Iona’s eyes welled up with a few more tears before she brushed them away and burst into laughter. She reached out to me, and I took her hands in mine.
Her hands were deeply lined and fragile-looking, but her grip was firm, as if she’d found a new reason to hold on.
She drew me closer, and I settled on the couch next to her. Her mouth was still wide open in laughter, her eyes glistening. I mirrored her joy, and we both laughed for a while.
The older man seemed to have left us to our reunion, or rather, our first meeting. After a few moments, our laughter faded, and a new concern appeared on Iona’s face.
“Did you come here alone or…”
I squeezed her hand in understanding, feeling a lump forming in my throat. “No, Ewan and my mother died in a house fire about fourteen years ago.”
She looked down at our intertwined hands and closed her eyes for a few moments, trying to keep her composure.
I watched her, feeling slightly out of place.
This was uncharted territory for me.
The only elderly person I’d ever spent significant time with was Gran, and she never showed any emotion that didn’t portray her as a strong and unyielding pillar of our coven.
I quickly decided that seeing an elderly person cry was one of the most heart-wrenching things I could ever witness, and I vowed to never be the cause of it.
I gave Iona a moment to mourn her lost son, then she looked up at me and offered a small smile.
“I’m sorry, Iona.”
“He once sent me a letter. It just appeared under my door one day, as if it was hand-delivered. He said he wanted to come home; he had a small family and planned to bring them back.
“I was so hopeful…but nothing ever came of it.”
I nodded, remembering the letter Jolene had sent.
The longing in her eyes faded, and she focused on our hands again. “Well, you’re here now. Tell me all about yourself. How did you find us here?”
Just then, the older man returned, carrying a tray with three glasses of Champagne.
“What a wonderful idea, Omar! Thank you.”
We both took a glass and clinked them together for a sip.
“Only one for you today, though. But it seems like a celebratory occasion,” he said cheerfully and took his glass to the kitchen at the back of the room.
“Is he…your…?” I asked, unsure of how to finish the question.
Iona watched Omar’s retreating back.
“He’s my friend first and foremost, and he also takes care of me when I can’t. Devon, your grandfather saved his life many years ago, and he insisted on staying. So, it’s just us here.”
I raised my eyebrows at the revelation that I was named after my grandfather, understanding why Mike’s memory had been jogged, and that the original Devon had been in the business of saving lives.
Iona continued, “So, you were telling me about yourself…”
I took a deep breath. I was ready for this, the cover story. I didn’t want to lie to my newfound grandmother, but withholding most of the truth from her would keep both of us safe, or at least safer.
I exhaled slowly, steadying my nerves. “Yes, a few months ago, I kind of had a little mini-breakdown…of sorts.”
Iona looked at me curiously, and I finished, “I got dumped.”
Her face softened in understanding.
“And…something crazy happened inside my head. It was…indescribable… Then, the next full moon, I got sick, felt like I was burning up.
“Then the next month, the same thing happened but even more intense…”
At this, she leaned back in her seat and let out a long sigh. “Ahhh, I see.”
“I had a relative who knew what Ewan was, since she was with my parents when they met. And I did some digging of my own, and…”
I shrugged, trying to appear casual about it. “I think I know everything, but there’s still a lot missing. I mean, I didn’t even know he still had any family left.”
Iona let go of my hands, and I finished my drink.
“Well, what would you like to know?”
I thought about it. Here was the one person who could answer all my questions.
But I suddenly remembered a day spent with Will’s father, when the painful memories his answers had stirred up hadn’t been worth the distress they’d caused.
Who knew how much time I had with Iona, how many times I would see her before I couldn’t?
“What was my dad like when he was a kid?”
A smile spread across her face, and she began to recount all the mischief Ewan Jones had gotten into as a child, and then as a teenager.
Apparently, the woods I’d noticed earlier were the perfect hideout from parents.
Ewan had been popular, not just because of his status as the future alpha, but also because of his personality.
He’d been generous. Generous with friendship, food, jobs, and much more. He’d loved rugby, dirt bikes from an early age, and swimming in the chilly Irish Sea.
When he was eighteen, he’d helped run the fishing business with his father, turning it into a profitable venture and a significant source of income for the town.
The conversation shifted to my own childhood and teenage years in Washington.
Iona held my hands when we talked about the house fire but smiled when I told her that I’d recently become a doctor of earth sciences.
I shared my hopes for the future and a career that was probably no longer feasible, but she seemed delighted that I still planned them out as if they were going to happen.
Omar brought out another glass of Champagne for me, which turned into another, until I eventually checked my watch and realized it was past lunchtime.
Iona seemed robust for her age, but once or twice I’d noticed her eyelids taking a moment longer to blink than usual, or she’d lean back into the couch and rest for a bit too long.
Omar had retreated to a corner of the room, settling by the window with a book. But I caught him chuckling a couple of times as I shared stories from my childhood.
After I recounted the time Aunt Francis had to send out a search party when I got lost in the woods, Iona let out a small laugh before sinking back into her chair, looking shell-shocked.
She was overwhelmed. I had definitely talked her ear off for the day.
Omar was at her side in an instant, holding an oxygen mask over her nose.
I glanced at him, feeling a bit guilty. “Sorry. I guess that was a bit much for one day, huh?”
He smirked at me. “You went a bit overboard. But it’s better to be too happy than too lonely.”
After a few deep breaths, Iona seemed to regain her composure and gently pushed Omar’s hand away.
I rose from the couch.
“I think that’s a good stopping point for today. Can I come back tomorrow?”
Suddenly, Iona sat up, pushing the mask off her face. Any signs of exhaustion had vanished.
“What do you mean? You didn’t come straight here?” She turned to Omar, who was now giving me a hard stare. “She didn’t bring any bags?”
I feigned confusion. “No, I stayed in town last night, at the pub. I didn’t know where your house was.”
The two of them stared at me, their mouths hanging open in surprise. They were speechless, filling the silence with their shock.
Of course, they didn’t want to discuss the promise my father had made over thirty years ago. We’d just met. I would have thought she was crazy if she’d brought it up now.
Iona was the first to snap out of her daze. “Did you talk to anyone since you arrived?”
I pondered her question, knowing I couldn’t lie about this. “Well, the hotel slash barkeeper, for the room and directions here. But no, no one else.”
Omar rolled his eyes. “Mike.”
“Oh, and there was the farmer up the road. I took a right at the fork, and he was there, ready to gloat.”
Their eyebrows shot up, and Iona slumped back into her seat, replacing the oxygen mask and muttering, “Lord, Mary” into it.
Playing dumb seemed like the best strategy here. If I revealed more, it would only lead to more questions.
“I’m sorry again, Iona, for taking up so much of your time today. Maybe tomorrow we can just cover my years twenty-one to twenty-five, huh?”
She removed the mask and, worryingly, still seemed out of breath. “Kelly, you’re welcome to stay here. We have plenty of room.”
Omar placed his hand on top of hers. “Iona, it’s too late,” he said, and she looked at him, taken aback.
I pretended not to notice while I zipped up my jacket. When she looked back at me, I gave her a warm smile.
“Thank you, that’s very kind. Do you have a car I could borrow to get back into town?”
She pursed her lips and looked at Omar, clearly frustrated.
He answered for her. “No, I’m afraid we don’t.”
I nodded. It would have to happen at the pub, then. It was probably better for everyone not to bring it into this house.
“Well, how about this? I’ll walk back into town and come back with all my stuff tomorrow.
“I hate how all the hotels and hostels hold onto your passports, so I need to get it back from the barkeep.”
“Kelly, please stay here tonight. I just…don’t want to let you out of my sight.”
I laughed lightly. “Iona, I promise I’ll be back; don’t worry.”
Iona frowned, deep in thought. She looked me up and down again, her gaze stopping at my hiking boots.
She scooted to the edge of her seat and took both my hands in hers.
“Omar is going to show you the back way to town, through the fields. Don’t talk to anyone except Mike, and that’s only when you’re leaving, understand?”
Omar rose from his spot on the floor and retreated to the kitchen, leaving Iona and me alone.
I nodded, pretending to take her request seriously, trying to make it seem like a normal, overprotective grandmotherly trait.
The old woman smiled at me, her eyes full of warmth and comfort. “We don’t know each other yet, but I can already tell I’m going to love you.”
I laughed softly and shook my head in amazement. “You’re so different from my other Gran.”
“Really?”
“She’s so hard to understand. If she were a book, she’d be ancient glyphs explaining nuclear physics. You’re like a nice romantic paperback: easy to read.”
Her eyes welled up again, and I leaned in for a gentle hug, unsure of how tightly to squeeze someone her age.
Behind us, Omar reentered the room, and I stood to leave.
“Until tomorrow.”
She nodded silently, looking uncertain, and I turned to follow her friend out.
We passed through a well-furnished kitchen and into a mudroom at the back of the house. He handed me a black scarf as we stepped out into the sprawling backyard that stretched into a field beyond the house.
We stopped at the top of a hill, overlooking the landscape.
“What’s this for?”
He took the scarf from my hands and began to wrap it around my neck and over my head, tucking it in so it formed a hat, covering my hair and holding it in place.
Once he was done, he surveyed his work and grunted, then turned us both around, pointing and leaning down to my eye level.
“There’s a trail just south of town. It’s narrow, but well-trodden and it winds through the valleys. It’s a simple walk, about twenty minutes, and it ends at a children’s park.
“From there, it leads straight back to the road to the Winchester. Don’t stop to chat with anyone.”
He paused, making sure I was absorbing his instructions.
“I’d go with you to collect your stuff, but I draw too much attention and…I can’t leave her.”
I gave him a comforting smile and patted his shoulder.
“No problem. I’ll be back tomorrow, same time.”
Omar gave me a serious look, and I turned away from him to start on the trail. After a few minutes of walking, the old stone house disappeared from view, replaced by lush, green hills.
Just as he’d said, the walk was easy, more of a leisurely stroll than a hike. After passing a few hills, I heard a seagull’s cry in the distance and realized I was closer to the ocean than I’d initially thought.
Surveying my surroundings, I spotted a hill that seemed manageable to climb and not too far off my path. I started the ascent, hoping for a good view at the top.
And it didn’t disappoint.
The wind blew up the hill from the ocean, carrying the thick taste of salt that I could taste on my lips. I closed my eyes, letting the wind wash over me like a storm.
It didn’t take long for the wind to unravel Omar’s scarf, and I felt my hair come loose and fly behind me.
After a few moments, a noise at my side made me turn. More green hills and patches of forest for deer and other creatures to hide in, but nothing that wanted to come out of the brush.
Feeling the chill of the wind, I made my way back down the hill to rejoin the path.
The children’s park was deserted, and at this time of day, so were the streets. People seemed to be either at work or enjoying a late lunch.
The front desk at the Winchester was unattended when I arrived. I could hear a few hushed voices from the main bar, but I quickly ran up the stairs to my room.
I lay down on the bed and reflected.
Iona Jones was certainly different from Margaret Wardwell. Both were matriarchs, though Margaret had a larger family, and both seemed to come from a long, noble lineage.
I closed my eyes and tried to remember my maternal grandmother’s smile, praying to god she’d stay away from me for the next twenty-four hours.
Once again, my eyes snapped open at the sound of shattering glass and laughter from the pub downstairs.
Glancing at the window, I realized I’d done the same thing as yesterday and had unintentionally taken a nap for a few hours.
I got up and made use of the en suite, taking a long, hot shower.
By the time I’d groomed and changed into clean jeans and a long-sleeve tee, it was nearly seven p.m., and my stomach was growling for food.
I sighed, thinking about Iona’s request. It was too late now for whatever she’d hoped and what I actually planned to happen, so I locked my room and headed downstairs.
I stepped out from the stairwell and surveyed the main bar.
It was filled with locals who were at ease in their surroundings, and I felt a pang of envy seeing so many people laughing and enjoying themselves with friends.
At seven p.m. on a Thursday, it seemed like everyone in Fishguard was here for a post-work pint with friends.
I caught the young barman’s attention, ordered the fish and chips and a cider, and took the last seat at the bar.
The two large, burly men at my side, who smelled distinctly of fish, were engrossed in conversation and thankfully paid me no mind.
After a minute, the cider was placed in front of me, and I took a large gulp and shook my head. I couldn’t believe I was finally here.
Alone with no help or backup. No Gran or Jolene to intervene and stop whatever was happening. It was time to step up or back down.
I swiveled on the stool, scanning the crowded room, trying to decipher the thick Welsh accent whenever I caught a snippet of conversation. I didn’t even attempt to understand when someone spoke in Welsh.
Over in the corner, near the large fireplace, a group of young men around a table came into view as the crowd parted.
Wolves. Every single one of them. In the firelight, their eyes sparkled with a peculiar iridescent gleam, as if they were barely containing the beasts within.
Four men were engaged in a lively conversation. It wasn’t angry, but it was heated.
Despite my efforts to focus my hearing their way, I couldn’t make out their conversation over the boisterous locals.
One of the men at the edge of the table suddenly looked up, locking eyes with me in a penetrating stare that made me freeze.
His azure-blue eyes met mine, and I could have cut myself on those high cheekbones.
The deep scar that ran from his ear to his chin was more noticeable without his hat and made him the most enticing thing I had seen in months.
The heat in his gaze made me more uncomfortable than the innuendos we’d exchanged that morning.
There was intent in his eyes, and the farmer’s gaze was too intense in the crowded space where it felt like only the two of us existed.
He didn’t seem surprised to see me here, and I was starting to get wet from the intense eye contact when a waitress passed between us, breaking the spell.
Thankfully, I quickly looked away and scanned the pub again, hoping to find something else as interesting but not as attractive to hold my attention.
Nothing else caught my eye; a mix of men and women were either quietly enjoying drinks at tables or standing and filling the spaces in between.
There were a few other weres in here besides the table, but all I could do was faintly smell them.
After a while of being a silent observer to conversations I wasn’t part of, I decided to head towards the dining room.
A young blond man, probably in his early twenties, blocked my path. He held a beer in his hand and wore a relaxed smile. “Hello, darling.”
Caught off guard by his sudden appearance, I turned to face him. “Um, hi.”
“You’re American, right?”
I smiled at him and took another sip from my beer. “Is it that obvious?”
His gaze followed the bottle to my lips, and he grinned.
“Not really, considering your red hair. But this is a small town. News travels fast when someone sticks around longer than it takes to catch the ferry.”
I nodded, understanding what he meant. The commune I was raised in was the same. Secrets didn’t last longer than the time it took to walk to your neighbor’s house.
“Well, I might be here for a while, so I guess it’s best to get the gossip started. I’m Kelly Jones,” I said, extending my hand for him to shake.
He took my hand in a firm grip, smiling. “I’m—”
“Leaving,” a deep, masculine voice interrupted from behind him.
He turned around, frowning. The blue-eyed farmer was now standing behind him, his towering height even more noticeable next to the shorter man.
The blond looked at him, puzzled. “Rhys?”
“Get lost, Lewis. The American is mine…”
His gaze shifted to me, scanning me from head to toe. He gave me a wicked smile that accentuated his scar.
“Literally.”
From the Maddock werewolves, the family that had driven my father to his downfall and eventual death. The same Rhys I’d been unknowingly betrothed to since birth.
The same Rhys I was planning to kill, preferably with my bare hands.
