Standing in front of a crowd of strangers and declaring that your new mate’s father was full of shit, wasn’t exactly how Harper would have wanted to start her newly mated life. But, it was, what it was.

Knowing that public opinion could be more important than even the Truth, Harper went on the offensive, claiming first blood.

Sinclair raised his hands, quieting the crowd, as he gave her a flat, knowing look. “Miss Llewellyn, you’ll have your chance to speak, but let us at least make some attempt at civility, shall we?”

“Of course, Lord Sinclair,” Harper acknowledged.

“Very well then,” Sinclair turned his attention towards Roar and Karin. “Roar Rolfson Ulvfang, former Alpha of the Nordsgard Pack, you have brought charges against Harper Llewellyn of the Atlanta Llewellyns and daughter of the Morgan Witches; please present before the arbitrators your complaint and evidence.”

At Sinclair’s pointed emphasis of the word former, Roar had turned his glaring eyes on the taller, darker man, but quickly turned his glare back to Harper.

“This hexa,” Roar spat the word, his accent thickening until his voice took on an almost hypnotic cadence, “Is a Llewellyn witch. During the Inquisition, when all our peoples were being hunted throughout Europe, the Llewellyns bound entire packs of wolves to their service through blood magics, tying their lives together.”

Roar turned to the crowd, “To kill a Llewellyn was to slaughter an entire pack. Men and women, elders and children alike.”

Briefly, Roar closed his eyes, visibly steeling himself before he continued, “Ambrose Llewellyn found himself attracted to my youngest sister. He bound her to him through witchcraft, and through her, bound her mate, her children, their entire pack. He forced them to serve him in any way that he wished. We tried to free them, but when we killed him, his death spiraled through the pack. In an instant, they were all lost.”

When Roar’s eyes opened, they were incandescent with rage that he turned upon Harper. “You are a direct descendant of Ambrose. His stench is in your blood.” Once more, the older wolf spat. “I claim wergild for the death of my sister and her family. I claim wergild for the bewitchment of my son.”

Judith asked calmly, “And what is your evidence Miss Llewellyn has bewitched your son?”

“Bah,” Roar growled, waving a meaty hand towards his son, who was currently glaring and growling at his father, “There.” He swung his finger towards the five teenage boys, standing at the edge of the stage, bristling with adolescent rage, “And there. It is obvious she has bewitched them! She has only been here a few days, and already, she has built a pack of familiars.”

“Um, excuse me!” A bright, chipper voice piped up from the crowd. Specifically, from Ace’s Travelers.

All eyes turned to face a young Asian woman who was stepping out of the crowd. Walking up behind her, Ash gave Harper a quick wave and a wink before flashing a thumb’s up. ‘My witch,’ she mouthed, pointing to the new face.

Probably only average in height and build, the Asian woman was quite pretty, with large dark eyes peering from behind oversized round-frame glasses that gave her a studious look. Her long hair was straight, falling in waves of indigo, violet, and streaked with hot pinks strands on either side of her cheerfully grinning face.

She and Ash wore matching neon pink t-shirts, but where Ash’s hung artfully draped to reveal one slender shoulder, the newcomer’s emphasized her curvy frame. Both were emblazoned with #Faebitches in a rainbow-glitter, cursive script over the cartoon figures of a Punk Rock band of stereotypical fairies.

“Hello, hello! Sorry for interrupting, I’m Soo,” the pretty Asian introduced herself as she came up beside Harper, offering her hand. Like Ash, her accent was distinctly from “Down Under,” although hers was less abrasive than Ash’s more raucous delivery.

“Pardonnez-moi,” Jean-Paul interjected, “But, Mademoiselle Soo, you cannot just interrupt an arbitration.”

“Oh! Sorry, did I use the wrong phrasing?” Soo blinked owlishly up at Ash, who gave her an eloquent shrug.

“I think you’re supposed to say, ‘I object’ here in Yanklandia,” Ash replied.

“That makes sense,” Soo nodded, then turned to face Jean-Paul, “I object!”

“And what are you objecting to, dear?” Judith asked, looking as if she were attempting to fight back a smile, and losing.

“The idea that Harper here could do anything as complicated as binding a familiar, without training,” Soo said calmly then turned an apologetic look up Harper. “Sorry, chickee, but while you’ve got a lot of mojo, your control is for shite!”

Spinning to face a still-growling Roar, Soo glared at the much bigger wolf and waved a finger at him, “I can guarantee that there are no enchantments on the Puppy Pack. They’ve just imprinted on her, which is a perfectly natural thing, particularly since her magic is more Morgan than Llewellyn.”

Okay, now Harper was curious. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Karin spoke up for the first time, her voice oddly stilted as she said, “While the Llewellyns were known for binding shifters against their wills, the Morgans were dedicated protectors of the packs throughout the British Isles. The two families were enemies for generations, and without the help of the Morgans, many packs throughout Europe would never have been freed.”

“May I speak?” Harper asked. She was not going to stand here and be a passive participant in this.

“Of course, dear,” Judith said, “Please, it is your turn to respond.”

“First, according to the Pact, any and all blood debts owed between various supernaturals were dropped,” Harper stated calmly. “Not forgotten or forgiven, of course, because none of us are known for either of those graces. But, by the laws established by the North American Supernatural Council, upon formal association and acceptance of any clan, family, house, or individual under the Council’s purview, any and all grievances between members that occurred in the Old World were to be considered closed, without prejudice.”

“She is correct,” Sinclair said calmly. “She cannot be held accountable for the sins of her ancestor, no more than any of us can. She can only be judged for her own crimes.”

“Oui,” Jean-Paul said with an abrupt nod. Turning to face the Ulvfangs, he said, “Request for wergild for the crimes of Ambrose Llewellyn, denied.”

“What about my sønn?” Roar howled angrily, echoed by many members of his pack, who surged to their feet.

“Sit the fuck down!” Aksel’s harsh bark broke through the growls, and as one, every member of the pack still in the stands were forced back into their seats. There were a few whimpers and snarls, but his glare quickly quieted all of those small rebellions.

Placing a calming hand on her bristling husband’s thick arm, Karin’s voice was cool as she spoke up, her hard, cold eyes burning into Harper. “We drop our wergild for Ambrose, but anyone can scent that my son is under some sort of twisted enchantment. He reeks of foul magic.”

All eyes turned to Bard, who blinked and pointed to himself. “Me?”

Opening her senses, Harper gasped and trembled. While their mate bond blazed bright and pure, a blazing thread of blue-white silk, his aura was covered by a sickly jade nimbus that coiled sinuously around him.

“Bard, I…” Harper shook her head, shocked as she met his eyes, “I didn’t know. Why didn’t I notice?”

“Chickee,” Soo confided in a whisper, “You gotta learn to look with your inner eye. Your magic is so repressed, it’s positively Victorian! Only, without any cool steampunkiness.”

“See? She admits her guilt!” Roar stalked forward, reaching out to grab Harper.

Bard was suddenly between his father and Harper, bodily pushing the older man back as he roared, “Don’t touch my mate!”

Karin pulled Roar back, interjecting herself between her own mate and her son. Glaring up at him, her face twisted in anger and grief, Karin was nearly in tears as she poked her son in the chest. “Bard, you’re enchanted, you’re not acting like yourself! She’s not your mate, despite what you may think. You marked the wrong woman! You marked a witch!”

Each word struck Harper like a physical blow.

She wanted to shout her innocence.

She wanted to run away.

God, why did it hurt so much?

Had she unknowingly used her magic on him?

Had she bewitched him and stolen him from his true mate?

Wrapping her arms around herself, Harper ducked her head and shivered.

Alone. She was going to be alone again.

Even the thread, the bond between her and Bard, began to burn cold, the warmth draining from her body, from her soul, until she was left with nothing more than a hollow ache where her heart stuttered and slowed.

I’m cold. I’m so fucking cold.

Suddenly, she was trapped against Bard’s chest, his strong arms pulling her into his warm body, his hands chaffing her back briskly as he nuzzled his head over hers, murmuring over and over, “Oh no, darling, none of that. You’re not alone, I’m here, baby. I’m here. Not going anywhere.”

Chaos erupted around them.

Roar and Karin howled in rage, demanding the Sidhe intervene. The entire Ulvfang Pack were rushing the stage, echoing their snarls.

The Travelers were surrounding the couple, Ace was flanked by Drey, Ash, and Soo, going toe-to-toe with the Elder Ulvfangs, and the otherwise unassuming Ace’s howls were just as threatening, just as loud, as he warned them to back off or risk bringing down the wrath of the Travelers.

Jean-Paul and Judith were drawing heavily upon their glamour, standing between the two arguing groups, demanding they all step back as they used their considerable magics to prevent blood from being shed.

Sinclair stood calmly, watching with clinical detachment, his eyes moving over the crowd.

Even Sam was trying to rush the stage, her voice shrill as she shouted incoherently, while Rik and Bertie struggled to keep her from throwing herself into the brawl.

It didn’t matter.

None of it mattered.

Only Bard mattered.

Looking up into his eyes, Harper sobbed in relief at seeing no condemnation in his handsome face.

God, when had she gotten so weak? So needy?

Drawing on the inner strength that had helped her to not only survive living with the Llewellyns, but to thrive, Harper calmed her racing thoughts, her pounding heart, and listened to her own intuition.

Reaching out with her magic senses, the wild, primal magic she had stifled for so long answered with glee. It raced like greyhounds, letting her truly see the magic surrounding Bard, surrounding them all.

The sickly green magic coiling around him wasn’t actually touching his aura. It was trying to, desperately seeking a way in, a crack in his armor, but his aura glowed pure and true, bolstered by…her. The strong bond between them was protecting him.

The hex had attempted to seize that bond, to twist it, and had flooded her with self-doubt, finding chinks in her own emotional insecurities.

But even then, as Harper truly focused on the magic, on unraveling its secrets, she could see that neither of them were truly the intended target.

“Bard?” Harper whispered, “It’s not you the magic is hunting, it’s trying to use you as a bridge.”

No one else heard her over the commotion, but Bard did. Pressing his forehead against hers, he asked, “Who’s it trying to target, darling?”

Humbled by his absolute faith in her, Harper let her eyes follow the network of tangled threads that stretched out from him, seeking…

“Your brothers. It’s after one of your brothers,” Harper gasped. Pushing at his chest, she cried out, “We have to check on your brothers!”

Bard nodded, then gave her a small, wicked smirk. “Cover your ears, darling…”

When she did, he immediately covered her hands with his own, adding another layer of protection, as he threw his head back and howled down the moon!