Page 251 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

So did my father’s.

I stared at Ian. “That was convenient.”

He looked at me, and for one absurd, beautiful moment, the corner of his mouth lifted.

“It is also true.”

“Extremely convenient truth.”

He shrugged.

Isan Holloway actually shrugged.

I pointed at him. “Do not think being handsome and recently emotionally resurrected means I am letting that slide.”

“I would never assume that.”

The bond carried the lie.

I gasped. “You are absolutely assuming that.”

His eyes warmed.

My mother, meanwhile, had perked up like someone had offered her a replacement centerpiece. “So there are vows?”

“No,” I said.

Ian said, “There can be.”

“Ian.”

He looked far too innocent for a blood-covered werewolf who had been nude in front of my family twenty minutes ago.

Aunt Linda slapped the table. “I knew I liked him.”

Tessa looked at me across the table, pale and exhausted, but smiling for the first time since the courtyard. “This is officially the weirdest wedding weekend I have ever attended.”

I looked at her ring. So did she and the smile faded.

Grant sat at the far end of the table with a cloth held to his nose and a resentment so thick it practically needed its own chair.

Ronan followed my gaze and his expression cooled.

“Grant Walker,” he said.

Grant stiffened. Two wolves stepped closer to the door and Grant’s face lost what little color it had regained.

“You will be escorted from the island on the first boat,” Ronan said. “You will not contact Cassie. You will not contact Tessa except through legal channels for the purpose of returning property or resolving any financial matter tied to the canceled wedding. You will not speak of this resort, this pack, or anything you believe you saw.”

Grant swallowed. “You can’t just threaten me.”

Cormac tilted his head. “It sounded very much like he could.”

Ronan didn’t blink. “If you make yourself a problem, we know where you live. We will happily add your corpse to the others.”

My mother gasped.

Dad said, “Jesus.”