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The first thing Catalina Otero noticed when the gates opened was that someone had cut down her mother’s jacaranda tree. She stared through the tinted window of the SUV at the pale circle of fresh wood where the trunk had once stood. Twenty-three years.

That tree had survived twenty-three years of drought, wind, two fires that came close enough to turn the western sky orange, and her father’s repeated threats to remove it because its purple flowers stained the limestone drive. Apparently, it had not survived her absence.

“Stop.”

The driver glanced at her in the mirror.

“Ms. Otero?”

“The car. Stop.”

He did. Catalina opened the door before the man in the passenger seat could get out to do it for her. Heat rolled into the cool interior.

Southern California in September had never understood the concept of autumn. The sun was already brutal against the white stone of the drive, and somewhere beyond the hills, the dry air carried the faint promise of wildfire.

Catalina stepped out and removed her sunglasses. The house looked exactly the same. That was almost worse.

Cream stucco. Red tile. Arched windows. Two sprawling wings connected by the original hacienda at the center. Her great-grandfather had spent an obscene amount of money preserving that section when he’d expanded the estate, and every generation since had spent considerably more pretending nothing had changed. Everything changed. Except, apparently, the Otero house.

“Catalina?”

She ignored the security officer behind her and crossed the drive. Someone had ground the stump nearly level, but they hadn’t removed it yet. She crouched. The wood was dry at the center. Dead. Of course it was.

Her father might be stubborn enough to threaten a healthy tree for twenty years, but he wouldn’t have cut down something her mother loved unless there was no saving it.

Catalina ran her thumb over one of the remaining rings.

“You finally won, Papá.”

“Actually, it nearly fell on the west garage.”

The voice came from behind her. Catalina straightened slowly. Her father stood in the shade of the portico. For one ridiculous second, she forgot how to breathe.

Gabriel Otero had always seemed impossibly large. Not tall—although he was that too. Large in the way certain men became larger than their bodies. He filled rooms. He filled silences. He filled every childhood memory Catalina had of this place.

The man standing beneath the archway was thinner than the one she’d seen four months ago. Much thinner. His white shirt hung too loosely from his shoulders. Silver had overtaken the black at his temples, and although he stood straight, one hand rested against the stone column beside him. Not casually. For support.

Catalina put her sunglasses back on. It was either that or let him see her face.

“I suppose saving the Ferrari was more important.”

His mouth curved.

“It was a Duesenberg.”

“Oh. Then absolutely. Mamá would’ve cut the tree down herself.”

“That is exactly what I said.”

Catalina crossed the remaining distance. Her father opened his arms. She walked directly into them.

For a moment she was nine years old again, arriving for Christmas with Aunt Lucía after three months away, breathing in cedar and expensive cologne and the faint animal scent underneath that had always meant home.

Gabriel kissed the top of her head.

“You took your time.”

“My flight landed twenty-seven minutes ago.”

“You’ve been gone fourteen months.”

“You visited me in May.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

No.

It wasn’t. Catalina stepped back before the pressure behind her ribs could become something embarrassing.

“You look terrible.”

“So do you.”

“Liar.”

“Obviously.”

His eyes moved over her carefully. Gabriel had always been able to inspect a person without making it obvious. Catalina had inherited that talent. She’d dressed deliberately for the flight home: cream trousers, sleeveless black silk, low heels, gold at her ears and throat. Nothing ostentatious. Nothing soft.

She had spent too many years watching people decide what she was before she opened her mouth. Gabriel’s gaze stopped on her shoes.

“You wore heels on an airplane.”

“They’re two inches.”

“Still ridiculous.”

“You’re dying and we’re criticizing my shoes?”

His smile disappeared. The security officers behind her became extremely interested in the luggage.

Good.

Catalina held her father’s eyes. He sighed.

“I’m not dying.”

“Wonderful. I’ll have the jet refueled.”

“Catalina.”

“What?”

“I am sick.”

There it was. Not the carefully worded phone calls.

Not the doctors are changing my medication or I’ve been tired lately. Not Aunt Lucía’s infuriating your father doesn’t want you worrying.

Sick. Catalina’s wolf shifted beneath her skin. Not physically. Not yet. Just enough that her senses sharpened. And once she allowed herself to look, she could smell it. Medication. Sweat. Something metallic beneath both. Her father. But altered. Wrong.

She hated it.

“How sick?”

“Not on the driveway.”

“You brought it up.”

“You brought up my death.”

“You started that by trying to have one without consulting me.”

A low laugh came from the doorway. Catalina looked past her father. Her aunt stood there with both hands on her hips. Lucía Otero had raised Catalina for most of her childhood and had therefore earned privileges nobody else possessed. Including laughing at her.

“Don’t encourage him,” Catalina said.

“I was laughing at you.”

“Even worse.”

Lucía came down the steps and wrapped her in a hug before Catalina could object.

“You’re too thin.”

“I’ve been home forty-five seconds.”

“And you’re too thin.”

“You say that every time you see me.”

“Because every time I see you, you’re too thin.”

Catalina looked over Lucía’s shoulder at her father.

“You could’ve kept her.”

“I tried.”

Lucía released her and slapped Gabriel lightly on the arm.

“Come inside. Elena has been threatening everyone since four this morning because you insisted on coming straight here instead of eating after the flight.”

Catalina smiled despite herself.

“Elena is still here?”

Her father looked offended.

“Where would she go?”

“I don’t know. Retirement?”

“Tell her that.”

“I value my life.”

“Good. Your survival instincts haven’t completely deteriorated.”

The wolf beneath Catalina’s skin settled slightly. This. This was familiar. Her father being impossible. Lucía managing everyone while pretending she wasn’t. Elena running the household with more authority than most Fortune 500 executives. Home. Dangerous word. She’d learned that young. Home was a place other children got to take for granted.

For Catalina, home had always been somewhere she visited. The decision had been made before she was old enough to understand it. Gabriel Otero had enemies. The Otero family had considerably more. And the only daughter of its patriarch had been too valuable to leave sleeping in the bedroom above his.

So Catalina had grown up with Lucía, first in Santa Fe and later outside Denver, far enough from Otero territory that threats had to work considerably harder to reach her. She hadn’t been abandoned. She’d always known that. Her parents called every night. Her father came whenever he could. Her mother came more.

There were summers here, holidays, birthdays, vacations that required three vehicles and enough security to invade a small country. She’d known why. Understanding something didn’t stop it from hurting.

Gabriel turned toward the house. His balance shifted. Barely. Catalina’s hand moved before she could stop it. So did someone else’s. A man appeared from the shadow of the portico and caught Gabriel lightly by the elbow. Not grabbing. Not hovering. Just there.

Her father steadied.

“I have it,” Gabriel said.

“Yes, sir.”

The man released him immediately. Catalina looked at him. And kept looking. Well. That was irritating. He was tall enough to make her six-foot father look slightly diminished beside him. Broad shoulders filled a charcoal suit tailored around the inconvenient fact that the man wearing it was built like violence.

Dark hair, short at the sides. A few days of deliberate-looking stubble. Brown skin deepened by the sun. No visible weapon. Catalina immediately identified three places he could be carrying one. He met her eyes. Dark. Calm. Nothing in his expression suggested he’d noticed her assessing him. Which meant he absolutely had.

Her wolf lifted its head. Catalina’s irritation sharpened. Not now. She’d spent the last several hours in airports surrounded by too many people and too many scents. The animal was restless. That was all. The man inclined his head.

“Ms. Otero.”

His voice was low. Something moved down Catalina’s spine.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

She adjusted her sunglasses.

“And you are?”

The tiniest pause. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Enough for her.

“Roman Hale.”

She knew that name. It took another second.

“Hale.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Elena’s son.”

Something changed in his face. Again, tiny.

“Yes.”

Catalina stared at him. The last time she’d seen Elena’s son, he’d been— What? Seventeen? Eighteen? Quiet. Angry. Perpetually disappearing somewhere with a bruise on his jaw. There had been an incident involving one of her cousins and a broken nose.

Catalina couldn’t remember whose nose had been broken. Looking at Roman now, she could make an educated guess whose.

“You went away.”

“Military school.”

“After the thing with Mateo.”

His mouth almost moved. Almost. So Mateo’s nose. Catalina smiled.

“I remember you.”

“I remember you too.”

There was something about the way he said it. Nothing inappropriate. Nothing she could identify. Still, her wolf pressed closer beneath her skin. Interested. Roman’s gaze flicked briefly toward her father, then toward the two security officers unloading her luggage. Assessment. Constant.

Catalina recognized it because she did the same thing. Her father continued toward the house.

“Roman will be handling your protection.”

Catalina looked away from Roman.

“No.”

Gabriel didn’t stop walking.

“I wasn’t asking.”

“I already have security.”

“You had airport security.”

“I have my own team.”

“You had a residential detail in Colorado. They’re staying there.”

Catalina followed him into the shade.

“Why?”

“Because I told them to.”

“Excellent explanation.”

“Thank you.”

“Papá.”

He finally stopped. The humor had left his face.

“You’re home now.”

Three words. That was all. Catalina understood. Home meant Otero territory. Otero territory meant succession. And succession meant she was no longer Gabriel Otero’s daughter living quietly two states away. She was the next Otero. Every enemy her father had collected over forty years had just acquired a new point of interest.

Catalina glanced at Roman. He was watching the grounds rather than her.

“You trust him?”

Gabriel’s answer came immediately.

“With my life.”

Roman’s expression didn’t change. Catalina studied him again. Military school explained the posture. It didn’t explain the rest.

“What did you do after?”

Roman looked at her.

“After what?”

“School.”

“Military.”

“That’s delightfully vague.”

“It was meant to be.”

Catalina’s eyebrows rose. Lucía made a suspicious choking noise beside her. Roman didn’t smile. But there it was again. Something almost amused behind his eyes.

Interesting.

Gabriel sighed.

“He’ll fit right in.”

“I haven’t agreed.”

“You don’t need to.”

“I am twenty-nine years old.”

“Yes. I was there.”

Catalina stared at him. Her father stared back. Lucía walked between them.

“Wonderful. She’s been home five minutes and you’re already measuring dicks.”

Roman coughed. Actually coughed. Catalina slowly turned her head toward him. His expression was perfectly blank. That made it worse.

“Something funny, Mr. Hale?”

“No, ma’am.”