There was a lot to smile about, though. Tamara had taken to field agent training like a sculptor to a favored medium. She’d made such excellent progress, both he and Garen were positive she’d be ready for simple assignments before the end of the year.

The last three months had been little short of idyllic. They’d spent the first month with Garen and Miranda. Between field drills and physical conditioning during the day, intense, crazy lovemaking every night, and letting their cats out to romp and play, Lars was a happy man. He’d never been so fulfilled, heart, body, and soul. He’d wondered what sort of physical fitness Tamara had chosen to stay in shape. It turned out she biked and ran, plus lifting weights. He’d added pilates and yoga, for concentration and balance, to her regimen, along with target practice.

They’d traveled to his home in Heidelberg in early May, and he’d introduced her to The Company’s agents stationed in Europe. Though she’d had conversations with her family, she hadn’t seen them. He’d spoken with her father to formally request her hand in marriage. The other shifter had told Lars flat out that if his daughter wasn’t happy, he’d personally hunt him down and annihilate him. Both men had laughed after that, but Lars recognized truth when he heard it.

He was a bit nervous about meeting Tamara’s family. All of them were coming for the wedding, even the brothers and sisters from her parents’ earlier lives that she’d never met. While excited by the prospect of meeting more family, Tamara was apprehensive too. Everyone knew she’d avenged Moira’s death, and she was uncertain if they’d laud her or tell her she’d been a fool.

Lars drew in a deep, appreciative breath. He’d have to get moving soon, but he could take a few moments more to daydream about his mate, soon to be his wife. Their relationship had deepened and blossomed. His cock stirred, but then it hardened whenever he thought about her. Beyond the sexual part of their relationship, though, they were well-matched. They both loved exercise and reading and watching old movies on late night television. When he’d admitted he was a closet opera buff, she’d clapped her hands together in delight, and they’d launched into a five hour conversation about various operas, with promises to see every single one over the next few years.

He’d moved well beyond falling in love to being in love. Deeply so. If that pseudo-cop hadn’t pulled him over on his way to the airport and kept him cooling his heels, he’d never have met her. To have something so important reduced to chance chilled him, until he understood someone had been watching out for him that day. If shifters had a god, maybe he or she had decided he’d been alone long enough, and had taken pity on him.

A sharp tap sounded on his door just before Garen tumbled into his room. He whistled long and low. “My but aren’t we resplendent. Where’d you get the tux?”

“Back of my closet.”

“Did you check it for moth holes?” Garen circled him like an overactive helicopter.

“Some of us keep mothballs in our armoires.” He held out a hand. Garen clasped it. “Are the guests starting to arrive?”

Garen nodded. He clamped his jaw together, muttered, “What the hell,” and drew Lars into a quick embrace. “I’m so happy for you.” He clapped him on the back and withdrew a few steps.

“Thanks. Who would have guessed a year ago that before twelve months passed, we’d both be mated men?”

“Good point. Are you ready?”

Lars nodded. He and Garen headed for the door at the same time, bumping shoulders before he motioned his oldest friend through ahead of him.

Tamara wove lily of the valley into her dark tresses with hands that only shook a little. She’d redone her makeup twice because tears had ruined it. She assessed her dress in the floor-length mirror. It truly was beautiful. Made of heirloom lace and silk, it had been in Lars’ family for hundreds of years. Fine embroidery in pink, blue, and lilac covered the snug bodice. The gown had a dropped waist and hugged her figure from shoulder to hipline. Long, flowing sleeves of sheer silk fell to her wrists. The skirt draped in layers and ended in a train that was so long, she was afraid she’d trip over it in her high heels.

She flexed a foot and took a few tentative steps. Though she’d practiced walking in the shoes in the weeks since she’d bought them, they were still wretchedly uncomfortable.

“Can I come in?” Miranda called from the other side of the closed door.

“Please.” Tamara turned and grinned at her friend as she slipped into the room. “By all the bloody saints, I’m nervous as a whore in church.”

Miranda threw back her head and laughed. “You’re funny. Do I look okay to be your matron of honor?”

Tamara glanced at the lavender linen suit, silk blouse, and sensible flat pumps. “You look gorgeous. Sure and I’d like to borrow your shoes.”

“Eh, you can kick yours off right after the ceremony. I’m so damned tall. If I wore heels, I’d tower over Garen.”

“He wouldn’t care. I’ve never seen a man more in love, except maybe Lars.”

Miranda snorted. “I know he wouldn’t, but I would. Christ! I’ve felt like an overgrown moose my whole life. I hit six feet in something like seventh grade. I was taller than everyone—boys too, for years.”

She plucked pins from Tamara’s nerveless fingers and went to work on her hair, weaving more flowers into it. “I’ve never seen Lars so happy. I swear, he’s like a new man. Watching the two of you together has damn near brought me to tears a couple of times and I don’t cry easily.”

Tamara smiled softly. “Don’t. I cry at the drop of a hat. Sure and I don’t want to start all over on my makeup—again.” She met her friend’s gaze in the mirror. “It has been good. Amazingly so. I never thought I’d fall head over heels in love and have every day just get better and better. It’s not that we don’t have our moments, but he listens to me. If we can’t agree, we work together to find common ground.”

“Being able to talk is important. Garen and I had hellacious arguments in the beginning, but they’ve thinned out. There.” She handed Tamara a mirror. “What do you think?”

Tamara turned slowly, holding the glass so she could see the back of her hair. “It’s wonderful. Were you a hair stylist in a former life?”

“Nope. I didn’t even have any girlfriends to trade ‘dos’ with in high school. Once I shifted, and my aunt made me feel like shit about it, I kept to myself.”

Tamara’s heart hurt for her friend. Miranda had told her about the dirty, fucking shifter epithets her aunt had hurled at her. At least the woman hadn’t turned her in, but Miranda had grown up feeling seriously flawed. It was one reason she’d gone into the Green Berets: to prove her mettle, while she hid from the world.

She wrapped her arms around Miranda. “Sure and my family will love you.” Tamara straightened. “Speaking of which, let’s go. I want to get the hugs and kisses with Mum and Da over with before the ceremony. Och, sure and I’ll never get through it without dissolving into tears.”

“Of course you will.” Miranda winked. “Be prepared, though. I saw Lars before I came in here.” She whistled. “Wow! What a knockout that man is in formal clothes. If I wasn’t madly in love with Garen, I swear I’d give you a run for your money.”

Tamara laughed and walked out into the hall. She looped her train around her wrist to keep it out of the way before she tackled the stairs. Lars may have said he lived in a manor house, but it was more like a castle. Ten thousand square feet of marble, leaded crystal, granite, and stone sat atop a hill, surrounded by stables, servants’ quarters, and other outbuildings. It had taken her a couple of weeks to find her way around, and she still hadn’t seen either attic or basement. The place was furnished with priceless antiques and thick, Aubusson rugs. Lars assured her he’d bought everything new. His things had become antiques simply by dint of enough time passing.