"Are we the first ones up?" I ask, meandering into the cafeteria-style packhouse dining room towards Sean. My shuffling, slippered feet scuff along the red oak hardwood floor as I stifle a yawn against the back of my hand.
Rising, he sends the text he'd been working on abruptly, then pockets his cellphone. Doubtless, I can guess who the exchange was with.
He kisses my forehead possessively as he pulls out the chair beside him and gestures for me to sit down. "No. Jack's end of the house is up, compliments of the kids. So is the alpha wing. Darby's in the nursery trying to rein in her terrorists," he finishes, referring to Ian and Darby's triplets. Returning to the table with a tall glass of iced peach nectar—my favorite— from the beverage table against one wall, he sets it before me.
"Thanks." I take a sip of the chilled nectar, hoping the fruit sugars will boost my energy levels after my restless night.
Sean strokes my upper arm tenderly with the backs of his fingers. "Silas' call got you quite upset," he says softly and I can feel his shrewd golden eyes burning into me. "You were tossing and turning and making little distressed sounds in your sleep all night. Want to talk about that?"
Yeah, not really, I think to myself. What am I supposed to say? I can't identify for certain what it is that terrifies me. Only that I believe it's risen from the sea and the Demons Tangle off Ciudad d'Arena based on the sketchy details that Silas and Sean provided.
Mercifully, I don't have to supply an answer, because at exactly that second, Ian strides into the central hallway of the pack house.
Let me emphatically state that my mate, Sean, is incredibly handsome and captures women's attention no matter where he goes or what the circumstances. Having come from the desert along the ocean, he's high colored and tan, with sun-kissed wavy blonde hair. And he's gifted with the most amazing golden eyes that crinkle at the corners, twinkling, when he hits you with that knock-out smile of his, but he can also do moody and brooding spectacularly well too.
There's not an ounce of spare to him and he's conscientious about keeping himself fit. He's the faintest amount vain, so he dresses nicely—especially for that drop-dead gorgeous body of his—but his clothes are typically casual and never overdone. He's intelligent—powerfully so—which is undeniably sexy, but he's also fun to talk to and a lot playful, particularly when we're alone and his insecurities aren't getting the better of him.
Then there's the Alpha of Candlewood. And Ian Gallagher is a purely erotic feast of eye-candy for women regardless of what he's doing.
As men—and werewolves— go, he's a damn near perfect specimen. He's precisely that touch more than other men. A couple inches taller. Barely that bit broader across the shoulders, narrower through waist and hip and more muscular through the thighs. He's crowned with a thick mop of wavy black velvet hair, the deepest blue eyes with a gorgeous golden corona around his pupils from the Fae talisman he carries and an utterly divine smile. Plus, he's smart and sensitive, with a casually unshakable confidence that's pure sexiness to women.
"Good morning," Ian says in his deep baritone, grinning his killer smile, then his dark brows draw together with concern over his deep blue eyes. "Something's wrong. What is it?"
Before either Sean or I can answer, those purple-blue eyes of Ian's flick up towards the ceiling. Overhead, there's a low rumble of thunder, perfectly at odds with the clear, sunny spring day visible through the windows.
Which can mean exactly one thing.
"Hold that thought. I think I'd best go assist my mate before she brutally murders my offspring by her."
Pivoting, he hurries towards the nursery and I watch his retreating figure with one brow arched. Then I glance at Sean. "And you want some of those?"
His face splits into a handsome grin and he chuckles. I can't help but lean closer for a kiss.
"I don't want their three, no. Or three at the same time, like they have." Sean replies, still grinning, then obliges me with a kiss. "But a couple of our own, reasonably spaced apart in age. Yeah, I think that'd be kind of fun."
He twirls a lock of my fair hair around his fingers and his golden eyes take on a predatory gleam. "I'd like to see you like that." His heated gaze travels down my decolletage to the swell of my breasts. With his free hand, he caresses over my ridiculously flat stomach. "With those delectable curves," he murmurs, "carrying my child."
"Oh, please." Darby's cultured accent cuts through the seductive spell Sean's weaving instantly. "I don't want to hear about children of any sort—not even puppies— until I can at least get a cup of tea."
Almost as if they'd heard her, peals of delighted laughter from her toddler children ring off the walls. Then there's the scamper of little feet down the hallway towards the packhouse rooms that Sean and I occupy and where Leo keeps rooms too. Ian follows behind them with a smug smile on his lips and an amused glint in his eyes.
Darby rolls her tip-tilted golden-green eyes and glances down at Tessa, her dog, but she can't disguise her smile. "No wonder they're monsters," she mutters, heading to the drink buffet. "Their father is incorrigible too."
It takes barely a minute for Darby to fix herself a cup of tea, then she returns to the table, taking a seat opposite from me. With one hand, she reaches across the table and rests her spindly fingers over the top of my glass of nectar, doing the same over her mug of tea. Beneath her slender hands, the liquid in both glasses roils, then settles.
"Thank you for that," I lift my glass, nodding to her in thanks for the curious earth magic she uses that turns whatever it is you're drinking into the sovereign cure-all for whatever ails you. Hangover? Cured. Illness? No problem. Slept poorly or not at all? She's gotcha covered too.
Grateful as I am, it just one more piece of the perfection that is my sister.
"Nothing for you, Sean?" Darby asks, then her peridot eyes narrow as she studies him. "Something's going on, and it's not solely with her." She nods towards me. "What is it?" she asks in her crisp, decidedly British accent.
"We'll need to wait for everyone else," he advises. "The issue is in Ciudad d'Arena—."
Elbowing him, I interrupt. "She's your Luna. Just answer. At least Sean and I will need to go out there. There's been some kind of—disaster. Candlewood will need to assist."