As the scent of baked goods wafted up, her stomach rumbled hungrily. “You bought out a bakery?”
“No.” Donal smiled at her. “Your clan was worried. All your friends as well as all the shifters you’ve treated brought something.”
“Sent with love to speed your healing.” Tynan stroked her hair.
This time when she burst into tears, her mates just laughed.
Once she’d recovered, she drank down the juice. She ate a muffin—because blueberries made it healthy—followed by a chocolate chip cookie, because…chocolate.
With a sigh, she leaned back against the headboard. “That was awesome. I’ll have to thank them all.”
Once she was moving again. Which might be a while.
“The carpenter-crew, too,” Tynan said.
“Huh?”
He was saying something about a window and changing something out while she was sedated.
Donal laughed. “Brawd, she’s not following a word of that.”
Tynan chuckled, and she felt him sliding her down in the bed. “Sleep, lass.”
“But I just woke up.” Her body started to slide back toward sleep—stupid sedation—and her eyelids felt as if pixies were dragging on the lashes. “I can’t be tired already.”
“Sure, you can.” Tynan tucked the covers around her. “It’s late, little wolf.”
“I don’t want to sleep.” Tears threatened because…maybe it was the nightmares, but the past seemed too close tonight. The memory of the bare cell, empty of people. Sitting under the tiny window, longing for the moon. “I don’t want to be alone.”
“That we can fix.” Donal pulled off his clothes and slid into bed beside her.
“I didn’t sit with the moon,” she protested, even as he pulled her against him. Oh, he was so wonderfully warm she wanted to cry.
“We’ll let the moon come to you tonight,” Tynan walked over to the south wall.
She shook her head. What was he thinking? To be in the light, she had to sit directly beneath the—
He pulled the curtains.
She stared. The small windows were gone, replaced by three huge windows that took up most of the wall and opened the room to the black sky. And the nearly full moon.
“Oooooh.” Nothing had ever been more beautiful. The moon—and the love that had known her need and fulfilled it.
“Looks like we silenced her completely.” Tynan grinned at his brother and slid into bed on her other side, pinning her between them.
They tucked her onto her side, her head on Tynan’s shoulder, her leg over his thighs. Her hand was on his chest, his fingers laced with hers. Donal curled up behind her, his chest against her back, his arm over her waist…and his palm cupping one breast.
It was their favorite way to sleep.
Their warmth was almost as wonderful as the sense of safety they gave her. The memory of the empty cell faded under the callused hands stroking her, the gentle kisses.
“I love you two so much…mountains and lakes of love.”
Tynan’s low rumbling laugh told her she wasn’t making sense, but the lake of love was there, growing infinitely deep, as her lifemates held her between them.
As she fell asleep, the silvery moonglow poured through the windows, bathing them in light.
Glossary
The Daonain use a conglomeration of handed-down languages from the British Isles. Some of the older villages still speak the Gaelic (Scots) or Irish Gaelic. Many of the more common (and mangled) shifter terms have descended from Welsh.
Errors and simplification of spelling and pronunciation can be attributed to being passed down through generations…or the author messing up. Below are a few of the more common words and terms used by the shifters. And, just for fun, I added pronunciations (good luck with those).
a bhràthair: brother [a BRA (roll the “r” if Shay says it)-her]
A brathair-faoirm: brother in arms [a BRA (roll the “r” if Shay says it)-her] – fwee – a-i-rm]
a chuisle mo chridhe: pulse of my heart [ah hoosh-la muh cwree]
deartháir: brother or birth-mate [Irish – [ghrih-hawr]
a leannán: sweetheart, darling [a le-anan]
a mhac: son [a-machk]
banfasa: wise woman/nurse (Irish Gaelic from bean feasa) [ban-FAH-sa]
brawd: brother [br-ow-d. Don’t need to roll the “r”]
cahir: warrior (Irish/Gaelic from Cathaoir) [ka-HEER]
caomhnor: protector/guardian of children (from Caomhnóir) [kuheeoo-NOR]
cariad: lover, darling, sweetheart (Welsh) [core-ee-awt]
chwaer: sister (Welsh) [ k-wy-ir like choir only a gutteral beginning and the end almost missing]
Cosantir: guardian or protector (Irish Gaelic from An Cosantóir) [KOSS-un-tore]
Daonain: the shifter race [DAY-ah-nan]
dùin do bhuel: shut up [DOO-in doh viool (oo' as in look, 'i' as short as possible as in view]
mo bhràthair: my brother [muh BRA (roll the “r” if Shay says it) her]
mo deartháir: my brother, birth mate [muh ghrih-hawr]
mo charaid: my friend [mo HARd-idge OR mo chaa-ritsh]
mo chridhe: my heart [mo cree]
mo leannán: my darling / my lover [mo le-anan]
mo leanbh: my child or baby [muh LAN-uv]
mo thaisce: my treasure [muh HASH-keh]
prìosan: prison [pree-soon]
tha gaol agam ort: I love you [hah GEUL AH-kum orsht]
trawsfur: transform or shift (Welsh from trawsffurfio) [traws (rhyme with laws)-fur]
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Have you tried the Masters of the Shadowlands series?
Club Shadowlands
“Prepare to be lured to the world of the Shadowlands! Always fresh, intelligent, and emotional Ms. Sinclair knows exactly how to captivate her readers and she delivers it with stunning results…”
~ The Romance Studio
Her car disabled during a tropical storm, Jessica Randall discovers the isolated house where she's sheltering is a private bondage club. At first shocked, she soon becomes aroused watching the interactions between the Doms and their subs. But she's a professional woman--an accountant--and surely isn't a submissive . . . is she?
Master Z hasn't been so attracted to a woman in years. But the little sub who has wandered into his club intrigues him. She's intelligent. Reserved. Conservative. After he discovers her interest in BDSM, he can't resist tying her up and unleashing the passion she hides within.
Excerpt from Club Shadowlands
An eternity later, Jessica spotted a glimmer of light. Relief rushed through her when she reached a driveway studded with hanging lights. Surely whoever lived here would let her wait out the storm. She walked through the ornate iron gates, up the palm-lined drive past landscaped lawns, until finally she reached a three-story stone mansion. Black wrought iron lanterns illumined the entry.
“Nice place,” she muttered. And a little intimidating. She glanced down at herself to check the damage. Mud and rain streaked her tailored slacks and white button-down shirt, hardly a suitable image for a conservative accountant. She looked more like something even a cat would refuse to drag in.