“Sorry.” Bryn giggled. “Ooh, speaking of whimsy, let’s go find a sweetie before we track down Dad. I am seriously craving a deep-fried Mars bar.”
“Fine, though I think I’ll pass. That sounds like a heart attack waiting to happen.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing.” The teen grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the smell of oil and chocolate.
As they wove through the crowd, Sophie felt eyes following them, whispers trailing in their wake. “Feels like everyone’sstaring at me,” she whispered as the teenager paid with her phone and collected her rather disgusting-looking treat.
“That’s because they are. You’re the Wolfcraig Alpha’s mate,” Bryn said, her mouth full of melted chocolate. She offered a bite, which she declined with a wrinkle of her nose.
Sophie blinked at the matter-of-fact statement. “Everybody knows?”
“No one gossips worse than shifters with a juicy bit of info.”
A familiar arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her against his chest. “Of course everyone knows, love,” Torin said. He dropped a kiss on her head. “You’re my mate. I wasn’t about to hide you away in a tower forever.”
Her lips quirked up, and she relaxed into his embrace. “No, though I am surprised you didn’t handcuff me to your bed before you left. For my protection, of course.”
“Ooh, kinky.” Bryn snickered.
“Hush, you. Eat your fried thingy,” Sophie said, turning to look at Torin. Her jaw dropped and her mouth dried out. “Holy shit,” she whispered.
He wore a kilt in a dark green plaid, a silver clan crest of a rampant snarling wolf pinned to the bottom left corner. A black t-shirt stretched over his chest, hugging his arm muscles, and a sgian-dubh of deer antler was stuck in the knitted black hose tucked into dark hiking-style boots. It wasn’t the traditional way to wear Scottish garb, but it suited him. Her knees went weak, and she squeezed her thighs together.
To cover her practically melting into a puddle in the middle of the games, she waggled her wolf plushie at him. “Look, Torin,” she said, giving him a big grin. “It’s a little you!”
He growled and tried to snatch it out of her hands. He missed.
14
TORIN
She bought a toy wolf that was looked like him. For some reason, that made him ridiculously happy. Of course, he pretended to growl and tried to take it away from her, but he moved slow enough she could keep hold of it. He loved the way she lit up when she was teasing him. She was so lovely. It was hard to keep his hands to himself when every instinct told him to throw her over his shoulder and carry her back to bed.
He held out a hand. “Come with me.”
She tucked the back legs of her stuffed wolf into her pants and slid her hand into his. “Where are we going?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Not the dungeon again, right?”
“I wouldn’t call the Blue Room a dungeon, love,” he said, giving the back of her hand a kiss. She shivered. “Technically, it’s the lady of the castle’s suite.”
“And you put me in it.” She sounded surprised.
“You’re my mate.” She still wasn’t getting it. Why wasn’t it sinking in?
Bryn gave him a side-eye that seemed to say,Maybe if you hadn’t been distant and dick-ish when Sophie first arrived, youwouldn’t be having trouble convincing her of your sincerity right now.His lovely daughter could be such a pain in the ass, especially when she was right.
“Can we stop talking about room assignments and go watch the caber toss, please?” Bryn said, wiping her fingers on her jeans and giving the two of them a toothy smile.
“Is that the one where strong men with big muscles throw around telephone poles?” Sophie asked. “I like that one.”
He growled. He enjoyed the caber toss, too. What he didn’t like was that following the competition meant her staring at other men’s muscles. But she wanted to watch the athletics, and he was trying his damndest to be a proper mate so he’d suck it up, control his impulse to tear apart every male shifter in the vicinity, and take her where she wanted to go.
They made their way over to where the athletics were being held, Sophie wide-eyed as she watched competitors of all sizes, shapes, and genders heave sheaves of grain into the air and throw massive hammers great distances. A fierce tug ‘o war was going on between rival packs, teams of eight straining to drag each other over the center line, their heels making deep furrows in the grass as they pitted shifter strength against one another.
“Everything’s weighted heavier than in human heavy events,” Torin said, a hand on the small of her back as he guided her through the crowd to the rope surrounding the athletics field. “Take the caber toss, for example. While we still use a straight log of Scots pine, our cabers are taller and 300 pounds, versus the smaller 175-pound version the humans use. Otherwise, the rules are the same.” He flashed a fang at a brick house of a wolf who brushed too close to Sophie. The wolf took off like his tail was on fire.
“They’ve got to flip it, right?” She grabbed his hand and twined her fingers with his.
At her touch, his wolf settled, happy that she wanted to hold hands, that she claimed him as hers in public. “Flipping it is the easy part. The goal is to get it to land at 12 o’clock before tipping over. It takes a combination of skill and brute strength to heave something as long and heavy as a caber and get it to land just right.” He nudged her, tipping his chin towards the next competitor.
