He eased the helmet over my head. “There. Now hop on.”

I looked down, realizing I was still in my work uniform—a blouse and skirt. I motioned to it. “Should I go back and change?”

His eyes sparked with mischief. “You can, but I sure as hell won’t complain if you don’t. I’ll keep the speed down so you won’t get cold.”

“Don’t,” I said. “Speed is good.”

“All right, then. Let me get over to the curb so you can climb on without flashing.”

I didn’t understand what he meant until I had to hike my skirt up to get my leg over the seat. Then I had to keep it hiked up to wrap my legs around him, which explained his look when I’d asked about keeping the skirt on.

He reached back to grip my bare knee. “You need to hang on.”

“Right.” I felt down either side of the seat. “Where?”

He took both my hands and wrapped them around his waist.

“Oh,” I said.

“Yep. Now scoot forward and get a good grip.”

Getting that grip meant scooting all the way forward, against him, legs wrapped around him. When I fidgeted, he glanced back.

“Changing your mind?” he asked.

“No, just . . .” I closed any remaining gap between us and leaned against his back, my hands on his thighs. “This okay?”

He chuckled and looked back. “You need to ask?” he said, then revved the engine and pushed off.

TRESPASS

Patrick stood outside the diner and watched the motorcycle speed off.

“Are you going to say anything?” Ida demanded as she marched up beside him.

“It’s a very nice bike.”

She scowled.

“It is,” he said. “I’ve often thought it would be fun to drive a motorcycle, and if I did, that’s what I’d want. An understated Harley. Lots of power but not too flashy. I might even join a gang. I don’t think his would take me, though.”

“There was a Cwn Annwn in Cainsville, Patrick.”

“Mmm, technically no,” he said. “The boy is no more cwn than Gabriel is bòcan. Less so, even. Disgynyddion not epil. Grandchild, I’d wager. He has the blood. Nothing more.”

“He is still Cwn Annwn,” she said. “He does not belong here. We should have—”

“—killed a boinne-fala boy who obviously has no clue what he is and no idea of the trespass he’s committing?” Patrick turned to her. “Kill him and insult his people? Cast the first spear in a war we don’t dare start?”

“The bòcan has a point.”

It was Veronica, coming out of the diner to join them. She took a place beside Walter, who said nothing in his consort’s defense, which suggested, more than any words, that he didn’t agree with Ida. He just knew better than to say so.

“The boy doesn’t know what he is,” Veronica said. “No more than Gabriel or Olivia know what they are. He committed no intentional offense. We could complain, but if the Cwn Annwn don’t realize that one of their disgynyddion is acquainted with Olivia, I don’t think it behooves us to tell them.”

“It certainly does not,” Walter said.

“Do you honestly think they don’t know?” Ida turned on them. “They’ve hired him to seduce her. He is a criminal, after all.”

“A biker, not a gigolo,” Patrick said. “That’s clever, don’t you think? Cwn Annwn running a motorcycle gang? It’s so hard to ride a horse down the highway these days.”

Ida glowered at him. “You aren’t taking this seriously.”

“If I wasn’t, I’d be back inside, finishing my chapter, not here, pointing out the idiocy of your theory. The Gallagher boy is a client of Gabriel’s. That’s how he knows Olivia, not because he was set on her by some shady stranger offering him money to fuck her.”

“There’s no need to be vulgar,” Ida snapped.

“Yes, there is. Boinne-fala nature is vulgar. The boy meets Olivia. She’s an attractive young woman; he’s an attractive young man. Both are unattached. Both are in their sexual prime. Do you really think money needs to change hands for that”—he waved in the direction of the long-vanished bike—“to happen?”

“It’s not just boinne-fala nature,” Veronica cut in before Ida could snap something back. “It’s their nature. From their old blood. I’m sure it’s no coincidence that Gabriel represents the Gallaghers. He met them; they recognized a connection. Cwn Annwn and Tylwyth Teg may not trust one another, but we understand one another. Gabriel meets the Gallaghers. Gabriel meets Olivia. Olivia meets Rick Gallagher and that”—she gestured down the road—“is what happens. Just as it did for her parents.”

“Cachu,” Ida spat.

Patrick looked over in mock shock at the curse. He did not, however, disagree with the sentiment.

A few other elders had joined them, silently listening, as they usually did. One—Minnie—finally spoke, her whispery voice tentative. “What if he isn’t merely Cwn Annwn? What if he’s—”

“He isn’t,” Ida cut in. “He’s a boy. A random disgynyddion. Nothing more.”

“But if he’s with her, isn’t it possible—”

“No.” Ida turned a look on Minnie, and her anger rippled her glamor, light seeping out before she reined it in. “He is not.”

She turned her hard look on the others, daring them to disagree. None did, though Patrick knew they were all thinking the same thing. Wondering the same thing. Not daring to say Arawn’s name but wondering, fearing, nonetheless.

“It’s a fling,” Ida said. “Patrick is right. Their nature taking control. Nothing more.”

Walter rubbed his chin and said nothing.

Ida turned to Patrick. “Where’s Gabriel in all this?”

“Left standing on the sidelines, it appears,” Patrick said. “There seems to have been some tension between them lately.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing too serious, considering they were together last night. My guess is he’d done something to upset her.”

“Really?” Ida’s gaze bored into his. “I don’t know where he’d get that from.”