Even as the yacht Guy and Laith had driven to Cork cut its way through the Irish Sea back to Scotland. Thunder rumbled over the roar of the motor and a second later, an impressive display of lightning lit the sky. The storms were a great way for the Kings to fly unnoticed, but for once Kellan wasn’t thinking of taking flight. He was thinking of the female in his arms. “She’s not going anywhere, you know?” Phelan said as he reclined on a chair with his arms spread along the back. Kellan glanced at the Warrior opposite him, noting his irritated expression that hadn’t softened since Rhi had refused to return with them. “Denae could’ve died with the magic Taraeth used against her.” “But she didna. Just as, for some reason, she didna succumb to the Dark Ones while you were being held. Just as she somehow helped break you from the magical chains.” Kellan squeezed Denae harder. She hadn’t woken since she had fallen unconscious. He’d already searched her for any injuries, but there had been nothing.
