Reardon silently cursed himself. Once again, he’d been selfish, thinking only of what he wanted. Why hadn’t he learned his lesson? He’d turned his men because he wanted to win against Spain’s enemies. He wanted the spoils that went along with victory. He hadn’t cared what it cost him.

And now he’d done it again. He wanted Brandy. Gods, he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life, but Flidae had made it clear he couldn’t have what he wanted. Yet, he’d tried to get it anyway. The moment his elongated canines had neared Brandy’s lovely neck, the goddess had issued her warning. Though his ability to turn another into a werewolf was supposed to be used in the case of finding one’s soul mate, clearly Flidae didn’t think Reardon was deserving of such a partner. Why tell him about turning a soul mate then?

Just to toy with me.

You’re not staying here, wolf. The goddess’s voice thundered in his head to the point of being painful. He brought his hands up to his temples and rubbed the ache.

“Reardon?” Brandy’s hand stroked his forearm and she scooted closer, her body pressing against his side.

He turned to look at her. So beautiful. So not going to be his. He may have agreed that together they were stronger, but being together put her—and apparently her son—in danger. Flidae was not above using the boy to make sure Reardon suffered appropriately for his crime of turning his men.

He kept making bad choices. Choices that affected the ones he cared about most.

“So do I just drive up to Chella’s?” Parker asked from the driver’s seat, his gaze meeting Reardon’s in the truck’s rearview mirror. “Is this Flidae goddess waiting for us? Has she hurt Chella and Dylan?”

Brandy made an anguished noise, no doubt fearful for her boy.

“She wants me.” Reardon put his hand over Brandy’s as it tensed on his arm. The notion that her boy was in danger made her crazy. He felt the same way. Dylan had come to mean a great deal to him. He’d bonded with the boy while in wolf form and that bond could never be broken.

I can break it. Flidae taunted him.

You don’t lay a hand on the boy. I’m coming. You can have me and do as you see fit. Do nothing to Dylan or Chella.

Flidae’s laughter filled his head. But I rather like the woman’s form. It suits me.

Reardon considered those words. Flidae had taken over Chella’s body? This was bad. And what of Dylan?

I’ve done nothing to the boy. Not yet.

A sharp pain sliced through Reardon’s chest. Dylan must be so scared and it was all his fault. When would he stop hurting people who trusted him?

Parker’s truck skidded to a halt in front of a large, white house with a perfectly manicured front lawn. The property was quite different from anything Reardon had seen in the area and certainly in stark contrast to Silver Moon Sanctuary where he’d spent most of his time. Chella’s house suggested wealth and luxury and taste that went far beyond an appreciation for simple natural beauty. The sanctuary property was wild and carefree and exactly where he wanted to live out the rest of his days if given the chance.

You don’t belong in this time or this place. Flidae didn’t need to remind him, but she appeared to enjoy doing so.

Reardon immediately hated the house looming in front of them, and his wrath over what was potentially happening inside the pompous residency had him jumping out of the truck before Parker had the key out of the ignition.

Brandy scrambled out the same door he’d used and stood beside him for only a heartbeat, then she marched toward the house.

He reached out and grabbed her arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Stronger together, remember? We’re going in there together and getting Dylan and Chella. We’re not wasting another minute.” She tried to maneuver out of his grip, but he tightened his hold.

“No. You stay here with Parker. I’ll send Dylan and Chella out.” Aye. This was a better plan. The farther he kept Brandy from Flidae, the better.

You can’t protect her, wolf. I can get to anyone I want.

Reardon clenched his fist and took a step toward the house, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Brandy. “Stay.”

“You don’t give me commands. I’m not a dog, Reardon.” She pulled on his arm so he had to face her and whispered, “Not yet anyway.” Arching her brow, she gave him a half-grin that reached into his chest and wrapped around his heart. How could she still want to be with him? How could she want to be like him? It was his fault Flidae had Dylan. “Soul mates don’t let each other face things alone.” She slid her hand into his and tugged him forward.

Parker was right behind them. “Should we have a weapon? We’re going in there blind.”

“Weapons will not work on Flidae,” Reardon said. “I’m not sure what will work.”

“Great. That makes me feel so much better.” Parker stepped around them and opened the front door. “Chella?”

A woman who looked very much like Chella came down a long staircase, but Reardon instantly knew the real Chella did not inhabit that body. Where that consciousness had gone was anyone’s guess.

Parker made a move to meet Chella on the stairs, but Reardon let go of Brandy’s hand and pushed Parker aside.

“Flidae, leave her.” His voice came out more commanding than he’d meant it to, but his warrior side was bubbling to the surface under these threatening conditions. “Chella has nothing to do with the situation between us.”

“Maybe not,” Flidae-Chella said. “But her form is so comfortable. I may keep it.”

A strangled sound came from Parker and he gripped the railing on the staircase. “Please, don’t hurt her.”

Flidae-Chella peered around Reardon to look at Parker. “Do you love this body?”

“I love the woman who usually inhabits it,” Parker said. “I beg you. Don’t hurt her.”

Brandy rested her hand on Parker’s shoulder, but her eyes darted around the immediate area, no doubt looking for her son.

“The boy?” Reardon asked. “Where is he?”

“Tucked away.” Flidae-Chella fluffed the folds of the long, flowing skirt she wore. “He’s rather brave for such a small boy. I’m very intrigued by him.”

Now Brandy released a pained sound. “He’s all I have of my sister. Please, Flidae, let’s work something out.”

Flidae-Chella laughed, the echo resonating through the eerily quiet house. “You aim to bargain with a goddess, human?”

“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep my boy… and Reardon.” Brandy slid her hand off Parker’s and stood by Reardon.

“Whatever it takes?” Flidae-Chella’s eyebrows rose over glowing eyes. “Ambitious.” She raised her arms and suddenly Reardon was thrown toward the front door. His body slammed into the wall and he slid to the floor in a heap of limbs. Everything hurt, as if his spine had been shattered to bits.

Brandy screamed and ran to him, immediately getting to her knees beside him. “Are you okay?”

He nodded slowly, taking a quick inventory of his physical state. Everything still moved so he assumed nothing had been broken, but his still-healing leg throbbed from the way he’d landed on it, and the wind had been knocked out of his lungs. He sat there and gulped down some air.

Flidae-Chella floated down the rest of the stairs, her form growing in size as she approached. She wrapped her hand around Parker’s throat and backed him up against the wall in the foyer. In his struggles, Parker knocked an expensive-looking vase off a small table. The sound of it exploding to bits as it hit the floor echoed in the otherwise quiet house.

“Please!” Brandy begged as she shot to her feet and ran to Parker. “He has nothing to do with your beef with Reardon. Parker and Chella are not a part of this. Let them go. And let my son go.”

Flidae-Chella glanced over her shoulder, and Reardon absolutely did not like the way she glared at Brandy. He got to his feet, but not fast enough.

In two seconds flat, Flidae-Chella dropped her hold of Parker, leaving him slumped over on the floor, and swept Brandy off her feet, pinning her to the hardwood flooring with one hand. With her free hand, she unleashed an invisible force that held Reardon back. He couldn’t get to Brandy. It was as if a stone wall—one he couldn’t see—had been erected between him and Brandy.

Flidae-Chella put her face inches from Brandy’s. “I am the goddess of wild things. I do not listen to what humans want. I do not listen to commands humans issue. This wolf made a grave mistake turning men to wolves for material gain. He was sent here as punishment. Not to find his soul mate.”

“So you recognize that I am his soul mate?” Brandy choked out, her hands wrapped around Flidae-Chella’s wrist as she tried to keep the goddess from crushing her windpipe.

Reardon pounded a fist against the barrier, but Flidae-Chella didn’t pay him a second’s attention. He didn’t exist to her at the moment. Only Brandy and her rebellious words existed, and Flidae-Chella wouldn’t be one to let those words go unchallenged. Reardon had never felt so helpless in all his life.

“It matters not if you are his destined partner. Reardon McAlator used his gifts to make men into feral killers. Not in the name of justice or truth or liberty. No.” Flidae-Chella shook her head, Chella’s hair swinging from side to side. “No. He changed them so his record of brutality would not be broken. He didn’t ask his men if they wanted to be changed. He didn’t ask me. He made a decision that wasn’t his to make. Now he must pay the price.”

“I will pay the price, Flidae,” Reardon shouted from his side of the transparent wall between him and Brandy, not even sure if he could be heard. “I will pay any price. Just leave these people be. Return Chella to Parker, and Dylan to Brandy.” He banged his fist against the wall again. “I’ll go willingly if you do not harm any of these people.”

Flidae-Chella finally looked up at Reardon, confirming she did indeed hear him. She released her grip on Brandy and straightened to an imposing height. A bright flash of light nearly blinded Reardon and when he could see clearly again, Chella’s body was on the floor beside Brandy’s. Flidae was back to her apparition form, a ghastly white mist surrounding her image.

“Perhaps taking you back with me is the only way to truly punish you, wolf.” She angled her head at him. “You’ve missed the point of doing something worthy, as were my terms. Finding your soul mate in this place, in this time, is still self-serving. You always wish to gain something.”

Reardon couldn’t argue with this. He did want Brandy. And Dylan. He wanted them for himself. He wanted to change Brandy so she’d be like him and enjoy an elongated lifespan, meaning she’d have more time to spend with him. She made him happy and he wanted that happiness. Desperately.

“Not that I owe you anything,” Flidae said as she looked to Brandy then waved her hands in front of her.

“Mom!” Dylan’s voice suddenly echoed from somewhere upstairs.

Brandy scrambled to her feet. “Dylan! Where are you, baby?”

“He’s upstairs. You’ll find him unharmed.” Flidae gestured up the stairs, a sly grin on her face. “Go to him or… stay here and claim your wolf. You choose.”

Brandy paused with her hand on the staircase railing. “What?” She shot a glance to Reardon, a crease between her brows.

“You can go upstairs and get your boy or stay right here and get your wolf. You can have only one.”

“These were not the terms, Flidae,” Reardon said.

“I can change the terms. I’m the one with all the power.” Her smile nearly glowed as she enjoyed her cleverness.

Reardon let out a low warning growl. “My patience for these games grows thin, Flidae.”

“Your patience wears thin?” Flidae shook her head, her mane of hair flowing like black tentacles about her head. “You don’t have to deal with unruly wolfmen.” She looked back to Brandy, who still stood frozen by the stairs. “What will it be? The boy or the soul mate?”

Brandy’s gaze slowly rose to meet Reardon’s, tears collecting in those beautiful blue eyes.

Reardon knew she only had one choice. “Go, Brandy. Dylan must have his mother.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “No, I am.”

Before he could utter another word, the scene before him disappeared. He’d involuntarily shifted to wolf form and something tight encircled his neck.

“Some wild things,” Flidae began, “need taming.”

Reardon felt a tug and looked to Flidae standing beside him, her form more solid again. She held a long gold rope which bound him around the neck. Bound him to her. Chella’s house was gone. He was no longer in Brandy’s time.

He attempted to shift back to human so he could talk, but found he couldn’t do it.

Flidae’s laughter filled the air around them. “You’ve been so eager to turn everyone into wolves. I think it’s time you stayed in your wolf skin. Your human brain only gets you in trouble.”

Reardon let out a howl, but Flidae only tugged painfully on the golden rope, leading him to what he now realized was her realm back in Ireland. The last image burned in his mind was of Brandy, her lovely face creased with anguish.

She’s better off without me.

But he was definitely not better off without her.

****

“Reardon? Where did he go?” Brandy whirled around in a circle, helped Parker to his feet, then ran through the rooms on the first floor, but Reardon was nowhere.

“Mom?”

Dylan. She had to go to him. Taking the stairs two at a time, Brandy ran into the guest bedroom, Chella’s office, the bathroom. She skidded to a halt when she found Dylan sitting in the huge, claw-footed bathtub, looking very small and very afraid.

“Oh, baby.” She climbed right into the tub and gathered him into her lap.

He didn’t hesitate or hold back. Tears poured from his eyes as he clutched Brandy around the neck. Her heart broke.

Again.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re okay. We’re all okay.” Except Reardon. She had no idea where he’d gone. He’d been there one moment and then poof. He and Flidae had disappeared. What was that crazy-ass goddess doing with him? Would she return him?

She tended to think the answer to that was no. So how do I get him back? Because she had to get him back. She didn’t know much about wolf-to-human romances or soul mates or Irish warriors or time travel, but she did know she’d never felt a connection so deep with any man as she had with Reardon.

Living without him was not an option.

She ran her hands over Dylan. “You’re not hurt, are you? She didn’t hurt you?”

Dylan shook his head that was buried in the curve of her neck, and a muffled no sounded against her throat.

“Okay, good. Let’s get you home.” She stood in the tub, taking Dylan up with her.

After stepping out of the tub, she guided Dylan out and led him down the stairs. The boy didn’t leave her side, didn’t say much, and she absolutely hated that he was so freaked out. He never should have been in that situation. How did one get over being abducted by a Celtic goddess?

“Who was that lady, Mom?” Dylan wiped at his face with the end of his T-shirt.

“Someone who was upset with Reardon.”

“She looked like Chella, but it wasn’t her. I don’t understand.” He sniffed and wrapped his arms around Brandy’s waist.

“I know, baby. I promise to explain as much as I can to you when we get back home.”

“Okay.” He looked around the foyer, taking in the broken vase. “Is Reardon okay?”

“I hope so.” But right now she needed to find Parker and Chella who weren’t in the foyer where she’d left them. “Park?” She made her way into Chella’s living room and found him leaning over the couch.

Chella’s limp form was tiny and fragile on the cushions, her hair a wild mess and her skin pale. Not pale in the beautiful China doll way either.

“Is she… oh, God, she isn’t…” Brandy couldn’t form the question.

Parker shook his head. “She’s still breathing and she’s got a steady pulse, but she won’t open her eyes. I was giving her a minute. I mean, her body was hijacked.” He straightened and ran his hand through his hair, making the strands stand on end for a moment before they fell back into place. He looked pale as well, and Brandy hated that her friend and his fiancée had gotten dragged into this mess.

“No harm in calling 911, Park. Want me to do it?” She reached around to her pocket and grabbed her phone as Dylan clung to her other arm.

“I got it.” He pulled out his own phone, but looked up at Dylan then Brandy before dialing. “Are you guys okay?”

“We will be.” She squeezed Dylan to her side, dropping a kiss on the top of his head.

“And Reardon?” Parker held up a hand while he gave the 911 operator the details then disconnected. “Where is he?”

“I think… I think Flidae took him.” It was the only conclusion that made any sense.

“Took him? Where?”

“I don’t know. I’m… I’m not sure where to look either.” She closed her eyes, remembering how Flidae had thrown Reardon against the wall. That goddess packed a great deal of power—power she’d use to punish the werewolf Brandy loved. “I have to find him though. I have to.”

Parker opened his mouth, but Chella stirred on the couch and he put his hand to her cheek. “Chella? Baby, can you hear me?”

She struggled to sit up, putting a hand immediately to her head. “Such a headache.” Her voice wasn’t much more than a croak.

“Take it slow.” Parker propped her up with some throw pillows. “Let me get you a drink.”

“No.” Chella cleared her throat and grabbed Parker’s wrist. Her brows lowered and her eyes darted from left to right as if she were watching something.

Brandy actually looked to where Chella’s gaze was focused on the fireplace across the living room. “What are you looking at, Chella? Do you see something?”

Chella put a hand to her stomach, and Brandy thought the woman might be sick. “I see a huge, black wolf tied in a stone chamber by a golden rope.” Slowly, she focused wide eyes on Brandy. “He looks cold.”

“She’s got Reardon tied up.” Brandy put a hand to her mouth, desperate to make demands of Flidae to release Reardon, but she had no idea if the goddess could still hear her. And if she could, would Brandy further anger Flidae and put Reardon more at risk?

“Reardon?” Chella slid her legs over the side of the couch and Parker sat beside her, smoothing his hand over her hair, rubbing her back.

“Take it slow, baby,” he said.

“I’m okay.” Chella turned to look at Brandy. “What does Reardon have to do with that black wolf? The wolf looks like that huge one at your sanctuary. Albert, Albacor…”

“Alator,” Dylan said.

Brandy glanced at Parker. “You didn’t show her the video?”

He shook his head. “I wasn’t sure what I was seeing when I first watched it. I knew I had to keep whatever Reardon was away from you.”

“He’s not a threat.” She squeezed Dylan closer.

“He doesn’t mean to be.” Parker rubbed his forehead. “But let’s review tonight’s events, shall we? Dylan was kidnapped. Chella was possessed. You and I got knocked around by an ancient Celtic goddess. Last, but not least, Reardon got taken by said goddess and is apparently being held captive like a common mongrel.” He puffed out a breath. “Does that about sum it up?”

“Unfortunately.” Brandy’s shoulders lowered as she held Dylan, eventually dropping another kiss on the boy’s head. “But he didn’t hesitate to save our lives when that car was barreling toward us in town. I owe him.”

She owed him and she had things she wanted to give him freely. Her love. Her soul. Her normal human existence. She wanted to be like him, to be so closely bonded with him, to enjoy the gift he could give her. All her life she’d been fascinated by tales of shifters, thinking them no more than fantasy.

But they’re real. As real as a six-foot-plus, smoking hot, super sweet, time-traveling werewolf can be. God, she missed him as if someone had come along and stabbed her in the chest, carved out her heart, and left a gaping hole.

Sirens cut into whatever reply Parker or Chella had, and Brandy hugged Dylan closer as the sound grew nearer.

“I said I was fine,” Chella said. “Confused maybe, but fine.”

“I’d already called.” Parker held up a hand to a protesting Chella. “And it won’t hurt to have a quick exam. Then I’ll show you the security cam footage so you’ll be up-to-date.”

“What am I supposed to tell the EMTs?” She angled her head to the flashing lights now flickering through the oversized living room window.

“We’ll say you passed out. I’ll take care of the talking. You sit and looked exhausted.” Parker went to the front door to let the EMTs in.

“Exhausted. That will be easy.” Chella smoothed the wrinkles in her long skirt. “I’ve never been this tired.”

While the EMTs fussed over Chella, Brandy took Dylan into the kitchen, got him a glass of water, and sat him down at the table. She pulled out the chair next to him and lowered into it. Drumming her fingers on the table, she struggled with if and how to tell Dylan about what Reardon was.

Finally Dylan looked up at her and said, “Just say it. I’m not a little kid, Mom.”

He was right, of course. He hadn’t been a little kid for a while, and she knew that, but was revealing that werewolves were real an easy discussion at any age? She hadn’t had a problem with it. Then again, she’d been secretly studying lycanthropy for years. Hadn’t a part of her brain accepted the possibility that all those case studies were real evidence of the paranormal? Hadn’t she wanted it all to be true?

Hell, yeah. And now that she knew Reardon existed, she couldn’t let him get away. Dylan had been the central focus of her life all this time, and if she wanted to add Reardon—if she’d be allowed to add Reardon—she needed to tell her son everything.

“You love Alator, right?” Brandy began as she rested her hand on Dylan’s shoulder.

“Yeah. He’s my favorite of all the wolves though he’s been with us the shortest amount of time. I don’t know. He’s… he’s special.” Dylan pushed his glass of water away and turned to face Brandy more fully.

“Special. That’s exactly the right word for Alator.” She pictured that huge wolf defending her against Hank Swift. She envisioned snuggling up to Alator and the comfort he brought. She imagined those green-gold eyes, full of affection, wisdom, and fierce loyalty. “You like Reardon too, don’t you?”

“Sure,” Dylan said. “He’s cool. Without him, we would have been road kill in town.”

“Right.” Here goes. “So remember when you said Reardon had eyes like Alator’s?”

Dylan nodded.

“Well…” Brandy searched her brain for the right words, but they wouldn’t come. What were the right words to tell a ten-year old boy that the wolf he loved and the man he thought was cool were the same?

A picture is worth a thousand words. She set her phone on the table, pulled up the security camera footage, and slid the phone over to Dylan.

“Press play and then we’ll talk.”

Dylan picked up the phone and tapped the screen. He focused with rapt attention, not saying anything as Reardon—unfortunately a naked Reardon—led the wolves to the entrance gates. He didn’t blink as Reardon set foot beyond the gates, crouched, and shifted.

The video ended and Brandy had no idea what was going through Dylan’s head. The boy’s facial expression hadn’t changed from beginning to end of the video.

“Dylan?”

Still the kid stared at the screen.

Brandy reached out and touched Dylan’s hand resting on the table by her phone. “Baby, what do you have to say about this? You must have questions.”

Slowly, Dylan’s blue-eyed gaze met hers. His eyebrows rose and this look of pure glee swept over his face. “Reardon really is a SUPERHERO!”

Comic books. The kid thought Reardon was a comic book character.

Brandy wrestled with that for a few seconds then searched Dylan’s face for any signs of fear or non-acceptance of what he’d viewed on the video. Finding none, she said, “Yeah, I guess he is sort of like a superhero. He’s certainly saved us and he definitely has a special power.”

“He can turn into a wolf! That’s the coolest, Mom!” Dylan popped out of his chair. “You told Parker that someone has Reardon, right? An angry goddess?”

“A powerful, angry goddess.” Brandy rubbed her temples, wondering what the hell her next steps should be.

She looked up when Dylan’s hands rested on her shoulders. “Mom, this is so just like a comic book. Now it’s our turn to save him.”

“Honey, I want to. Believe me, I want to, but I’m not sure how.”

“I know how,” Chella said.

Brandy turned to find Chella standing in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. Parker was right behind her, looking a little more relaxed no doubt because his fiancée was back on her feet and not looking so pale anymore.

“What do you mean?” Brandy stood now too.

“I have a message,” Chella said. “From Flidae.”