I smiled in earnest when Fang scowled at him. “You promised to cease calling me that years ago.” His features hardened, and his eyes shined a brighter brown as he snarled, “I have it written in blood.”

“And you should know better than to think I’d keep my word after you blatantly ogled my mate.”

A swooping creature took flight in my chest at hearing him say that.

Fang’s features twisted with annoyance. He groaned and entered the townhouse when a female I could only assume was Mariana called for him.

Scythe chuckled silently when she scolded her son, then led me inside.

I was immediately engulfed in a hug by the strawberry-scented female. She patted my arms as she pulled away with wet eyes and said, “Let me get a good eyeful of you.” Her full lips parted, and her soft brown cheeks flushed as she gripped my upper arms and looked at Scythe. “Where in the stars did you find such a divine creature for yourself?”

Scythe’s broad smile made my heart kick as he collected a fistful of peppered nuts from the small bowl on the kitchen island and tossed them into his mouth. “In a tavern.”

Mariana frowned up at me. “What is a female such as you doing loitering in taverns?”

I laughed, taking her hands and saying, “I’ve heard wonderful things about you.”

Mariana’s eyes glistened again. She gave them to Scythe, who gave the female a devastating grin that had her releasing a thick song of laughter. “Oh, how can I stay upset with you?”

My own eyes grew a little wet when Scythe swallowed the tiny female in a hug. “Is there tart?”

Scoffing, she withdrew from him and gently smacked his chest with the towel she snatched from the island. “Out. Go sit.”

“This is so warm,” I murmured to Scythe as he took me by the hand and led me down the wood-floored hall. Portraits hung upon the wall of Fang and Scythe, and I halted by the last one I saw.

Scythe waited, his fingers tight around mine as I traced the younger version of him. His ruined eye was reddened, as though it had taken some time for the scarring to settle into the shape of the smooth scythe moon it now was. It was the fear in his remaining emerald eye that struck me cold. “How old were you here?”

“Fourteen years,” he said, toneless. “I hadn’t wanted my portrait painted, but Berk had ordered me not to break his wife’s heart.” He huffed lightly. “I barely lasted long enough for the painter to complete it. Berk had to compensate him for the stool I wrecked.”

“Wrecked?” I asked, turning to him.

He dragged his eye from the portrait of his young self. “Deep claw marks.”

I stepped into him and rose onto my toes to place a kiss upon his cheek, then I headed into the dining room.