It was obvious where the boy got his looks. She’d never seen a more beautiful woman. Black hair cascaded over slim, strong shoulders; eyes of cobalt were heavily fringed by inky lashes. Her skin was creamy and smooth, her features fine and graceful. She stood, one hand on her son’s shoulder, the other on the fierce head of the wolf, while a large white cat ribboned between her legs.

And she smiled.

“Blessed be, cousin. You’re welcome here.” She moved to them, kissed Liam on both cheeks. “It’s so good to see you. And you, Rowan.”

“I hope we’re not disturbing you,” Rowan began.

“Family is always welcome. Come in—we’ll have something cool to drink. Donovan, run up and tell your father we have company.” As she spoke, she turned and gave her son a narrow glance. “Don’t be lazy, now. Go upstairs and tell him properly.”

With a weary shrug of his shoulders, the boy dashed back in, shouting for his father.

“Well, close enough,” Morgana murmured.

“He has a strong gift of sight.”

“And he’ll learn to use it well.” Her voice took on the edge of an experienced and somewhat exasperated mother. “We’ll have some iced tea,” she said as they went into the large, airy kitchen. “Pan, sit.”

“I don’t mind him,” Rowan said quickly, rubbing his ears as he sniffed at her. “He’s gorgeous.”

“I suppose you’d be used to handsome wolves, wouldn’t you?” Sending Liam an amused look, she took out a clear pitcher filled with golden tea. “It’s still your favorite form, isn’t it, Liam?”

“It suits me.”

“That it does.” She glanced over as Donovan rushed in, side by side with his double.

“He’s coming,” Donovan said. “He has to kill somebody first.”

“With a really big, sharp knife,” said the twin, with relish.

“That’s nice.” After the absent comment, Morgana caught the look of shock on Rowan’s face and laughed. “Nash writes screenplays,” she explained. “He often murders gruesomely on paper.”

“Oh, yes.” She accepted the glass of tea. “Of course.”

“Can we have cookies?” the twins asked in unison.

“Yes. But sit down and behave.” She only sighed as a tall glass jar filled with frosted cookies soared off the counter and landed on the table with a small crash and a wild wobble. “Allysia, you’ll wait until I serve our company.”

“Yes, ma’am.” But she grinned mischievously as her brother giggled.

“I’ll just sit, too … if you don’t mind.” Her legs had gone weak and Rowan dropped into a chair. “I’m sorry, I just can’t—I’m not really used to all this.”

“You’re not …” Morgana cut herself off, reevaluating, and offered an easy smile. “My children definitely take some getting used to.”

She reached for plates and opened her mind to her cousin. You haven’t told her yet, you dolt?