Eileen Wilks - Mortal Ties

Lily ran her thumb along the band of her engagement ring. She had to quit putting this off. The wedding was two months, one week, and two days away. Tonight, she promised herself, after she ate. She’d bring it up tonight.

Rule looked pretty involved with his business shit. “Where’s Toby?” she asked, taking her first bite of lasagna.

“He and Emmy are spending the night at Danny’s.”

“But he had a spend-the-night here just last night.”

“It’s Christmas vacation,” Rule said without looking away from the computer.

Until recently Lily hadn’t known she had a parenting style. After Rule gained custody of his son last summer, she’d learned that she did, and it was very different from Rule’s. Her parents had seen sleepovers as a privilege to be earned, certainly not something that could happen two nights in a row. As for mixed-sex slumber parties…Lily had to grin, thinking of her mother’s reaction to that notion.

But Toby was not interested in girls as girls. He liked Emmy the same way he liked Danny and Michael and half-a-dozen others. That would change, and Rule would know when it did. The hormonal tumult of puberty was as unsubtle in its scent, Rule said, as it was in its effects.

Lily stopped shoveling in pasta long enough to sip some of a Merlot Rule had thought she’d enjoy. This was the lasagna’s second warm-up, but it was still good. After all, it was, as Toby would say, Carl’s lasagna. Isen’s houseman kept the freezer stocked with dishes like this for when he was off, like tonight.

Having Carl around was a huge perk, she admitted. Not enough of one to entirely balance out the loss of privacy, but a huge perk all the same.

There were others. She didn’t have to dust or vacuum or scrub the bathroom—was, in fact, strongly discouraged from doing any of that. Carl had a roster of young clan members eager to earn spending money who did most of the cleaning. Plus she could grub around in the dirt whenever she had the urge and the time, and if the gardens here weren’t born of her planning or planting, destroying weeds was always satisfying.

In spite of the obvious perks, Lily didn’t want to live with Isen. She didn’t like the long commute. She didn’t like the sense of being a perpetual guest, and she couldn’t get used to the lack of privacy. But Rule would be much more at risk if they stayed at his San Diego apartment. So would Toby. So would the guards who tried to keep the three of them safe. That’s why, three weeks ago, Rule had sublet his old place.

No going back. The only direction anyone had was forward .

At least here she could go for a run without wondering if someone was going to shoot her or the guard keeping pace with her…and that was the point, wasn’t it? She and Rule were prime targets for the enemy, and Friar was still out there, plotting and planning on her behalf.

Which was why she needed to talk to Rule. They were targets, and they were getting married in two months, one week, and two days, and the whole world knew about it. The guest list included her entire family, of course. Also a state supreme court justice, a U.S. senator, and a few more state movers and shakers plus some Washington types—including Lily’s boss, the head of both Unit Twelve and the Shadow Unit dedicated to fighting her. Plus a whole lot of lupi. Nokolai’s Rhej would be one of Lily’s maids of honor; their sorcerer was Rule’s best man.

Rule wasn’t an idiot, she told herself. He must have thought about how dangerous it was to hold the wedding at the posh resort where they’d put down that huge deposit. He’d probably be relieved she brought the subject up.

Why didn’t she believe that?

Maybe because the invitations had already gone out. Then there was the spreadsheet he’d created. And the detailed seating plan. Lily sighed and took a healthy swallow of wine.

Unlike her, Rule was happy here. When she first realized that, it had disconcerted her considerably, but once she thought about it she understood. He’d probably prefer to have his own house, but living at Clanhome…yes. He spent a lot more time surrounded by clan now, and lupi need to be around clan.

He didn’t seem very happy tonight.

Lily studied her lover, friend, and mate as she finished her meal. He wore what he usually did at Clanhome: jeans. Period. No shirt, no shoes. She was used to seeing him in dressier clothes, but he was eye candy either way, long and lean and powerful. His dark hair was untidy, as if he’d been running his hand through it a lot, and as usual was overdue for a trim.

As she watched, he ran a hand through it again. Gold glinted on one finger.

Lily smiled. A couple months ago, she’d said something to Rule about him wearing an engagement ring, too. She’d been joking. He’d loved the idea. She ended up telling him he didn’t get to buy it for himself and he’d have to put up with whatever she could afford. She’d had to dip deep into savings, but she’d gotten a custom ring for him, gold and platinum with a little diamond, and given it to him for Christmas.

He freaking loved that ring. “I talked to Arjenie today.”

“Oh? She’s well, I hope.” His eyes remained trained on the computer screen…both of his lovely, dark eyes. No more pirate’s eye patch. The other wounds he’d received in October were healed, too, leaving not a trace of scar tissue to mark that battle.

But not all scars showed, did they?

“Yeah, she’s fine.” He seemed fine, too. Preoccupied, but fine. He’d kissed her when she got here, told her about the lasagna, and said he was digging through a stack of reports he’d been putting off. Between arranging the upcoming All-Clan and his duties as Ruben’s second in the Shadow Unit, Rule didn’t have much daytime left for handling the finances of two clans.

He hadn’t asked what made her so late.

She’d told him anyway. He’d listened and nodded and poured her the glass of wine she was still sipping. There’d been no magic at T.J.’s scene or on the body; it looked like the coroner would have to determine cause of death. Maybe it really had been a heart attack that hit right after a major argument with T.J.’s suspect. She’d told Rule about Drummond’s reappearance, too, though not in depth. More like a teaser to see how he responded.

He’d agreed that it was good to know Drummond couldn’t show up here at Clanhome, poured a glass of wine for himself, and dived into his neglected reports. Where he’d been buried ever since.

Lily swirled the dark red wine in her glass. One of the tricky things about being part of a couple was knowing when to poke and probe and when to leave the other one alone. Truth was, she was better at the poking. She wasn’t chickening out on the talk she needed to have…

Yes, she was. Lily sighed, took a last swallow of wine, and put down her glass. “I need to talk to you about the wedding.”

“Oh?” He did at least look up.

“I think we need to move it here, to Clanhome.”

“No.”

“That’s it?” Her voice rose. “That’s it—‘no’? Not ‘I don’t agree, but let’s talk.’ Not ‘I don’t agree, and here’s why.’ Just ‘no.’ ”

He tunneled a hand through his hair. “Hell. I did that all wrong. I don’t agree because that would be letting the bastards win. And I don’t want to talk about it tonight. Not tonight, but we’ll talk.”

She looked at him a long moment. “Okay.”

“ ‘Okay’? That’s it?”

“We’ll talk, but it can wait a day or two. Where’s Isen?” Rule got along well with his father, but there was some strain, living in his father’s house. His Rho’s house. Maybe they’d argued.

“He went for a run.”

“Training or four-footed?”