Page 11 of Hand-Fasting and Other Hazards
“WHAT WE KNOW ABOUT THE UNWANTED HEIR.” —THE WEEKLY HEX
“You fucking shitbag!” Nia yelled, storming into the office of Wulfric ‘The Sword’ Cabot—the man who governed most of the magical community. The Blade of the Goddess. The most powerful supernatural, as far as Lochlan was concerned.
And Lochlan’s boss.
After Becket regained consciousness and insisted he was fine, Nia had bolted. Lochlan had chased after her, following as she ran straight out of the office, through Stella Rune, up the steep hill, past concerned regulars and supernaturals alike. Lochlan caught up just as she’d reached the Videt, the massive domed structure that sat atop a cliff overlooking the ocean. He had trailed behind Nia as she blew past the very confused—and entirely useless—security guard, then up several floors, bypassing Wulfric’s elderly assistant, before barreling into the imposing office.
The room was all dark wood and towering shelves. The windows were open, letting in a sea breeze and the sound of crashing waves. Writhing shadows sent papers fluttering, a globe spinning, and a few picture frames tilting askew. Lochlan barely had time to catch his breath before Nia was across the room.
Wulfric, unnervingly calm, watched her skid to a stop before his desk. A small, knowing smile played on his lips as he smoothed his mustache, then spread his arms wide in an almost theatrical welcome.
“My lovely daughter,” Wulfric declared, his tone rich with amusement. “What a joy it is to see you after all this time. Seven years, eleven months, and one day, to be exact.” His gaze slid to Lochlan with a conspiratorial wink. “And who is this strapping young man with you?”
Lochlan’s brows shot up as his brain scrambled to process what he’d just heard.
Daughter.
The word reverberated in his head like an echo in the tunnels beneath Stella Rune.
He had known Wulfric for years. The man had plucked him—a hurt, wide-eyed eighteen-year-old—from one path and set him on another. He’d granted the scholarship that had shaped the course of Lochlan’s life; he’d been a mentor, a boss, a guiding presence Lochlan respected deeply, not just for the power he wielded, but the personal investment he’d made in Lochlan. In all this time, Wulfric had never mentioned having any family—let alone a daughter.
Now that daughter was Lochlan’s accidental wife?
Well, soon-to-be ex-wife.
“I will murder you!” Nia’s spat, jolting Lochlan from his thoughts.
“Patricide?” Wulfric interjected smoothly, his amusement cutting through the tension. “I’m touched.”
“What did you do to those lawyers?” she growled. “Why are you interfering with the annulment?”
Wulfric ignored her and turned toward Lochlan. “I’m sorry, where are my manners. What was your name?”
Lochlan’s eyes narrowed. “Lochlan, sir.”
“Polite and handsome? How marvelous!” He stood and walked toward his bar cart, one he’d served Lochlan a drink from countless times. “Let us toast to your nuptials and the advantageous coupling you’ve found yourselves in.”
“Don’t act like you don’t know his name,” Nia spat. “You saw it when you were rooting around the minds of those lawyers.”
Wulfric was a mensiter, a dream walker, and could travel through people’s thoughts, regardless of how far away they were. Everyone in the magical community knew as much. What Lochlan wanted to know was why The Sword was keeping their familiarity from his daughter.
And why he’d kept the existence of his daughter a secret from Lochlan.
Wulfric cut him a look Lochlan interrupted as: I have my reasons.
“Wait. An advantageous marriage?” Nia looked between them. “Why would you think that?”
Wulfric leaned back, swirling the crystal decanter in his hand, silent but watchful.
Nia gasped sharply. “Oh no.”
She ran a hand across her face.
“What?” Lochlan asked, his heart quickening.
“He planned this whole thing.”
Lochlan’s gaze jumped from Nia to Wulfric, bewildered. Why would a powerful, calculating man like Wulfric want someone like him anywhere near his daughter?
