She nodded against his shirt. “Edith made terrible porridge,” she said. “But then she let me watch her fix a broken ward, so it was okay.”
“My porridge is excellent,” Edith said. “Your child has no taste.”
“Our child,” Dani said quietly.
The words did something strange to his chest. He tightened his hold on Aurelia for a second, just to keep from swaying.
“Our child,” he echoed.
Aurelia pulled back, beaming in a way that made her look suddenly younger. “Are you going to fight today?” she asked him, matter-of-fact.
He frowned. “Fight?”
Aurelia nodded. “Last night, when Edith picked me up from your house, Chase mentioned something about a patrol and some more shifters coming. They began to argue, then I heard Chase say ‘clusterfuck,’ and Edith threw a spoon at him.”
“Language,” Edith muttered.
Dani and Arthur exchanged a look over Aurelia’s head. New arrivals, and not welcome ones.
Arthur’s wolf stirred, uneasy, his stomach sinking as he connected the dots.
“We’ll handle it,” he said. “That’s our job. Yours is not learning any more swear words from my brother.”
“I know more from Mom anyway,” Aurelia said, deadly serious.
Dani choked.
Edith smirked into her mug.
It was stupid, maybe, to feel it, but for a moment, standing in the doorway of a house inhabited by witches, his daughter wedged between him and his mate, Edith rolling her eyes nearby, Arthur felt…like they were something whole. Not fixed. Not healed. But real.
Family.
He’d barely had time to taste it when the wards shivered.
A second later, the door banged open without the benefit of a knock. The protective magic flared, then subsided, recognizing the offender.
Chase stumbled in on a gust of cold air, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with alarm.
“We’ve got a problem,” he said.
All the warmth dropped out of the room.
“Your patrols last night?” Arthur asked, voice low.
Chase nodded, “We got word from the wolves at the border. The Volnoye have arrived. I’m sorry, I thought they’d be at least another day.”
The name hit like a fist to the gut.
“Dominic?” Arthur asked.
Chase was practically humming with repressed energy. “Volkhov intercepted them. They’re having a…confrontation as we speak.”
Arthur growled, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Shit. This is my fault. I shouldn’t have invited them.”
“I did tell you—”
“Shut it, Chase,” Arthur snarled, turning towards the door. “Follow me. We need to get there before any blood is spilled. You go on ahead.”
