“To get you registered with the Time Traveler Agency.”
My heart skips. “No. Anders, what if they tell Wulfric that I registered? That would give me away!”
Anders rolls his eyes. “Not if you have good reason to visit the future.” He thumbs his own chest. “You’ve got family in the future now. It’s hardly suspicious to want to visit your twin, aye?”
I suppose he has a point. I’ve been very careful not to be seen traveling between realms. All it takes is a human with one of their fancy devices taking a picture or video of me popping out of a portal, and my pack would be in violation of traveler law.
Founded by witches, the TTA helps travelers fit into their new present by providing them with documentation needed to thrive in the modern world. Then there is theTravelers Council, witches who make the rules of time travel and punish those who violate them.
Anders had landed in trouble with them not long ago when he’d gone berserk and threatened to not only endanger our pack but expose the mundane world to the paranormal one. He could have had his wolf stripped from him by magic. Fortunately, we’d had an unlikely ally in Arlo, an enforcer for the agency. Why he aided us, I cannot say, but I will be forever in his debt for helping my brother find his way back to us.
“You must do this, Lyall. By the grace of the gods, you avoided detection all these years. Sooner or later, you will be caught and punished for breaking the rules. Registering is the safest thing you can do. Besides, it’s a simple process. A child could do it.”
I hum thoughtfully. “Ah, so that explains how you were able to do it.”
He splashes water in my face. Normally I would splash him right back, but I can barely even muster up a smile in response to his teasing.
Anders’s scowl deepens. “Odin’s beard, brother. You are pathetic. The sooner you get your mate back the better. This sulking about isn’t becoming of you.”
His words are harsh, but beneath them, his heart skips a beat. My brother is worried about me.
“Why are you helping me?”
Anders’s bushy brows furrow.
“You can’t tell me you honestly trust Soren after the one conversation we had.”
A muscle ticks in Anders’s jaw. Years of gnashing his teeth in rage have left his jawline sharp. “You’re right. I don’t. Not truly. But I’ve watched you suffer in silence for too long. If I can help you, then I will.”
A smile, honest and true, curls my lips. For a time, I wondered if Anders even saw us as family. After losing our father, my twin’s kind disposition disappeared. His loss hardened Anders into someone ruled by bitter anger and jealousy of Wulfric’s position. Ever since he met Jamie, though, Anders has been a man reborn.
“Thank you.”
The branch of Yggdrasil Anders brought with us begins to vibrate, the runes glowing a pale blue. The flash of a portal obscures my vision, and the next thing I know, we’re not at sea anymore. The portal carried us into a pool of water within a large chamber where other boats of different sizes and styles are moored.
Beyond the pool, a line of travelers has gathered, all dressed in styles I have never seen before—from big hats adorned with feathers to shiny helmets. Once we’re at the head of the line, the woman behind the desk asks for my name, my paranormal identity, and my purpose for being here.
Afterward, I have to wait in yet another line to get my photo taken for this thing called an Eye D. It’s a long anddull process, but within the hour I have all the documentation I need and authorization to travel to the present.
“Let’s go,” Anders says, but I hesitate. There’s something I need to ask.
I approach a woman dressed formally like the rest of the staff. “Excuse me. Who is your Alpha?”
She frowns at me. “Alpha? Oh, you mean in charge? Helena Cartwright heads this branch of the TTA.”
“I need to see her.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll have to schedule an appointment.”
An appointment? A schedule? I haven’t a clue what any of that means, but it sounds complicated. “No, I must see her now.”
She sighs. “Ms. Cartwright does not accept walk-ins, so once again—”
“That’s all right, Isabella.” A woman with dark hair and fair skin stands behind me. Her scent of ozone tells me she’s a witch. “I have time but please be brief.” She motions me into her office.
“What’re you doing?” Anders asks.
“I want to ask her about Soren.” I brush off his hand and follow the witch into her office. Grumbling, Anders follows me in.
