It surprised Amelia that owls lived as long as Greta had, but Callum explained thatfamiliarslived as long as their bonded instead of the normal lifespan of their species. She was glad to hear it, because if Charlie died before her, she would be inconsolable.
Over the years, Charlie had become one of her closest companions who purposefully irritated Rennick. Despite their grumblings about each other, she knew they secretly loved one another. She occasionally caught Rennick leaving Charlie new blankets in his bed when he thought no one was looking.
Charlie zoomed around Rennick and the children, making the kids giggle harder. Something scratched at the bottom of Amelia’s dress, whining for her attention.
She looked down and her face lit up. “Eddy!” Picking up the big-eared fox, she nuzzled the side of his neck. “You better find Birdie and have her put on your coat before Rennick sees.”
She laughed at the memory of Amos admitting that the times Eddy fought against wearing his warm clothes were because he’d begged the fox not to wear them while they were connected. He said it was demeaning.
Rennick had turned ten shades of red and told Amos that Eddy could have died of hypothermia because of his boyish pride, and that the fox would wear his sweaters when in their kingdom. Amos had reluctantly agreed, but conveniently always forgot Eddy’s coats at home.
As if Rennick didn’t have an entire trunk full.
Eddy knowingly licked the side of Amelia’s face and jumped down to find Birdie.
“Uncle Amos and Aunt Clover are here,” Amelia called out as she crossed the large yard.
Charlie’s ears perked up seconds before he darted toward the exit, presumably to find Eddy. Those two were thick as thieves. She asked Charlie if thefamiliarscould speak to each other, and he’d looked at her like she was stupid and walked off. She still didn’t know the answer.
Both kids wiggled until Rennick set them down, and the way Corrigan screamed Amos’s name made Rennick glower after them.
“Don’t worry, love,” Amelia cooed, petting his arm. “She loves you more.”
“Where have you been?” he asked, pulling her close to kiss the top of her head. “I missed you.”
“I was gone for two hours,” she laughed. “I received word back from Fawn. They’ll be here in a fortnight.”
“Can you two separate long enough to tell your favorite brother hello?” a familiar voice grumbled.
Amelia rolled her eyes and turned to her brother. “Don’t be dramatic.”
A three-year-old girl with Amos’s eyes and Clover’s wild blonde hair hid behind his legs. Rennick crouched down andopened his arms with a warm smile. Rose smiled back shyly and ran into his embrace, nuzzling into his chest.
“Hi Uncle Rennick.” She had her mother’s quiet voice and demeanor but wasn’t quite as shy.
Amos’s eyes turned to slits, and Amelia pushed him lightly. “You two are terrible. Your daughters love you more than the other. Happy?”
“No,” they said at the same time.
Rennick stood with Rose in his arms and joined Clover, Corrigan, and Wren by the entrance.
“Have you spoken with Roman?” she asked her brother. Roman was the Tropical King, and one of Amos’ best friends.
The Tropical King and Queen were an anomaly in Eden. Roman’s original mate, Vivian, broke their royal mating bond by secretly marrying another man. That had never happened before, and no one knew what it meant for the Tropical Kingdom’s royal bloodline. When Roman turned twenty-five, the gods granted him a new mate—Violet, Vivian’s twin sister.
“Clover received a letter from Violet last week. Said she’s been really sick since finding out she was pregnant.” He rubbed his jaw and chuckled. “I bet Roman has summoned every healer in Eden to help her and threatened to kill any who failed.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why the gods sent you four overprotective mother hens to rule the fae kingdoms at the same time is beyond me. They should have spread you guys out.” Amelia shuddered. “Do you remember how sick I was with Corrigan?”
Amos took a pointed step away from her. “You puked on my shirt when I hugged you.”
“You smelled like cooked ham,” she said defensively. “There is no worse smell than hot meat.”
“For the last time, it wasn’t me who smelled like ham,” he argued, using the same defense he’d been using for six-and-a-half years “It was the ham on the table.”
She lifted a dismissive shoulder. “I didn’t puke until I hugged you.”
“You’re impossible.”
