But Race didn’t miss the tension that settled over him.
Was it the weight of command…or the loss of his wings?
The portal hissed shut behind them, and Ash shivered. Being back in Thornbury, Hertfordshire—a place of endless gossip—only reminded her of why she was happy to have left.
“This way,” she said, leading Race through the thicket behind the Co-op and past the burbling stream half-hidden beneathbrambles. The midday sun filtered through the leaves, casting dappled light over the trail.
Ash stopped and peered through the branches at the bustling High Street beyond. “Wonderful. I’d forgotten how busy it gets at lunchtime. Mrs. Peterson from the post office will spot us in no time, and the whole town will know I’ve returned with a new fellow before we even reach Mum and Dad’s.”
Race’s lips twitched. “That would be the old woman in the purple coat who just did a double-take at these trees, like she’s seen something odd?”
“Oh, dear Lord,” Ash groaned, then she grasped his hand. “This way. There’s a back path that goes past the train station. Though knowing my luck, we’ll probably run into every nosy, well-meaning old biddy before we get to the house.”
Soft amusement flowed through their bond.
Naturally, he found her panic entertaining. But then no one who looked like Race—like he’d walked right out of a fantasy film with those chiseled features, wine-colored eyes, and silver hair—ever wandered into her small-town neighborhood for anything.
Even in simple black jeans and a leather jacket, he would keep the local gossip going for weeks.
At his low laugh, Ash huffed. “If you lived here, you’d understand.”
“Wait.” Race tugged her hand before she braved the wilds.
Curious, she watched as he retrieved something from his jeans pocket. In his palm lay the deep-blue, gold-streakedmorvaenstone, suspended on a fine gold chain. “Leather or suede can burn or snap. This is unbreakable. Michael sourced it.”
“It’s so pretty,” she murmured as he turned her around and fastened it around her neck. “Thank you.”
Ash smoothed the warm stone and tucked it beneath her shirt before they continued toward her home.
Ten minutes later, they rounded the corner, and her childhood home came into view.
The red-brick semi-detached looked just as she’d left it—Mum’s roses climbing the trellis, Dad’s weather vane spinning lazily atop the garage. The faded blue front door could use a touch-up, and the gate probably still squeaked. A smile curved her mouth.
A yellow mini stopped two houses away, and Mrs. Porter, getting out of her car, stopped and stared. “Hullo, dear,” she called out.
Blast.Ash quickly waved, opened the weathered gate, the expected squeal announcing their arrival, and hurried for the front door.
“She seems polite,” Race said.
“And before you know it, you’ve shared your whole life story,” Ash grumbled. “This way’s much easier than dodging questions. Trust me.”
She opened the door and stepped into welcoming warmth. The familiar aroma of baking wafted to her as she entered the narrow front hall, the radiator’s heat seeping through their clothes.
“Mum?”
“In the kitchen, darling. Be there in a minute.”
Ash slipped off her parka and took Race’s leather jacket, aware of how his tall, broad frame seemed to shrink the already tight hallway, filling it with quiet peril.
Oh, boy.She hung up both their outerwear, then smoothed her hands over her jeans.
Through the archway, she caught a glimpse of the open-plan living area and the dining table covered in white linen and set for tea. Sunlight spilled over Mum’s bookshelf—crammed with her much-loved romance novels and her porcelain figurines standing guard on top.
Beyond that, the kitchen sparkled. Mum had clearly been stress-cleaning again.
“Right then,” she murmured, giving Race’s hand a small, nervous squeeze. “Ready to meet my parents?”
“You make it sound as if I’m about to face execution,” he teased.
