Page 45 of Cathmoir's Sons

Luca grumbles and sprawls back onto his belly.

I remain standing, bristling, watching as the big, blond, bearded man tucks my mate into his chest and sways with her.

Unable to endure watching his hands stroke her back while she sings about giving anything she owns to touch him once again, I bellow.

Kellan stumbles away from Charlie, whirls, and glares in my direction. I don’t think she can see us, buried in Shades of Faery, but she’s heard sounds through the Veil before, so I’m counting on her hearing me.

I growl at her. Loudly.

Another tall man, this one blond and silver-eyed, comes to stand beside Kellan. He follows her gaze but doesn’t meet my eyes, so I don’t think he can see us.

“What was that?” the fae asks Kellan.

She plants her hands on her hips. “My problem,” she snaps. “Goodnight, everyone.”

She storms toward us, her long braid whipping from side to side. As she passes her tent, she raises her hands, extending her claws, and tears open the Veil.

She nearly plows into me as I stand on the other side.

Her eyes go wide and she takes a step back, pressing into the rippling blackness of the Veil.

Has Kellan ever seen us in our Cait forms on this side of the Veil? Luca asks, his mental voice sounding panicked.

Yes, of course she has, I snap.

When?

I can’t remember a specific instance, but surely our mate knows what Cait look like in Faery?

I shed my fur and stand in front of her. “It’s me.”

Kellan draws two quick breaths and straightens. “Well, that was a surprise.”

“You saw us on the battlefield. At Jedburgh Abbey,” I say, wondering if I’m wrong.

“No, I definitely did not. I’d have remembered two massive black panthers with foot-long fangs. My memory’s not that fucked.”

“I-oh.” I cast around for some other time she would have seen our warrior forms. “Well, this is what we look like on the other side of the Veil.”

“So I gather. Why are you roaring and scaring everyone half to death in the middle of Carrie Prince’s memorial? Bromios better have come back, Law.”

I rarely feel that being naked puts me at a disadvantage. But standing in front of my mate, who has planted her hands on her curvy hips again as her eyes rake me, challenging me to provide an explanation for my actions, I feel my nakedness keenly.

Luca, wisely, stays in his warrior form.

“No one but you could hear me,” I reason.

“And Darwin, and Rachel, and anyone with more than a few drops of fae blood. Half of fucking Ivywhile heard that roar,” Kellan retorts. “This is my friend and mentor’s memorial, Law. Have a little respect.”

Her rebuke reignites the fury I was feeling at seeing another man put his hands all over my mate.

“Respect? Is that what you were showing me? Is that what you were showing Luca? We’re your fated mates, Kellan. Were you showing us respect when you let another man rub his hands all over you?”

“What?” Her brow furrows. Then her eyes narrow and kindle dangerously, not with blue flame, but with red rage. “Charlie? You disrupted Carrie’s memorial because I was dancing with Teddy’s husband?”

“I called to you because you were letting another man grope you?—”

“He wasn’tgropingme. He wascomfortingme. I’ve known Charlie Miller longer than you’ve been alive practically?—”

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