Rowan looked at it suspiciously, but his body stiffened with each scan of his eyes across the page.

“I didn’t write this.”

Tom wasn’t buying it. “It’s got your name on it. It’s from your e-mail address.”

Rowan offered the paper back to Tom. “Be that as it may, I didn’t write it.”

“You talked to Taran about the trust?”

Rowan’s eyes flashed with something. “Yes.”

“What about it?”

His jaw worked. He was clearly unhappy about the subject of their talk—or revealing it here. After a moment, with magic settling in the air like dust, he fixed his gaze on Nessa.

“They were working on their relationship. He thought things were getting better. He was going to change the trust. He wanted to put it in her name, make a gift of it to her. It was supposed to be a promise for their marriage.”

Nessa’s lips parted with obvious shock, with fresh grief. I guessed she hadn’t been aware of Taran’s plan.

Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “Has that happened before? Property in the valley held by a vampire?”

“No,” Rowan said, and he left little doubt that he’d have preferred it stay that way.

“So what did you plan to do about it?” Tom asked.

“It’s his land, not mine. What could I do?”

“That’s magnanimous.”

“It’s practical,” Rowan countered. “The trust is in his name. Not mine, not hers. It should have stayed that way. But it wasn’t my call to make, legally or otherwise.”

“Killing him would ensure he couldn’t change the trust,” I said, and silence fell heavily.

“I didn’t kill my cousin,” Rowan flatly said. This time, he said it to Gabriel.

“Who else has access to your e-mail account?” Tom asked.

“Nobody.”

“So you sent the e-mail yourself?”

“I’m telling you, I didn’t send the damn e-mail. I didn’t even have my laptop. I let Darla use it for school.”

It wasn’t until Rowan got the words out that he realized the implication. He stiffened and very slowly glanced back at Darla, who stood silently behind him, her chin lifted defiantly.

“You used my account?”

She didn’t respond.

“Answer me!” he demanded, magic pouring across the yard with a hornets’ nest of buzzing anger.

“I heard him tell you about changing the trust. That’s wrong. Bloodsuckers don’t belong here. They’ve never belonged here. The land belongs to the McKenzies. We were here first, and he had no right to give it away. I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t listen.”

When she paused, Rowan glared at her. “Finish it. Do the honorable thing and finish it.”

Darla stared at him for a moment, before carefully shifting her gaze to Gabriel, looking for a sympathetic ear. But Gabriel’s expression was filled with as much rancor as Rowan’s, and that was apparently enough to convince her.

“I sent the e-mail from your account,” she confirmed. “He ignored it, so I went to the house to talk to him. He told me it wasn’t my business, that he was doing the right thing for his family. He turned around—turned his back on me. On the McKenzies. I couldn’t let him do that. Not after all that we’ve been through since Fiona. So I picked up a paperweight—it was the closest thing I could find . . . And I hit him with it.”

“Oh, Taran,” Nessa quietly said, covering her mouth with a hand as she choked back tears.

“I ran out the door so no one would see me,” Darla said. “I dropped the paperweight somewhere along the road, and I went home.”

“You’ve killed one of our own,” Rowan said, face wan with shock. “You’ve killed us.”

Tom stepped forward, pulling handcuffs from his belt. He fixed Darla’s hands behind her back, snapped on the cuffs.

“Darla McKenzie, you’re under arrest for the murder of Taran McKenzie.” He recited her rights and handed her over to the deputy, who shuffled her into the car.

Niall ran forward, eager to protect his sister. “You can’t take her! She hasn’t done anything! This is the vampires’ fault! It’s the vampires’ fault!”

Two McKenzie shifters intercepted him, put out hands to stop his progress.

“Rowan, this has got to stop,” Tom said, obviously tired. “No more reprisals. No more fear. No more hatred. I’ve let it go on too long, and that’s on me. But now it’s on all of us. If you won’t sit down together and talk, I’ll call the governor and ask for the National Guard, and we’ll see how far black helicopters get us.”

For a long moment, Vincent and Rowan simply looked at each other.

“I have no objection to a discussion,” Vincent said.

Rowan nodded. “We’ll sit with you.”

That, I hoped, would be the beginning of something new.

***

The guesthouse smelled gloriously like pasta, tomatoes, rich garlic, and spicy meat.

Damien, thank God, had been busy.

He’d already piled food on the dining room table—bowls of pasta and sauce, freshly grated Parmesan, steaming meatballs, and crusty bread for dipping.

I stared at the table and sighed with sensual approval.

“You’d better propose to her quickly, Sullivan,” Gabriel warned, taking a seat at the table. “Before she proposes to Damien or the food.”