Page 134 of Immortal Bastard

He wondered how the bishop managed such reformist in-laws. He flinched when a sharp clacking sound stole through the air, accompanied by a rapid drumming beat. The noise blared from the kitchen as the women hollered.

“Here they go,” Cain grinned. “You might want to cover your ears, Christian.”

Cover his ears? The noise, which was some sort of pounding music got louder and then all three women barked in unison, “Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on, brah! La-la oh their life goes on!”

His shock was complete when he heard his mate’s voice collide with the others, as if this was something she’d heard a hundred times before.

“Anna loves The Beatles,” Adam said as if that explained anything.

“You allow her music?”

“The machine has to be wound, so I see no real harm in it.”

Christian peered into the kitchen where the women bounced in a circle, smiling and laughing as if best of friends. He glanced back at the two brothers and scowled. This would not be a reciprocal arrangement. They would not be hosting such heathens at their hearth anytime soon.

The door opened and the youngest Hartzler sister, Grace, appeared. Her focus went directly to the women bouncing about in the kitchen. Another round of squealed greetings was abruptly followed by uproarious laugher erupting from the females.

“So, Chris,” Cain said, slapping a hand on his back. “How goes the mating? Tired yet?”

“Christian,” he corrected. The front door opened again and Christian stilled.

His half-brother’s stare hardened the moment he saw him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The Hartzlers had brought Dane and his sister to the farm, complicated residuals from Jonas Hartzler’s calling. He supposed the boy’s entry created a sort of bond with the family, but he was not their family. He was Christian’s. And, even then, he was not.

Rather than answer the boy, he turned to Cain. “Will there be any other guests?” He had reached his limit and wanted to leave.

The door shut behind Dane. His narrow glare followed Christian as he entered the house.

He supposed that was kind of the Hartzlers to include the boy, but that didn’t mean Christian had forgotten his threat. If he saw the half-breed so much as look at his mate, there would be consequences.

The rumpus in the kitchen quieted and then the females sang in a much softer, harmonized tone. A story of lonely people.

Ignoring the males, he drifted to the kitchen door and curiously watched. The females laced their arms forming a huddle and swayed in a circle. Together, they howled, “Ah, look at all the lonely people!”

Delilah sang with the familiarity one might know a hymn by heart. “Eleanor Rigby, died in a church and was buried along with her name.”

“Nobody came,” Sister Anna sang.

“Father McKenzie…”

He turned back to the den, pleased they at least chose a song that vaguely mentioned faith.

His displeasure at having to attend the dinner party was curbed by his mate’s lighthearted joy. The uncomfortable visit could only last a few hours, but it would pass like an eternity. After the females finished their uproarious performance, dinner was served.

Delilah sat beside him, staring at the flavorful spread of prepared meats. Her expression remained tranquil, but her thoughts had shifted to utter panic.

Christian reached under the table and closed a supportive hand over her thigh. You’re not breathing, pintura.

It’s a Portuguese slaughter. Even the rice is soaked in blood.

“Dig in,” Sister Destiny said.

Delilah reached for her glass of water and guzzled it down.

“Delilah,” Sister Grace spoke softly from across the table. “Perhaps you’d like to start with some bread.”

Christian reached for the basket she held. “Thank you, Sister Grace. You’re very kind.”

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