When we reach the crest of the road, a wide valley spreads out below us. A long line of cliffs at one end forms a rocky head and a physically limiting barrier between this vale and the sea, making it a safe haven. Nestled in the basin, an expansive house sprawls across the wide meadow, dense with surrounding buildings for shopping and housing, and it reminds me a great deal of Candlewood, simply much less wooded.
Among the easternmost houses, wisps of chimney smoke curl into the air over quaint bungalows and gable-roofed beach-style cabins. A spattering of larger homes dot the valley, their hipped roofs and balconied windows decorated in white-painted wrought iron with ornate patterns that are almost at odds with the simplicity of everything else.
"Welcome to the Desert packhouse," Sean says blandly as we pull up in a graveled circular drive before the sprawling packhouse. Then he puts the SUV in park.
On the wraparound veranda, a tight cluster of people rise from various pieces of outdoor furniture as the SUV comes to a halt. Sean's brother, Silas—the Alpha of Desert pack—detaches from the group with long strides and descends the stairs, coming around the back of the vehicle to Sean's door hurriedly.
He takes his brother in a rough hug as soon as Sean opens the door of the vehicle, and under his breath, I hear him say, "We need to talk. Now." The words ring with Alpha compulsion.
But I've since stopped listening as a second tall, golden-haired, golden-eyed young man who bears a remarkable resemblance to Sean and Silas hurries down the stairs, his eyes locked on me through the window. Before Ian's even opened his door, this latest golden-boy is opening mine and extending a hand to help me from the vehicle.
"Luna of Candlewood," he says softly in a smooth, cultured voice, "welcome to Ciudad d'Arena and the Desert packhouse." He blinds me with a million megawatt grin as I take his proffered hand and I swear that my ovaries sigh so loudly that everyone in a quarter mile radius must be able to hear it. Pins and needles prickle the back of my neck.
"I—um—no. I'm—I'm not the Luna." I reach back into the SUV where Darby's slid along the seat towards my side to get out. "You're looking for my sister."
The blonde Adonis draws me closer to him, then extends his other hand to Darby without releasing mine and helps her out as well. "My apologies. Luna." He nods, acknowledging her, then his eyes flick back and forth between us. "Sisters," he says with some amusement. "Fortunate family genetics."
"Very," Ian interjects, extending his hand to Darby, his face set in a disapproving scowl. "I'm Ian Gallagher. Alpha of Candlewood."
Relinquishing Darby's hand to Ian immediately, he nods in a respectful bow. "Alpha. It's an honor to meet you. Apologies if I've overstepped. It was inadvertently done."
The apology stuns me, and Darby, but if Ian's surprised by it, his expression betrays nothing. What confounds me even more is that whoever this young man is, he hasn't released my hand. And there's only one other time a person's touch has had this kind of effect on me. With my mate, Sean.
"Does the Luna's sister have a name?" he whispers as Ian and Darby walk away.
"Kassandra Davies," Sean snarls, coming around the back of the SUV. "The Second triumvir of Candlewood's mate," he adds possessively, jerking me to him by my arm. "And brother or no, you'll keep your hands off of her."