Undying Hope by Emma Weylin

“Don’t. I don’t need to know. Get some rest. Tomorrow will be busy.”
    Donovan had to get away from her, and he needed to stay. Keeping the building from flying apart with a fit of epic temper won out. He left without a word and went back into the kitchen for another beer.
    “Quinn?” Haven said from the kitchen door.
    His shoulders slumped as he turned to face her. “What do you need?”
    “To know what I did to make you angry with me,” Haven said.
    “I’m frustrated,” he admitted. “And angry, but not at you. What was the name of the meirlock who proposed to marry you?”
    “Mason,” she said.
    “Earthshaker,” Donovan supplied for her, because he knew only one Undying with that name. “Mason Earthshaker. Not very creative, yes, but an apt description. Who is your grandfather?”
    She took a tiny step into the kitchen. “M-Marcus Killian. He runs this—”
    “Blood of Oberon!” Donovan swore before he could control his temper. “You’re a Killian. Damn it!”
    Her face paled as she backed away, slamming her shoulder into the doorjamb. “I didn’t mean to be a Killian.”
    He crossed the span of the kitchen in two strides, wrapped his hand around her throbbing shoulder, and closed his eyes. He was no healer like Riordan, but he could attend to minor injuries. His eyes locked onto Haven’s. “Marcus Killian is trying to ally my Black Rose with meirlocks?”
    She made a humming sound before she twisted away from him. “I guess. I don’t know. I was just supposed to be marrying whom he told me to marry.”
    Donovan was well aware he was making a colossal ass of himself, and Riordan would be here at any moment to drop the news on her that they were going to be mated until his death. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “All right. We need to talk.”
    “I thought that’s what we were doing,” she said with that doe-eyed look.
    “Have a seat,” he said and moved out of the way so she could without him hulking over her.
    She perched on the edge of a chair. “Yes?”
    “The Undying have something called a lifebond,” he started.
    Her face brightened. “Mason talked about that. He said every one of his people had their own special mate and…” Her eyes went huge as she stood up, knocking the chair over as she backed up, shaking her head. “You’re kidding.” She laughed in that not quite mentally stable way people had. “Not us. It’s just not—”
    “Haven,” Medea said from the door, speaking in a way all could hear her. “ But he’s so loveable and even has a nice welping box already set up for me so that I can have my cubs here, where they will be safe.”
    Her eyes dropped to the white wolf before she looked back up at him. “Rejecting you is bad, right?”
    “Kind of,” Donovan said.
    She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin. “Kind of? I’ve been dealing with a pubescent treòir for the last three years. I have had people following me and trying to drag me back to that godforsaken mansion. People have been butchered in front of me, and then you, the person who is supposed to be the answers to all my prayers, just pops into my life with a declaration of forever—and actually means it literally—and you expect me not to be slightly freaked out when you drop this on me? If you’re looking for another complete and utter meltdown from me, you’re doing a bang up job, pal. There is only so much I can handle in one sitting, and being your predestined soul mate is just…” She stopped talking as she shook her head and righted the chair before sitting down. “You know what? Sure. Why the hell not? At least you don’t give me the heebie-jeebies the way Mason did, and I am mildly attracted to you.”
    “Was that a yes I heard?” the treòir asked.
    “ I have no idea. Let me deal with this.” He ignored his power and focused on Haven. He could not handle another meltdown tonight. “My youngest brother is coming. He will fully explain more of