As Rhage and Mary sat in front of the Christmas tree in the library, with all its twinkle and glimmer and unopened gifts, Rhage was mourning the loss of what he had hoped would become of his shellan’s favorite human holiday. He had had such a wonderful time planned for their little family, all those presents they’d been collecting ever since Bitty had come to stay with them finally being unwrapped by the girl and enjoyed.

There was so much that Bit needed, and more than that, so much Rhage had wanted to give her.

And he’d also put some surprises under there for his Mary. Not that she would approve.

His shellan was a minimalist—or maybe it was a necess-isist. She didn’t like fancy jewelry or cars or clothes. She liked her Kindle and the books she got on it … all of which had no pictures and little tiny writing and words he had never heard before in them. She didn’t collect anything, she preferred to wear her shoes until they fell apart, and her handbags were functional, not a fashion expression.

Guess that was what happened when you became fully actualized as a person: You didn’t have to worry about being defined by anything other than exactly who and what you were. No binge eating or drinking or gambling. No sexual dysfunction. No credit card debt for things you couldn’t afford but were determined to have.

It was beautiful—and frustrating if you wanted to shower your mate with presents.

With Bitty’s arrival, though? He had been looking forward to a new receptacle for his gifty exuberance.

Nothing had been touched under the tree, however.

Even though Christmas night had come and gone, the presents remained unopened, not just his and Mary’s and Bitty’s, but the whole household’s. The gifts were just sitting there, a visible representation of joy that had been rerouted into fear and sadness.

Hell, if those precisely wrapped boxes and their sloppy, gloriously misshapen compatriots had been fruit, they would have been decayed and fly-ridden, their previously perfect paper skins and satin bows eroded into rot.

“She loves Nalla,” Mary commented.

There was only one “she” between them. No need for a proper noun.

“She does.”

“Bella appreciates the help.”

“And Bitty is earning a little money.”

They were each speaking in flat tones, not because they didn’t care, but because they desperately wished they were free to care—

The scent of Turkish tobacco was the first clue. The heavy falls of shitkickers heading their way was the second.

Both he and his Mary jerked off the cushions. And Rhage knew that for the rest of his life, he was going to remember that paneled door swinging open and the birthed son of the Scribe Virgin striding in.

Vishous was back from South Carolina early.

And what do you know, it was impossible to read that goateed, tattooed face. Mostly because the brother was drinking Grey Goose right out of a bottle.

V kicked the door shut behind him and came right over. As he sat across from them, he replaced the vodka at his lips with a hand-rolled—which at least gave Rhage a little more surface area to try and tea-leaf the Brother’s expression.

No luck, but given that those diamond eyes were sharp as knives and not meeting his?

Yeah, he knew where this was going before V opened his piehole.

“He checks out,” the Brother said. “His whole story.”

It seemed kind of symbolic that Vishous was blocking the view of the presents under the tree, the Brother’s big body a physical manifestation of the reality that the gift of Bitty in their lives was being seriously road-blocked.

V continued after another swig from the bottle. “Who he says he is. Where he’s from. Who his parents were—Bitty’s grandparents—and the fact that they’re both dead. I also met with people at his household of employment—he’s worked there for decades, reliable, good employee, never a slacker. Lives alone on the estate, keeps to himself. Widely known in the community that his sister, Bitty’s mom, disappeared up North with a bad guy against the wishes of her family.” He glanced at Mary. “Nobody knew about Bitty’s existence until you posted what you did on Facebook, and it took time for word to filter to him because he’s not online at all.”

Rhage could feel the tension in Mary’s body increase with each sentence, sure as if she were being pounded on by fists. On his side, he wanted to roar, but who exactly was he going to yell at? V, the messenger? Bitty’s uncle?

Who had done nothing wrong except come forward when he learned his niece was out in the world alone as an orphan?

The Christmas tree?

Yeah, ’cuz all that tinsel was really going to give a shit.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

V sat forward and tapped his ash, his black-gloved hand a badass contrast to the delicate and lovely Hermès ashtray. “I asked Ruhn to come down to South Carolina and meet me late last night. He did. He took me personally to his house, even though his employer had already let me in. He was willing to introduce me to anybody and everyone. He’s well liked, if, again, a loner.”

“But is he ready to take care of her?” Mary blurted. “A child is …”

As she trailed off, she put her head in her hands. “Oh, what am I saying. Blood trumps everything.”

“I don’t know the answer to the fitness thing,” V said. “That’s way above my pay grade. So Marissa is—”

A knock on the library door made Rhage jump, but it was just Marissa coming in, the female walking over, hugging Mary, sitting with V, talking about some kind of plan for assessing something or another and deciding … whatever the fuck.

In Rhage’s mind, he retreated far, far away, his eyes shifting back over to the Christmas tree and lingering on the way the lights twinkled in the deep green branches, and how the shiny foil of some of the presents reflected the golden flicker of the fire.

“… Rhage?” Mary prompted.

He shook himself. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Are you okay with everything? That we go to the Audience House and meet him there?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Everybody stared at him.

“Do you have any questions?” Mary said gently.

Rhage refocused on the gifts. “Can I still give Bit what I got her for Christmas before she goes?”

One hour later, Mary and Rhage pulled into the Audience House’s driveway and eased on around to the back garages. As Mary tried to collect her thoughts, Rhage parked the GTO, turned off the powerful engine and the headlights … and then together they sat there, staring at the row of hedges that he had nosed the muscle car into.

I have no idea how to do this, Mary decided.

For the entire trip from the Brotherhood’s mountain to town, she had been searching for some emotional footing, some perspective, some … anything … to carry herself through looking Bitty’s rightful next of kin in the eye and not completely breaking down.

So far she had come up with nothing.

“Are you ready?” Rhage said.

There was the temptation to try to be strong for him because she knew he was hurting as much as she was. But honesty won out over a lie.

“No.” She looked across at him. “I’m not.”

“Me neither.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

And that was the best and only foot forward there was, wasn’t it: The simple words they shared were a vow on both their parts to get through this together, a reaffirmation that just as they had been side by side going into the joy of having Bitty in their lives, they would likewise go through the pain of losing her side by side.

Together, they got out and shut the doors, and Mary lifted up the fleece she was wearing and retucked her turtleneck into her waistband. As if somehow having a smooth presentation would impact anything at all.

Hell, Ruhn didn’t have to like them or approve of them. The male wasn’t vetting them in any way.

No, he was just going to take their daughter away—

Mary stopped herself right there on that one.

As Rhage held open the back kitchen door, she walked in and reminded herself that Bitty only felt like their daughter. Legally, that was simply not the case. And in a classic head-wins-over-the-heart situation, reality wasn’t going to vote with emotion.

V had already dematerialized over and was waiting for them at the table Rhage had done such a number on. “Marissa’s in there with him right now.”

“Okay,” Mary said.

When Rhage faltered, she took his big hand. “We’re ready when he is.”

Vishous nodded and got to his feet. “I’ll come back when it’s time.”

Cue an awkward period of waiting … which Rhage spent prowling around from cupboard to cupboard, taking out bags of potato chips, boxes of cookies, loaves of bread, jars of pickles. He always ended up putting whatever it was back after an inspection, as if he wanted to nervous-eat, but his stomach wasn’t finding anything appealing.

Or even tolerable.

After God only knew how long, V put his head in through the flap door across the way. “They’re ready.”

Talk about the longest walk of her life. As she and Rhage went past the pantry, and out into the foyer, and then around the base of the stairs and down a little hall, it seemed to take forever—and Mary was good with that.

They were entering the new reality as soon as they saw that other male.

As they came up to the library doors, both sides were closed and V knocked once. When Marissa answered, the Brother opened things up … and Mary found herself blinking a lot and staring at the floor.

And then somehow, she was in the room.

As with the Brotherhood house, there was a fire crackling and first editions on the shelves … and nicely arranged furniture … even a plate of cookies and some tea sitting on a low coffee table. No Christmas tree, though. No hand-wrapped presents. No Bing Crosby playing.

And there he was.

Her first impression of Bitty’s uncle was that he was just as nervous as they were. His foot was tapping and his arms were crossed over his chest and his eyes bounced back and forth between her and Rhage.

Her second thought was that he was big. Much bigger than she would have imagined, given Bitty’s size and Annalye’s relatively delicate build. In his clean blue jeans and red and blue flannel shirt, he took up almost all of the sofa he was on, and not because he was fat. He was covered in muscle, clearly a field worker of some kind.

His hair was dark, just like Bitty’s. His eyes were some flavor of pale brown. Skin was the tone of Rhage’s. Face was … yes, there were clear echoes of Bitty’s features there.

Marissa stood up from the chair next to the male. “I’m going to make introductions.”

Ruhn got to his feet, and yup, he was very tall. And he wiped his palms on his thighs repeatedly as names were traded.

He offered his hand only to Rhage—which was a measure of respect and showed an awareness of vampire etiquette. Given that she and Rhage were mated, it would have been entirely inappropriate for Ruhn to touch her without express invitation by either her or her hellren.

“Sire,” he said in a low, soft voice.

Rhage reached out, and as they shook, Ruhn bowed deeply.

Then he turned to her and did the same, just without the palm-to-palm contact.

Mary glanced at Rhage. His face was remote, but his eyes were not so much narrowed with aggression … as sad with unhappiness.

“Perhaps we should all sit down and get comfortable?” Marissa said, indicating various chairs and sofas. “Tea, anyone?”

The female was obviously falling back on her finely bred manners, and it was helpful, filling the silence as Mary nodded about the offer of Earl Grey because she needed something to do with her hands.

Vishous stayed standing in the far corner, a menacing presence that was a reminder that the rest of the house was empty, all the appointments with the King rescheduled just so they could have this neutral space. He alone was here on guard.

But you know, he was more than enough to feel safe—

Except abruptly Mary noticed a figure outside on the back terrace. Z, going by the skull trim. And … wait, was that—yes, that was Butch at another window on the other side.

Undoubtedly, other members of the Brotherhood were elsewhere, remaining unseen—and she drew strength from having family with her and Rhage.

“So we all know why we’re here.” Marissa leaned forward with an admirably steady hand, passing a full teacup to Mary. “Perhaps someone would like to say what’s on their mind.”

Everybody looked at her, including the uncle. Which gave her an idea that maybe Ruhn was not unfamiliar with what she did for a living.

Mary cleared her throat and decided to cut through the bullshit. “Bitty is our primary concern. Her health, well-being, and happiness is the only thing we care about—but of course, we respect your bloodline tie.”

Ruhn looked down at his hands. They were heavily callused, the forearms exposed by those rolled-up sleeves, veined and thick with muscle.

“I’d like to meet her.” His voice was soft, quiet … totally unaggressive. “My sister … it’s hard for me to believe she’s gone. And seeing Lizabitte would be …”

As he trailed off, Mary frowned. It was a surprise to feel compassion for the male.

“I feel like I let my sister down.” He shook his head. “Living with that is a curse … I mean, I tried to find her when she came up here. But I didn’t have many resources—I still don’t, and she disappeared with that male. I knew he was going to kill her. We all did.” He cleared his throat, and his tone deepened, grew stronger. “Lizabitte is the only part of my sister left—and doing right by that young is fulfilling the duty I failed at to Annalye.”

Mary swallowed hard as Ruhn met her straight in the eye, and concluded, “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for that young.”