The shifter was a tall, beefy man with short brown hair and a ruddy complexion. A black t-shirt with the game’s logo stretched across massive shoulders, his kilt a plaid of yellow and black. He bent and cupped the caber’s end in his hands. It took a moment for him to get the log properly balanced on his shoulder before he took a few deliberate steps forward and, with a great roar, heaved the caber into the air, flipping it. Sophie held her breath, her fingers tightening on his as it landed almost perfectly straight up before toppling over and crashing to the ground. The crowd standing behind the roped-off area cheered.
“That was awesome,” she said, her blue eyes sparkling.
His chest puffed out as if he’d tossed that caber himself. Which was ridiculous, but seeing her so excited made him want to show her everything good that the shifter world had to offer.
They spent the day together checking out the dogs herding small animals, cheering on highland dancers, and listening to pipe bands compete for the top prize. Torin took every opportunity to show her off, introducing her to pack members and the Alphas of the other clans and their mates. When massed bands and the award ceremony rolled around, he put her in charge of handing out the prizes to all the winners. The day couldn’t have gone any better.
But it wasn’t over yet. As the sun set, the cèilidh started up. The beer tent, which had been busy all day, was now packed to the gills. Nina and her team of teenaged beer slingers kept cups full and kegs tapped. The band, made up of musicians playinguilleann pipes, the bodhrán, fiddles, and tin whistle, performed lively folk music, encouraging people to take to the dance floor for traditional dances.
Sophie flopped into a chair with a groan. Torin had used his host status to claim a round table in prime position along the edge of the wooden dance floor. “How does everyone still have so much energy? I’m ready for a nap.” She accepted the cup of beer Torin handed her with a grin. “Or a drink.”
He cocked his head, studying her. “Do you need to go back to the castle? I’d be happy to escort you. We could always take a nap.” He waggled his eyebrows, emphasizing the word ‘nap’.
With a laugh, she waved him off. “I know exactly what we’d be doing if we went back to the castle, and it wouldn’t be napping. No, I just need to get my second wind. This will help.” She lifted the cup to her mouth and drained half in one go.
Bryn slid into the chair next to Sophie, a stack of parchment-paper-wrapped meat pies precariously balanced on top of her cup. “Here. Sustenance.” She handed over a meat pie and a packet of brown sauce. She doused her own pie in brown sauce and took a big bite. “Delicious,” she said, her mouth full.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he said absently, keeping an eye on Sophie as she first nibbled at the pie before deciding it was tasty and gobbling it up. His wolf huffed, satisfied that she was fed.
“Okay, Dad.” Sarcasm oozed out of every word. She stuffed the last of the meat pie in her mouth and reached for another. “You know I’m not five anymore.”
“Then why do I have to keep reminding you that not everyone needs to see what you’re eating while you’re eating it?”
Bryn shrugged and with a dainty pinky, wiped away a smear of brown sauce from the corner of her lips. “Just lucky, I guess.”
Sophie snickered.
“And you.” He turned his attention to her. “Time to dance.”
“Oh, no,” she said, laughingly waving him away. “I don’t know this dance and, besides, I have two left feet.”
“Don’t worry, love.” He pulled a protesting Sophie onto the floor and into the whirling dance of the Gay Gordon. It didn’t matter how bad a dancer she claimed to be. He’d take any excuse to have her in his arms and, if she stumbled, he’d pull her closer. “I’ve got you.”
15
SOPHIE
Sophie had never danced so much in her life. After the first tune ended, Torin spun them into an eightsome reel, then some kind of jig, and into another, all of them fast-paced, all of them clasped in his powerful arms. She had no idea what the dances were called or even what she was doing, but it didn’t matter. Her mate was there to make sure she turned the right way and didn’t crash into too many people.
Her mate. It sounded weird when she called him that, as if it wasn’t real, wasn’t happening to her.
But it was. And it happened so fast. When her friends told her about meeting their mates and the immediate electric connection that crackled between them, she hadn’t quite believed them because who believed in insta-love? Insta-lust, sure. That happened all the time. But she’d always believed that love required time to grow and blossom. It didn’t just burst onto the scene, fully formed and ready to roll.
Except maybe it did. And maybe it did for her and Torin. There was a connection there, the two of them inexplicably drawn together despite some hiccups. Did that mean she loved him?
As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she stumbled over the four-square steps. Her feet tangled, and she nearly crashed into the other couple, but Torin was there to sweep her off her feet, his strong arm around her waist, his dark eyes glittering in the fairy lights strung overhead as he grinned down at her.
“Alright there, love?” he asked, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear, making her shiver.
He called her ‘love’ so easily, the word wrapping around her like a warm hug. After her disastrous relationship with John, she’d had a hard time trusting men and their intentions, but Torin was an open book. He didn’t have a hidden agenda. Plain-spoken, dedicated, and blunt to the point of rudeness, sure, but she’d take that any day over manipulative and controlling.
He tried to pull her into another dance; she laughed and gave him the time-out signal. “Okay, enough. I need a break.” Torin started to guide her back to their table, but she shook her head. “Bathroom break first, then another beer and one of those meat pies. Dancing is thirsty work.”
He wrapped a hand around the back of her neck and gave her a slow kiss that made her toes curl. “Let’s go.”
When he moved to go with her, she put a hand on his chest. “Nope. I’m drawing the line. You are not coming to the porta-potties with me.”
“Your stalker is still out there somewhere,” he growled, his fingers tightening on her nape. “I’m not letting you go alone.”
