When she only shook her head at Sawyer’s words, he started to rise. Doyle simply shoved him back on the stool.

“I’ve got this.”

Doyle crossed the rugged wood floor, gave Annika’s tumbled hair a tug.

She turned, went straight into his arms. “I believed. I believed, but I was so afraid. Afraid she’d take him.”

“She didn’t. Dead-Eye’s smarter than that. He took her for a ride, and we’re all here now.”

“I have such love.” Sighing now, she rested her head on Doyle’s chest, looked into Sawyer’s eyes. “I have such love.”

“It’s why we’re here,” Sawyer said. “I believe that, too.”

“He’ll need some time to heal,” Bran said. “Some food, some sleep.”

“And a beer,” Sawyer added.

“That goes without saying. And now you.” Bran turned to Sasha.

“I don’t see that glass of wine.”

“I’m on it.” Doyle pressed a kiss to Annika’s forehead, turned her back to the range. “Cook.”

“I will. It will be very good.”

While Doyle poured wine, Bran rolled up Sasha’s pants leg. Let out a string of oaths at the raw-edged claw marks scoring down her calf. “Bumps and scrapes, is it?”

“I didn’t realize, honestly.” She took the wine Doyle offered, took a quick gulp. “And now that I do, it hurts a lot more.”

Bran took the glass from her, added a few drops from a bottle from his medicine case.

“Drink slow, and breathe slow,” Bran told her. “The cleaning of it’s going to sting.”

Sasha drank slowly, breathed slowly, and when the sting—a dozen angry wasps—struck, grabbed Doyle’s hand.

“I’m sorry. A ghrá. I’m sorry. Only a minute more. There’s infection.”

“She’s okay. You’re okay.” Doyle lured her gaze to his as Sawyer stroked her back. “Hell of a kitchen you’ve got now, Blondie. Somebody who can cook like you ought to do handsprings.”

“Yes. I like it—oh, God, okay—I like the cabinets. Not only the fact there’s about an acre of them, but all those leaded-glass fronts. And the windows. It must get wonderful light.”

“She needs to drink more,” Bran said through gritted teeth. “Sawyer.”

“Drink it down.” Sawyer held the glass to her lips. “We’ll have a cook-off, you and me—and Anni,” he added.

“Challenge accepted.” Then she let out a long, shaky breath. “Thank God,” she said when Bran coated the wound with cool, soothing balm.

“You held up.” Doyle gave her a pat on the shoulder.

“Your turn,” Sasha told Bran.

“Give yourself a minute—and me as well.” Bran sat beside her. “And we’ll deal with each other. And when we’re done, and while we eat, I imagine Sawyer has a story to tell.”

“Believe me,” Sawyer replied. “It’s a winner.”

The kitchen held a long table, backed with benches, fronted with chairs in a wide curve of glass. They sat together, with Annika’s meal, with a loaf of brown bread and fresh butter, with beer and wine. And Sawyer’s tale.

“When I went up—hell of a boost, by the way,” Sawyer said to Bran, “she was fighting to control that three-headed dog she was on.”

“The one you shot in all three heads,” Sasha pointed out.

“Three for three.” Sawyer made a gun with his fingers, said, “Bang. And she was focused on Bran.”

“Knock out the sorcerer, knock out our magicks.” Doyle shoveled in chicken. “It’s not good, Annika.”

“Oh!”

“It’s damn good.”

She laughed, wiggled happily in her seat on the bench as Doyle scooped up more. Then she leaned her head to Sawyer’s shoulder. “You were so brave.”

“Didn’t think about it—that’s the trick. She’s got the eyeball on y’all, trying to get that beast under control. She didn’t see me coming.”

Looking down, he flexed his hand, all but healed now. “I grabbed the bitch by the hair—it was flying around, and handy. And then she saw me coming, baby, and it scared her. I could see that—we need to know that. I took her by surprise, and I saw fear. Didn’t last long, but it was there.”

“We hurt her before, in Corfu.” Bran nodded, dark eyes intense. “We beat her back, got the Fire Star, and hurt her. She should be afraid.”

“She had armor this time, so she’s no idiot. And she’s got a hell of a punch. You’ve got your lightning,” he said to Bran, “and she’s got hers.” He rubbed his chest, easily reliving the burning punch. “Nothing to do but hold on. She thought she had me, and I’ve got to say, maybe for a minute, I figured she was right. But she’d have me where we weren’t because I’d already started the shift. It got wild, really wild, but it was my thing, right? Shifting’s my thing. I know how to deal with the force of that, and she didn’t. Not so fast, so hard. She started changing.”

“Changing?” Sasha prompted.

“I had her by the hair, right? All that flying black hair. And during the shift, the color started leeching out of it. And her face did a Dorian Gray.”