but watching an older version walk through the door was breath-stealing.
Ulf was big, good-looking, with a permanent sneer on his full lips. The man could still be a model if he could speak to anyone without pissing them off first.
Where her brothers had golden skin like their father and dark to amber eyes, Ulf had pale skin and paler eyes. Matched with their signature white hair, it was damn eerie. Then add Daniel and Jonathan, who were their father’s mini-mes, and Dagr, who was Ulf’s younger doppelganger. It was a lot.
If the DNA proved a match, she’d have to give it to Helen Lowell. The woman clearly carried a Titan’s strength of DNA sharing.
She stepped forward and shook Ulf’s hand. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
“As if I had a choice,” was his response, earning snickers from the crowd.
Dagr thankfully took over. “Dad, let me introduce everyone.”
Bébhinn thought she heard the older Griffiths mumble, “If you must.”
The introductions took an inordinate amount of time, what with the side explanations of family connections, including those of her friends.
At the end, his only response was, “Christ, okay then.”
Ulf laid a large manilla envelope he’d brought on the bar top, at a loss as to how to proceed. Thankfully, Bran took mercy on the man. Clearing his throat, he asked, “A drink before we find out if we’re family?”
“We’re family regardless, what with Dagr and Bébhinn,” Raven said, smiling at Rowan and River, who both smiled back. Well, River did. Bébhinn’s mom stayed stoically blank-faced through it all. She probably was missing her husband something fierce.
“Absolut, ice, and lime,” Ulf practically growled, his patience for family niceties hitting its limit.
Once everyone had drinks, an uncomfortable silence spread across the room like the plague. Dagr looked at Bébhinn with wide eyes, and she knew she needed to do something. “Let’s get to the result then, Mr. Griffiths.”
“Ulf,” he corrected. “You’ve made my son happy. I think that deserves first names.”
She nodded, fighting a sudden surge of emotion. She looked to her mother, who was blinking rapidly herself. She only nodded.
“We’ll either be celebrating a new member of the family or making toasts to having an amazing holiday in Colorado.” Bébhinn took a sip of her Three Wolves in the hopes that she might stop rambling.
Bran and Patrick moved around to stand on either side of Ulf—which was mind-blowing to look at—and waited for Ulf to open the large envelope.
Ulf took a gorgeously ornate pocketknife from his jeans pocket and slit the envelope’s top. When he pulled the results out and laid them flat for him, Bran, and Patrick to view, Bébhinn swore no one breathed.
The three men didn’t speak. Ulf turned and looked from Bran to Patrick and back again. Her brothers looked at Ulf.
“There are three of us, then,” Patrick finally broke the silence, his voice reflecting the wonder in his statement.
“You’re our older brother,” Bran finally choked out.
Ulf’s face didn’t give anything away. Their audience was shocked when he placed one hand on Bran’s forearm and the other on Patrick’s.
“Oldest and best. Nice to meet you, brothers. I hear our mum’s a right bitch.”
sixty
CIAR
They wereall on the jet Dagr had chartered, headed to Colorado. They were also on their way to a congratulatory drunk in honor of the O’Faolain’s newest family members, which was a total mind fuck.
Ulf had agreed to stay with his new-found brothers and their wives, and Rowan, of course, while the younger crowd started their trip across the ocean.
