For her children‟s sake, it was important she maintain a pretense of civility. A semblance of control.
“You can come to dinner,” she decided.
“Tonight.”
She pressed her lips together in annoyance. “Fine. Six o‟clock. Eighteen Juniper Road.”
“I will see you then.” He nodded across the car at Zack. “All of you.”
Liz‟s gaze darted between them. They were nothing alike, one big, blond, commanding, the other bony and dark.
And yet something about the shape of their lips, the cant of their shoulders, those weird, pale, golden eyes proclaimed them
father and son. Her stomach sank.
“ Maybe it would be best if you both talked to him, ” the police chief had said.
Maybe.
Liz bit her lip. And maybe she was making a big mistake.
Morgan stood half-naked at the pedestal sink in his room, scraping the blade of his knife over his face to remove three days
of stubble. The finfolk‟s skin was almost smooth, but to pass as a human, he must groom as a human.
The door to his hotel room banged open.
His hand checked and then continued carefully along his jaw.
Dylan Hunter, dark and furious, blew into the room behind him. “What the hell are you playing at?”
“Next time, knock.”
“Why? You were expecting me.” Dylan tossed an arm-load of clothes onto the wide, white bed.
Morgan put down his knife and reached for a towel. “I would prefer not to cut myself.”
“I don‟t care if you slit your throat,” Dylan said.
Morgan met his gaze in the mirror. “I take it you spoke with your brother.”
“Yeah. He calls me into his office to find out what‟s going on, and I have to tell him I don‟t have a damn clue.”
“I do not answer to him. Or to you.”
A flush stained the younger warden‟s cheekbones. “This is still my territory. My charge. We‟ve had enough demon activity
around here that anything out of the ordinary makes my brother twitchy. You need to keep me informed.”
Morgan crossed to the bed and pulled a couple of shirts from the pile. Fortunately, he and Dylan were almost the same size,
though Morgan‟s frame was heavier. “The prince ordered me to stay.”
“To recuperate.”
“Yes.” He held up a white shirt with buttons. “Linen?”
“Cotton. Natural fibers anyway, like you said. Read the damn label.”
He did not need a label to know it would chafe. He tossed it back on the bed.
“So what‟s this bullshit story about a long lost son?” Dylan asked.
Morgan found a thin sweater in soft black, cashmere or silk. “Not bullshit. The boy is mine.”
“ You have a kid.” Disbelief scored Dylan‟s voice.
“You question my ability to father a child?”
“No, but . . . You, with a human woman?”
Morgan raised his eyebrows. “It is not only selkies who can fuck with humankind.”
He half expected Dylan to take offense. His mother had taken a human husband; Dylan, a human wife.
But the selkie only pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Still, that‟s some coincidence you finding him now. Here. On World‟s
End.”
“I sired him sixteen years ago in Copenhagen.”
“Which makes him a teenager, right? Past the age of Change.”
“So was your sister when she first came into her powers.”
“You think he‟s finfolk.”
“I suspect.” Morgan tugged the black shirt over his head. “Tonight I will know.”
“Then what?”
“You do not need me to explain to you the importance of offspring.” Not when the sea lord himself had come to celebrate