"Explain," I demand, for about the fifth time since requesting the historian's presence in my home.

"Diogo," Taran says warningly, turning a sunny smile on the other man. "Christian is trying to help. Let's keep the growling to a minimum or the man will think you aren't appreciative."

I reach out, snagging Taran's wrist as she passes, fussing with her tea set, a gift from Emery. It's chipped, cracked, and well used, but the damn thing means the world to my wife. "Sit," ...