Rye got the champagne out, and Ace drunk-texted Tria, to tell her she was a jerk for leaving so suddenly, without giving them the chance to thank her.
PS, she added, we owe you everything.
* * *
Tria smiled. She wasn’t very good at dealing with thanks. Besides, it wasn’t like she did everything to be nice.
There were three dozen groups of shifters, twenty-two powerful people, one witch, and an endless stream of loners who owed her. She liked it that way.
“You know, you can pretend that you’re just a mastermind creating an army of servants, but you’re not fooling us,” Daphne told her- not for the first time. “You’re acting that way because that’s in your DNA. Your father’s fatal flaw was also compassion.”
“And your father’s was hubris. You may be onto something, it must be genetic,” she retorted, rolling her eyes.
“I don’t get it, though,” Jase butted in. “I mean, not the part about lending a hand to save the pretty kitten – that begs no question. The kid was cute. But that girl? Niamh? You’ve paid her a little too much attention.”
“Don’t you just wish you knew.”
Clari didn’t think she’d ever felt as awkward in her life. Ever.
“So, let me get this straight. One of his people bit you and made you into a, a…”
Marissa Thompson didn’t finish her sentence, which may or may not have something to do with the fact that her sister had stepped on her toes. Hard.
“You must have been through a lot, dear,” her aunt said, squeezing her hand in a sign of support. “I do wish you’d come to us about your problem.” Then, she turned to Daunte, and sent him a smile. “But it sounds like your young man was wonderfully supportive.”
“You’re joking, right? You’re supporting this farce? We should sue them. Set the PIA on them and…”
Train wreck. This was a train wreck.
She had no clue why Daunte had insisted on meeting her family. Or, rather, why he’d wanted her mother to be there.
Bethany and Andrew Turner had taken the news better than expected, but Marissa Thompson was… Marissa Thompson. Some people were cut to understand the whole parenting thing; others weren’t. Marissa didn’t have a supportive bone in her body – she never had, and never would.
“Please, feel free to attempt to do so,” Daunte replied pleasantly. “However, you may want to know that, firstly, the Agency is fully aware of the situation – secondly, I have the resources to outlast you in court twenty times over at the very least. And, if that’s not enough, our pride is sitting on a few million. Above and beyond all that, our Alpha so happens to be royalty. You may want to rethink threatening me, or my mate.”
Marissa narrowed her eyes, and added nothing, but Clari had to laugh, reading her easily, as she looked at Daunte more carefully now. She scrutinized the crisp suit he’d put on, the watch on his wrist, his posture. Daunte had made an effort today; he looked like a sexy, sexy businessman.
But what her mother saw was that he had money, and that was enough. She wouldn’t have been nearly as vehement in her protests if she’d known that from the start.
“We’re not here to fight,” he said, ignoring Marissa, and looking directly at her aunt and uncle. “In fact, we’re not here for you, at all.”
Clari frowned, confused when he got up from his seat. Then, she started hyperventilating. Daunte bent a knee, and got a small black box out of his pocket.
“We’re here for you, Clarissa. You were thrown into our world and you never even tried to escape from it. You’ve accepted every single bit of crap coming along with it, fangs, fur, and all. We’re here because you deserve everything you’ve ever wanted. You’re my mate, and, in my world, that’s everything. Let me become everything in yours.”
* * *
The End.
* * *
