Page 116 of Soft Flannel Hank

Her brilliant green eyes were narrowed and her teeth bared.

“Is it really you?” Callum whispered again.

“No thanks to you,” Jory spat at him. “You son of a bitch.”

And then all hell broke loose.

* * *

Hank had stopped struggling.He might have been able to shrug these men off if they’d been humans, even with the both of them holding him so securely. But with them being vampires, he knew he was only wasting his energy.

Esther stood between him and Callum, her bright red hair curling down her back, her hands clenched into fists at her side. Something was happening. Something Hank didn’t understand. Callum was frozen where he stood in the kitchen, reaching for Jory, who looked like she’d bite his hands off if he touched her.

But Hank had read theOutlanderseries to his mom on her sickbed. When Callum had called Jorymo cridhe, Hank remembered reading aloud as Jamie Fraser said it to Claire, whispering it to her as he skated delicate fingers over her cheek.My heart.

And then suddenly Jory and Callum were toe to toe and she was shouting in what Hank assumed from context was Gaelic while Callum tried to touch her and she batted his hands away like she was shooing insects. Jory’s fury was so consuming and so spectacular to behold that Hank didn’t hear Nat come in.

Hank only noticed him as he slipped past Robbie, who made no move to stop him. Nat eased in front of him and around the other side of the kitchen table, squeezing by the window, until he was standing next to Hank.

The movement caught Jory’s eye. She abruptly stopped shouting at Callum and flicked her gaze over to where Hank and Nat stood.

Jory gestured angrily at them and said something to Callum, who turned.

“Release him,” he said to his men, who immediately complied.

Without thinking, Hank yanked Esther backwards against his chest, wrapping both arms tightly around her and sidestepping so that his back was to the wall and the table between them and Robbie.

Esther reached up and gripped his wrists with her cold hands.

“Do you know what the hell is going on?” Nat asked through the side of his mouth.

The fight had escalated. Apparently Callum had overcome his shock and was shouting back at Jory, his deep voice booming in the small space. Hank looked over his shoulder at the two vampires in the dining room who looked at bewildered as he felt. One of them shrugged and raised his eyebrows.

It felt almost comical. There was no animosity here. These men were doing a job. It wasn’t personal. And they were clearly as shocked as Hank was—as everyone was—to see their always unruffled boss coming to pieces in a verbal altercation with a woman they’d never met before.

Meanwhile, Nat stared, mouth agape, and Robbie slid into the chair Callum had vacated. He reached to the center and plucked another apple out of the bowl, biting into it as he looked up at Hank and canted his head to the side in Callum and Jory’s direction with a smirk, as if to say, “Can you believe this?”

Hank couldn’t. He really,reallycouldn’t. Because ten minutes ago, he’d been sure that he was going to die and be buried in a shallow grave somewhere in the middle of nowhere because he’d refused to help Callum get to Esther. And then five minutes ago, he’d been overcome by the warring emotions of relief and fury. Relief to see Esther, to be breathing the same air as her. And fury that she’d left, that she’d come back, that she’d tried to save him, that she hadn’t trusted him to keep her safe.

And now, now he had Esther in his arms, the kitchen was throbbing with energy as Jory and Callum fought. He couldn’t tell whether they wanted to kill each other or rip each other’s clothes off. He wasn’t sure they knew either. Maybe they wanted both. Hadn’t he always heard that the line between love and hate is razor-thin?

But then Esther leaned back into him, resting her head against his chest, and he felt the anger dissipate slightly. But only slightly.

Hank leaned toward Nat and whispered, “How did you know to come?”

Nat smirked. “Magda. Jory called her.”

“Where’s Niamh?”

“Still at my house.”

Esther turned in his arms. “Niamh?”

“How do you think I got back here?” Hank grumbled. He looked at Nat again. “Is she any better?”

Nat sighed. “Not yet. Hopefully soon.”

“Is she hurt?” Esther said, her brow knitting in concern. Hank felt that now-familiar urge to stroke his thumb upward between her eyebrows until they relaxed.