His arms around me tighten incrementally, possessively, and he gives another weary sigh. "My dad—he was a lot like me before I went to Candlewood. With women."
"He was promiscuous."
Golden eyes meet mine guiltily and he nods. We've had this conversation before, and I've told him it doesn't bother me—I was born and raised during peak decades of the Free Love movement. But something about Ian and Darby's much more traditional relationship—how she had waited thousands of years of her Fae lifetime for him and he had searched almost eleven years after his wolf half emerged fully howling for a mate—well, it shames him.
Even though there's nothing wrong with our relationship, he's constantly comparing it to the romantic literal and figurative faery tale of the Alpha and Luna of Candlewood. It's the second biggest strain on the bond between us. That and that he doesn't understand my inherent Fae magic or that of the talisman I carry and so he doubts me.
"He was well into his fifties before he finally took our mother as mate, and when he did, there was a lot of speculation because I was born so soon after. Then Silas followed shortly too and the rumors died out. But there were always whispers, because he never publicly mated our mother. And he never marked her."
His gaze falls from my face again, this time to sweep appreciatively over my throat and decolletage. I can still feel the faery magic in me manifesting visibly in dancing waves of soft light just beneath my skin—a product of and a reaction to the delicious violence of our earlier lovemaking.
Sean trails his fingers tenderly over my flesh, following one of the slowly swirling lines of magic busily at work there. "Looking at your complexion though, I have to admit a genuine reluctance myself," he mumbles. "Sweet goddess, your skin is like porcelain. It'd be a terrible shame to mar it, much as I'd dearly love to mark you as mine forever."
Smiling gently, I press a kiss to his forehead. "I guess you'll simply have to do it somewhere that no one besides you will see it—like Ian's mark towards the back of Darby's neck."
The faintest flicker of a bitter smile crosses his face, then vanishes. "In any case, no one was surprised when our mother was killed while Silas and I were still toddlers that the mate bond didn't take our father too. Nor were they surprised that he went back to womanizing. He adored her—my mother—I genuinely believe that, but he didn't truly bond, and she didn't know any better. He was faithful during their few years together at least. I suppose there's something to be said for that. Afterwards, apparently, one of those women he took a keener interest in was an environmental biologist working for the state in land management and studying the effects of loss of habitat along the shoreline."
"Ah." I tip my head back in a brief nod. "Let me guess—around Demons Tangle Shoals?"
With one shoulder, Sean shrugs. "Silas doesn't know much about her, and it's notable that there isn't much in the security database we have set up here in Desert. But everything he's traced has seemed legit about both of them and apparently Dorian has a modest collection of verified photos of our father and his mother together as a couple."
"Dorian? That's his name?"
"Yes. Dorian McEttigan. His mother's name was Muirgia McEttigan," he volunteers without my prying. "As it happens, she was caught in one of the mini-tsunamis off Demons Tangle and lost to the sea. During the rescue and recovery work afterwards, Dorian spotted Silas and recognized his eerie resemblance to our father. I guess he did some reconnaissance of his own, researching our family, then inherited some documents that confirmed his own suspicions. Slightly over a year ago, presented himself at the packhouse, demanding to speak to Silas."
"Why didn't Silas tell you?" I ask simply, helpless to alleviate the miserable ache in his voice.
Again, Sean shrugs, shaking his head. "He was kind of hoping the kid would get bored of it and go back to his own life—Silas says he doesn't have much interest in anything going on here."
"What does he do?"
"He's a marine biologist."
I can't help that my breath catches—this Dorian and I have an educational background in common—but I stifle my surprise and keen interest. Sean is clearly upset by the man's presence. "Is he a Were?"
His sensual lips press into a narrow line. "He is."
"But?"
"Obviously, I haven't seen it for myself, but Silas says that Dorian's not a—normal wolf." Sean's face is grim and clearly conflicted. "And before you ask, what he said is that the guy's shift turns him into a water creature—like your magic converted our shifted wolves when we attacked Cordelion's mine to rescue Darby and later, when we took him out at his compound. Except that he doesn't revert to a terrestrial form like we do when we step out of the water—he maintains that form, even terrestrially. Silas suspects it might have been what kept him alive when his mother lost her life."
My eyes narrow and my hand slides from his jaw to cup the back of his neck. "Look at me, Sean."
The instant he does, I can see the doubt crowding his thoughts. That maybe—just maybe—instead of me being his mate, I was meant for this Dorian. Remembering the way he homed in on me immediately, the way his eyes followed me in the hallway, I have to wonder if this half-brother didn't do some research on me as well.
Up until just a bit shy of three years ago, there wouldn't have been much—I've spent the bulk of my adult life living in an aquatic form in the lakes and rivers near Candlewood where my mother resided. But that attack on the vampire Cordelion's compound north of Candlewood and the subsequent vampire retaliation that led to all the destruction at home, plus being a Second triumvir mate—Sean's mate—had vaulted me into a spotlight I had few skills to cope with.
It revealed to the werewolf population at least that Fae bloodlines like mine—and Darby's and Leo's—still existed. And that they are incalculably potent. At least Darby's and Leo's are. As young as I am, I know too little about myself and my talisman. I'm as uncertain as everyone else as to what benefit I can be—especially in a land-locked place like Candlewood.
Caressing his cheek, I trace the margin of his sensual lips as he stares at me with a forlorn expression. "We're here to figure out what happened along Demons Tangle. We're here to protect Desert pack—our extended family. Understand that whatever this Dorian's deal is, it's his, Sean. He has to resolve it. Right now, it doesn't sound like he's all that forthcoming or interested in doing so."
He kisses me then. Not the passionate, consuming kisses from before, but a gentle, protective kiss that tells me how much he aches to shelter me. To comfort. To reassure. Silence descends into the space between us after his confession, as if Sean's processing not merely what he's so recently learned, but my reaction to it too.
For a moment longer, he regards me intently, with something dark flittering through his golden eyes. "That's the part that worries me."