Page 245 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

“That feels less like a character flaw and more like a medical observation.”

“It is both.”

Ian’s arm tightened around my waist, careful but absolute. The bond pulsed with worry, deep and hot and still new enough that I almost forgot to be annoyed by it.

Almost.

“Do not start looming,” I told him.

“I am holding you upright.”

“With looming energy.”

His mouth twitched.

God.

There he was.Still blood-covered. Still too large and too dangerous for the ruined courtyard around him. Still looking like every dark thing this world had made of him. But beneath it, through the bond, I felt him trying to stay with me instead of slipping back behind the walls.

That was new.

That was ours.

Ronan removed his coat and held it out to Ian without looking directly at him. Ian took it and my father made a sound of relief so intense it bordered on religious. The coat didn’t solve much. Ian was much larger than Ronan, and the coat barely reached mid-thigh, but it at least gave Dad something to pretend was modesty.

Aunt Linda looked disappointed.

“Linda,” my mother said sharply.

“What? I said nothing.”

My mother closed her eyes.

I leaned harder against Ian because if I didn’t, I might fall over from blood loss or family absurdity. Possibly both.

Ronan looked at Sava. “Take her inside.”

“No,” I said at once.

Every wolf looked at me. I was getting tired of that. It had been flattering the first few times, in a very alarming way. Now I mostly felt like suggesting name tags and assigned staring hours.

“No?” Ronan asked.

“I want to know what happens to my family.”

My father stepped forward. “Your family wants to know what happened to your family.”

Ronan’s gaze moved to him.

Dad didn’t flinch, which surprised me. He was terrified. I could see it in the stiff set of his shoulders and the way his fingers tightened around the champagne bottle. But he stood there anyway, staring at a man who radiated authority in a courtyard full of dead wolves.

For all his faults, my father had come back for me with a bottle and no plan.

Ronan said, “You will be given answers.”

“That sounds like something people say before a cover-up.”

“It is a cover-up,” Cormac said from the wet stone, where he had apparently decided sitting down was the line between dignity and collapse. “We are simply trying to make it a humane one.”