Because the “right woman” likely wouldn’t understand her life experiences.
Be able to weather her nightmares.
Understand her rage.
Because she damned sure didn’t understand it at times. Therapy had only been mildly helpful because it wasn’t like the therapist understood the whole picture. The years of generational trauma, both mundane and supernatural, that had shaped the warp and weft of her family, the violence she’d endured—and participated in—over the years. Both while in the Army and before that.
And after.
Obviously, she hadn’t been able to talk to the therapist about a huge part of her life—being a shifter.
No, she didn’t want to subject a partner to that. Didn’t want to traumatize another person.
Besides, she was a gay female Irish Wolfhound shifter. It wasn’t like she’d be able to find someone she’d bond with. She’d met Maisie a couple of years ago and hadn’t felt anything for her then, but that was also before she’d known Maisie was gay.
Finding people for a quick shag? Sure, that wasn’t difficult.
Except keeping herself insulated to protect others meant a relationship wasn’t her priority.
There wasn’t much that was a priority in her life until now.
Aisling carried her wad of dirty clothes when she rejoined Trevor and his wife, Elizabeth, downstairs. “Don’t s’pose I can do my laundry, can I?”
“Absolutely,” Elizabeth said with a kind smile. “I’ll show you to the laundry room.”
“Happy days.” She followed Elizabeth and tried not to visibly react when Aisling followed her into the laundry room.
Well, that’s class, innit?
Of course they were wealthy enough to have a whole-ass room just for the washing. They even had large, fancy separate machines for washing and drying, not a combined unit, or a washer only, and then using a clothesline or a rack.
Twenty minutes later, the load was going, and Aisling was tucking into some of the best homemade shepherd’s pie she’d eaten in decades while Trevor Clarke detailed the situation to her.
“Maisie, Tamsin, and Rupert will head overseas soon,” Trevor said. “I have connections with an IVF doctor who is willing to work with them in cash, no records.”
Aisling stared at him, unsure if she had misheard him. “They’re havin’ a baby?”
“Hopefully,” Trevor said. “Maisie and Tamsin have a mate bond, and Rupert volunteered to be the donor while Tamsin will carry the baby. Elizabeth and I are paying for everything.”
Aisling forked another large bite into her mouth to keep from making the tasteless joke struggling to erupt. Even she had enough sense not to go there.
About Rupert and Tamsin saving him some money and doing it the old-fashioned way.
“Transporting them over there and back without detection is relatively straightforward,” he continued. “I have friends who will handle that for us on private aircraft. And I’ve secured safe houses for them both over there and here, once they return.”
“The crazy bastard won’t see reason, eh?”
He shook his head. “He won’t even accept a six-figure dowry. He demanded Tamsin’s return, and no amount of money will suffice.”
“Sounds like he’s got a brass neck on ’im.”
Trevor nodded. “He’d planned to marry her off to someone else, a male shifter in his pack who’s much older than her. Obviously, she had no desire to marry the man, even before she met Maisie. Faegan will not be moved. I decided my daughter’s happiness—and Tamsin’s, obviously—means far more to me than fears of some unhinged, deranged corgi shifter with delusions of grandeur starting a row.”
“And that’s where I come in?”
“Yes. While I will stop short at asking that something… happens to the man?—”
“Ye’ll have my back an’ not shed a tear for him should a definite fate of a permanent nature befall the unholy twat?”
