It was the hint of longing in their eyes that captured her.
A yearning for a mate of their own.
And her heart cracked.
Her resolve firmed to do whatever was in her power to keep them alive long enough for them to find their own mates.
The wolves andloup garoustraightened under her regard, bowing their heads in submission, averting their eyes and baring their necks in a show of respect. A few of them went so far as to kneel, but Draven hauled them back to their feet, thank the goddess, and she smiled at him in appreciation.
It wigged her out to see people kneeling to her.
That wasn’t how she wanted to run her pack.
A few of the wolves looked seconds away from freaking out, trembling so badly, she expected them to pass out, as if they would be punished for not prostrating themselves, but the siren’s touch calmed them.
She could kiss Draven for his compassion.
And she would later, when she got him alone.
His head snapped up, his nostrils flaring, his gaze shooting toward hers as if sensing her silent promise, and his stormy eyes darkened with a promise of his own.
Caedmon stood in the back, wearing only a pair of sweats, his arms crossed as he gazed at nothing but her, his yellow eyes shimmering with some emotion she couldn’t name. Her mouth went dry. Even in his human form, the fae was impressive, all sleek muscles and pale skin, his black hair hanging halfway down his back.
He looked like a god ready to conquer anyone who stood in the way of what he wanted, and she shivered at the fanciful thought. She scratched the moon symbol on her arm, and it took more effort than it should to tear her eyes away.
“Let’s secure the ferals in the caves.” She glanced in the direction the bird had disappeared, shadows falling over the trees as the sun began its descent. She didn’t trust that the owner wouldn’t come looking for them. She would not allow them to take the wolves back. “I want to be home before dark.”
More than half of the shifters bowed, and everyone leapt into action.
She turned back toward the cabin, then stopped dead when she saw Arthur leaning against the porch post, looking at them with a bemused expression on his face.
Fuck!
She’d forgotten him.
Again.
She narrowed her eyes, watching his eyebrows climb up his forehead, and he slowly straightened, an amused smirk playing around his lips.
Almost challenging.
What the hell?
She noted the changes to him since she’d last seen him. He was in better shape, the paunch gone, his back straighter. His thin hair looked longer, fuller even. His faded green eyes were more vibrant, a fierceness to them that belied his age. A savage pride shone in them as he gazed at her, and a strange warmth filled her chest at his regard.
He almost seemed to be waiting for her order.
She rubbed her chest, the crescent moon right below her collarbone—the symbol of Nyx, the mother of all gods—began to tingle, a strange fire spreading through her veins.
Morgan turned slowly, her senses sharpening as she searched for a threat, while her get the fuck out of heresenses screaming.
“Let’s head out,” she called to the packs, ready to be gone from this place.
She scanned the area again, but the air was tainted with too much magic. It rose from the ferals like a foul smell that invaded her sinuses, and she couldn’t seem to track it back to any source.
The whole lake area was inundated with a strange power that she really hadn’t come across before, and she didn’t like not knowing what was setting off her Spidey senses.
She turned back toward the old man, then sighed. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s safe for you to remain here alone, not until we can clean up this mess. We can wait for you to pack a bag.Do you have somewhere you can go? You mentioned a grandson?”
