To his surprise, his mother not only returned his call, but met him at the Toronto airport.

Shortly after deplaning, Magnus found her waiting at the bottom of the escalator as he headed for baggage claim.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded as soon as he saw her.

Hurt flashed across her face at his question, but then she reset and said, “I am sorry, Magnus. I know I should just stay out of it, especially now that I fully understand Tara’s reasons for returning to her home. But I had to stay in her pack town because of the full moon anyway, and then I was thinking maybe you would need my support because I believe you will find her pack as surprising as I did. Also, they drive mostly automatic on the right side of the road here, and I am not quite sure you ever learned to drive in this way.”

Magnus fidgeted. She was right. He’d never driven anywhere but in Scotland and couldn’t say for sure how automatic cars worked. But… “I’ll hire a car and sort it out myself. You can’t drive us there.”

“But why not, Magnus? Like I said, you will want some support when dealing with her…very interesting people. And besides, St. Ailbe is over an hour away and I am right here, ready to take you. Why not accept my offer—?”

Magnus knew the exact moment she realized why he’d be unwilling to let her drive him to Tara’s pack town. She suddenly cut off, and he followed her surprised gaze to watch his father coming down the escalator.

But by the time Lachlan made it to them, his mother had recovered. Quickly composing her beautiful face before saying, “Lachlan. You look well…”

Lachlan wasn’t nearly as good of an actor. Thirteen years. They’d been divorced thirteen years. But he regarded her with furious eyes as if she’d only just left him yesterday. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, same as his son.

Instead of cowering, his mother lifted her chin and said, “I will be driving you and Magnus to St. Ailbe. You are both very much welcome.”

And so that was how Magnus ended up in a four-door rented Maserati with his mother driving and his father openly glaring at her from the backseat.

His father did deign to break the silence once with, “I see you don’t have a ring. Did you meet and divorce another wolf? Or do you only take lovers like those Italian movie stars of yours?”

“I only take lovers, old wolf,” his mother answered breezily, her Italian accent like honey running over a dagger. “And how about you? Did any of those bonnie widows finally lure you into their stone vaginas?”

His father made a sound that was either a snort of laughter or a huff of anger—Magnus couldn’t tell. But he noticed his mother glancing in the rear view mirror several times over the course of the drive. And since long roads and byways made up the majority of the trip, Magnus suspected she wasn’t looking to check who was driving behind her.

For the first time, he wondered if his mother had also been bereft without their father. But proving to Magnus where he’d gotten his double dose of uncompromising stubborn, neither of them said another word for the rest of the drive.

Which meant it went on like that for a full hour and a half.

The mood was so uncomfortable, it didn’t occur to him to ask his mother why, if Tara lived just ninety minutes outside of Toronto, there hadn’t been any record of her in the Ontario pack system. And when she suddenly pulled over to the side of a dirt road, Magnus at first wondered if she hadn’t gotten fed up with his father’s almost palpable animosity.

But then he saw a hand carved sign with St. Ailbe written on it in simple plain letters.

However, when he looked around he saw nothing but farm country. There were cows munching on grass and recently harvested fields and a few meadows beyond that. He could also see a collection of houses sitting just past the now empty fields. They looked strikingly alike: two stories, white wood clapboard. The kind of structures that brought to mind books and television programs with the word “prairie” in the titles. And without the hum of the Maserati’s engine, Magnus noticed how quiet it was here. Nothing but bird song and an occasional moo to be heard, even with his wolf ears.

“This is where Tara grew up?” he asked his mother, unable to match the she-wolf he’d mated with this hushed and unassuming place.

“Si, it is,” his mother answered, getting out of the car. “No autos are allowed past the sign. Also, Magnus, you will need to leave your phones and any other electronics in the car. I am assuming your father still has not gotten a phone.”

“What need do I have of a phone?” Lachlan grumbled as he climbed out of the car. “Doesnae look like there’s much reception to be had out here anyways.”

Magnus placed his mobile in the Maserati’s glove box as told, but asked, “What is this all about?” as he stepped out onto the dirt.

Instead of answering, his mother waved at a solitary figure coming toward them across the fields.

He was a small, thin black man and he wore black braces over a long-sleeved, blue button-up shirt. A wide brim black hat sat on his head, and as he got closer, Magnus could see he sported an ear to ear salt-and-pepper beard. However, unlike the bearded men in Faoltiarn, this man didn’t have a mustache to go with his beard. Could this be the pack alpha? Sent out to negotiate on Tara’s behalf?

But then, a sudden downshift of wind quickly revealed his identity. Tara’s father!

“Hello,” Magnus said awkwardly once the man reached them. The truth was, despite having flown here all the way from Scotland, he hadn’t given much thought to Tara’s parents—only the negotiation he’d need to make with her pack leader to arrange rights and hopefully see her. Tara’s parents hadn’t really figured into the equation and he found himself wholly unprepared to meet either them. “You must be Tara’s father,” he finished rather lamely.

“Yes, I am. My name is Danso Hamilton,” the man answered. He had a heavy African accent, Magnus noticed, but spoke in a jovial tone as if he might burst into laughter at any moment. “And you must be King Magnus. I hope you do not mind if I do not bow. My daughter said you would prefer if I did, however, that is not our pack’s way. Please do not take it as a sign of disrespect.”

Magnus faltered. His nose told him that, aye, this was most definitely Tara’s father. But this man was gracious, his voice polite and resonant with a warm undertone that put him in direct conflict with everything Magnus had expected to find when he arrived.

“Dinna fash yourself, sir,” Magnus replied, bowing his head even though this wolf wasn’t a king or a pack alpha, as far as he could tell. “You are my mate’s father. And besides that, we are not in Scotland.”

“Do not fash yourself,” the man repeated with a grin. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard that turn of phrase. And I see you have brought your father along with you,” he said, acknowledging Lachlan with a nod. “Welcome to you, sir. Thank you for coming all this way.”

Lachlan returned the nod though Magnus could tell he was just as stunned as his son to be greeted in this way.

Danso turned his warm smile on Magnus’s mother. “You must be happy to be back with your man.”

“Erm…” Lachlan began.

But his mother interrupted with, “Did you decide whether or not to tell Tara Magnus was coming?”

Danso responded with a pained look. “Else and I discussed the matter, but Tara was already so nervous about presenting to the pack…we decided it was best not to. We also weren’t sure if you would make it in time.”

“Make it in time for what?” Magnus asked.

Danso started to answered, but then suddenly paused in the way mated wolves often did when receiving a telepathic communication from their mates. “Okay then, Else’s telling us to hurry up. Tara’s presentation is not going over well.”